2017.10.01 16:56 AmericaStillAlive July 2018 Bumpers!
2020.09.25 01:43 BlueSkiesWideSmiles "Hope sprung eternal in a garden where you kept planting weeds." : Why I went No Contact when my only living parent.
My parents got off to a really bad start, Mom was pregnant with me at 15 when my Dad was 19 so there is already a lot of fucked up right out of the gate. Moms family was dirt ass poor, Her sister and her spent most of their childhood in orphanage after my Grandmother lost custody (for very justified reasons). Apparently they all hung out nearby the local army base as possible way to get out, and well, it worked. All of them got pregnant AND THEN married someone enlisted. Every single one of these marriages ended in divorce. But I mean, of course they did? Sometimes I wonder if they were prostitutes, Dad always made odd jokes about it. Which would be tragic but also explain a lot. But that is neither here nor there.
My parents lasted a long time together comparatively. When I was 8ish Mom introduced me to her friend Tom, but I had to promise never to tell Dad about him. After that, it was pretty common for Mom to take me to his house and I would watch TV while trying not to hear them having sex in the other room. He also owned his own business, a VHS rental place with a huge porn section. Every couple of days until I was 11ish we would go to his store so she could "use the tanning bed in the back" and I would literally wander around an empty store with all the lights out until 1 in the morning when we would go home. Trying to not think about the fact that she was having sex. I particularly remember a Christmas Eve where we skipped the tradition of opening 1 present before going to bed, she had me open one in the car on the way home but it was a shirt meant for Tom.
Up until this point I was mostly scared of my Dad, but that was more because I never saw him. Dad worked 2 jobs and went to school. I only knew him as the guy who would sleep a lot and be grouchy when I was too loud. But when they eventually decided to divorce I became significantly closer to him. He took active interest in everything I did, we went to numerous Pokemon events, played video games together, took me and my friends to concerts, went to political rallies, talked about books and helped me build my first computer.
I dreaded the time I spent at my Mothers house, technically they had 50/50 custody but I would take any excuse not to go to hers. It was only ever me fighting with Tom, Mom yelling at for not being confident enough to get a girlfriend and of course.... trying not to listen to them having sex.
Dad never stopped loving Mom, and she used him. I don't believe there was ever a child support order but every time he would drop me off at hers he would give me an envelope filled with cash for her. When I was older he told me he paid rent for both his apartment and the old one he moved out of that now my Mom and Tom shared. That only ended when Tom got a "free house" in a city 2 hours away. His sister was an early investor in Amazon and became very wealthy quickly. My dad quit his job and got a nearby apartment in the new town, he knew I hated them but said having my Mom in my life would be better in the long run. But I knew it was him still pining for her. She flirted with him shamelessly, I once found a note in my Dads wallet in my moms handwriting saying she would leave Tom and re-marry my dad on such and such date. When my Mom went back to school it was super common for my dad to meet for secret lunches, the irony was not loss on me when she said "Don't tell Tom". Dad did a TON of her homework for her. He would constantly buy her fancy clothes and make car payments on her behalf, but when she around Tom laugh and laugh at what a fucking loser Dad was.
Dad never really had another relationship, but would talk about how perfect Mom was all the time. I hated it and always told him what she said behind his back but he would only shrug and say he was the one who messed everything up so it was fine. During this time it was super common to deal with repo men. Mom/Tom never really kept jobs but always had fancy trendy cars. Yellow Volkswagen Bug/PT Cruiser etc. They would last about 2-3 months, repo guys would come and take them away, next week we would go to the lot and lease something fancy. Rinse repeat. Once Tom got in the car before it was fully hooked up to the tow truck and kept the wheels spinning for like an hour so they couldn't take it away. He eventually ran out of gas. I was a skinny 15 year old nerd but he kept yelling at me to fight the tow truck driver. I walked to my Dads instead.
Mom/Tom stayed in that house for ~5ish years rent free, when she finally decided to sell it Tom poured gasoline over the yard, broke all the windows, disconnected all the fixtures and went NC with her. Tom moved in with his parents, my Mom guilted me HARD to move out of state with her, I had just turned 18 and had a serious GF who I didn't want to leave but.... "
*But who will take care of the cats?"So I ended up helping her move out of state in to her sisters house and spent a miserable month doing long distance relationship with my GF. Dad knew it awful and bought me a ticket back home, I moved in with my GF and life was good for a few years. Eventually we broke up, but it was amicable and we are still friends. (I babysit her awesome little kid every now and then) Yet Mom would hold us breaking up as proof I had made a huge life mistake and I should have stayed with her. I flew down once for her Las Vegas wedding to Tom but was miserable the entire time, fought constantly and eventually left for the airport 12 hours early to get away. I have nothing in common with these people and I abhor their hateful homophobic and racist "values". That was pretty close to the last time I saw my Mom. Whole thing was a big mistake.
2020.09.24 17:15 Doctor823 Porn mom secret
Hey I am 17 AMAB.
As a kid I kinda always wanted to be a girl. I secretly wanted to play with girl things. Here some kinda wkerd things I did..
I would do this thing where if I played games like apples to apples. I would choses a girls card almost every time.
I would put on my moms clothes. Idk why I enjoyed it but I did.
I would did this one play sequence with my brother where it was girls vs. boys and we were the girls.
For one day I was able to play with a dress. I enjoyed that day.
When my parents told us about sex change operations. Me and my brother did a play sequence where a surgeon accidentally turned me a boy into a girl forever. My brother was a girl turned into a boy.
As a kid I would masterbate to the idea of being a girl.
This only went on for like 4ish years. Eventually I got comfortable enough with being a boy.
I did have more maleish interests. I play video games and watched pewdiepie for a while(I was cringe dont judge). I dont think this is enough to dismiss the idea though.
That being said I haven't expirenced much of this type of stuff since then. Here is what I did expirence.
During my porn addiction I had one fetish at a time feminization.
During a how to change your genders video I did jack off.
I always kinda hear a voice in the back of my head I would be better as a girl. I should of been a girl.
I dont think I expirence dysphoria from looking it up. I never felt out of place in my body. So that made me think I am non binary.
Or maybe I expirence dysphoria and just don't know enough about it.
Also my aunt is trans I heard it might be genetic. I also have autism I heard it might be linked ot autism. Although I only saw that brought up by terfs so take it with a grain of salt.
I'm really fucking confused I need help. I am really confused?
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2020.09.24 12:26 ThrowRA-sisterisnuts Secret mom porn
The background to our family situation is kind of heavy... I live with my sister, her son, and our dad who suffered a stroke six years ago that gave him permanent disability. Our mom passed away from cancer last year. We live at home to make sure our dad stays safe and can get around. I work overnights as a nurse, and she's an attorney with an erratic schedule.
My sister has a heart of gold when it comes to our parents' well-being (well, just our dad now), but it's no secret she never wanted kids. He was conceived by a one night stand. So he has no father in his life. Grandpa and myself have always been close to him, but in my case I'm more like an older sibling. And Grandpa's mental faculties haven't been good for half his life now.
My sister openly hates kids and regrets having my nephew. She calls him a mistake when she's mad at him. She's bossy with him and demands he do chores perfectly, and she's inconsistent about what she wants. She'll get mad at him one time for entering her bedroom to vacuum it when she's not there, and then the next time she'll get mad at him for skipping her bedroom. She makes him cry a lot because he's actually trying and can't meet her standards. I've talked to her and said to chill out, and she just says you gotta be a little harsh sometimes to get results.
He is smart and gets called gifted and creative by his teachers, but she still finds ways to get upset at him for his performance. When a teacher said he was getting bullied, her response was like, "I told him to act more mature so he makes friends." And she discourages his hobbies because she thinks it's all a load of crap. He wrote a book in a binder and colored illustrations. She mocked it to his face and again to her partner when he could hear them downstairs. He's been in the band at his school since 5th grade and went to honor bands before covid. He's excited over playing music. She went to exactly one of his performances and then said, "don't tell me I have to sit through another one of those." He started getting me to drive him to his school performances and then said stuff like, "You can just come back later and pick me up if you don't like it." And he is always sad after it's over. If I start talking to him about the concert, he gets really upset and starts uncontrollably sobbing, and there's not much he'll accept from me as far as damage control because I'm not the one he's upset about. She's even more toxic when he talks to her about it and tells him to man up and quit the band if he's doing it for her approval because she hates that kind of music.
She shows zero trust toward her own son in general and blames other people for her own shortcomings. One of his classmates, a mentally disabled kid his age, got his number and sent him porn links all night unsolicited. My sister freaked out when she saw it and not only took his phone away for a month, but she also gossiped to a lot of family and friends, often in his earshot, that she caught him watching porn and masturbating. She knows how phones work, and it should be obvious what happened just by reading the one sided conversation he had, but she refused to listen to his side so she could tell her story to everyone. This is straight up bullying on her part.
And she also makes fun of him being overweight and blames me for it claiming I'm giving him snacks and buying him ice cream when she's not there. I don't even buy any of that stuff because it's dangerous for our dad to get into (diabetes and mental impairments), and she has full control over what her son eats as his parent. He gets winded when we walk a few blocks and then gets too exhausted to climb up the ladder to his loft bed by the time he's home. He is out of shape, sure, but she wants to be mean about it instead of constructive.
I think we can all acknowledge excuses like stress she may have, but it's still not acceptable for her to be this toxic to her own kid. She goes on about how good our parents were, but then she makes no effort to emulate them because her kid was her mistake as she puts it.
What can I do to get her to treat her child with the care she treats our dad? (Asking her to love him may be a bit much.) He's at a vulnerable age and she's causing him psychological harm.
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2020.09.22 13:43 seddy_bear32 Mom porn secret
Okay so let me start from the beginning. Growing up for me wasn’t easy though mainly because my parents didn’t know how to discipline correctly so it was rough for me. I would describe my child hood as your typical “run of the mill” male/ masculine lifestyle tbh. growing up, I was always outside playing sports and hanging out with girls and boys evenly. When I was alone however I would sometimes play with my moms makeup because something about wearing it was interesting to me and I’d say i did this about 2 or 3 times. Now there was one time where I vaguely remember coming home from school and seeing my mom in the kitchen doing dishes and asking me how my day went and I remember going into the closet and grabbing foundation and responding with “it was good” while I was applying it in the restroom to my eye. I dont exactly remember what I was feeling when I put it on though. This was when I was in 3rd or 4th grade
Fast forward to 5th grade and I start to develop an interest in nicki Minaj videos and all in all finding her music videos fascinating. I always liked the way she looked but I never looked at her boobs or butt; what grabbed my attention was her style of makeup and her nails. I would watch her videos when I was by myself because I felt like I’d get judged for watching this kind of videos when the family was around. So my mom happened to be in her room and while I was watching the video, a part comes up where it shows her closing her eyes and it’s just her eye makeup and lashes being the only thing you can see and I pause at that part of the video. I quickly look back to see if my mom is coming out of the room and when I’m sure she isn’t coming out I look at Nicki and I think I pretend to be her and mimic her pose In the video. One thing I can’t understand or figure out still is why I looked to see if my mom was still in her room when I was watching Nicki videos. When My birthday came up I asked for a Nicki poster and an “autograph” from her 😳 I know... anyway I got the autograph and of course was happy but you can clearly see that I loved everything about Nicki haha.
Fast forward to 6th grade and I get my first kiss on a girl and I of course enjoy it because I identify as straight or cis. Unfortunately we move away and I couldn’t say goodbye but I know she’s doing good. So I’m in 7th grade and I basically make friends with girls and guys pretty equally I’d say but there was one friend I had who was considered a bestie at the time and she was truly a good friend so my time with hanging out with girls was weighed a little more I’d say. Same year we get a phone for Christmas and I immediately get the popular social media’s at the time like Facebook and Instagram etc. I also find myself on google looking up ladies with dramatic makeup on and I do this for the first couple of days of scrolling through different styles. A week passes by and one night I’m in my room and I notice my willy starting to get stiff and I start to wonder why so I start rubbing it and noticing that it’s a good feeling to do that and soon after I end up finishing.. I had no idea what I did but I didn’t really continue doing it throughout that year. I instead made a collection on my phone of different makeup styles I found interesting and would secretly do this in the restroom and enjoy the feelings I was getting while looking at the various makeup styles I found that I liked. This carried on for a year.
Fast forward to 8th grade. So for this year I come back to “playing with myself” but this time I try looking up very slight vanilla porn and stumble upon to ladies at a picnic making out and after “finishing” I get a very weird feeling of like it being wrong what i did and just a really uneasy feeling and that’s something I also can’t explain. (FYI this year is mostly me exploring different arousal triggers) so after experiencing the two ladies at a picnic video I steered away and went back to classic makeup styles such as cut crease and cat eye looks and something about the looks just spoke to me like I wanted to be the lady in that picture with the fierce look or sheik poses.
(This year is NSFW) Fast forward to 9th grade and I get ideas of ways to explore. So towards the middle of the year I remember looking at memes of guys blowing themselves and for some reason I think to myself about wanting to try that myself and eventually I do.. but I can’t reach. After realizing that I’m not flexible enough I give up. During this year I was intimate with a couple ladies which only Involved making out and nothing further because of my paranoia to getting aids (basically me being a germaphobe). I of course cut it off with both of them because I wasn’t interested tbh. Around this year I started working out, continuing to explore various makeup accounts on Instagram and sometimes “playing with myself” to those makeup videos. When I was playing with myself I was always imagining myself magically turning into the lady and waking up to my girlfriend doing my makeup after I transformed or me making out with a girl on a bed and as we’re making out, I’m slowly turning into a girl. Still have not watched porn at all yet. A month before school ends and I stumble upon this lady YouTuber called “the gabbie show” and I instantly develop and interests in her content and personality. One day I’m watching her videos and all of a sudden I get this sad feeling or dissatisfaction that I can’t be her and it feels like a pit in my stomach that lasted for about 5 to 10 minutes. After that I went on with my day not really thinking about what I felt.
Fast forward to 10th grade. Nothing really important here, I just continued working out hanging out with chicks and kept to myself mostly.
Fast forward to 11th grade. We move to a new house but still go to the same school and I get off classes in the morning. My mom has a job in the morning, my brother and dad work 45 minutes away and my other brothers are at school so it’s just me there.. across the hall is my moms bag of makeup and as I’m laying down the only thing that I can’t get out of my mind is the different makeup looks I can start doing FINALLY. I’m laying there and the thoughts just keep getting stronger and desirable to the point where I get up and decide to try it. I look in the mirror after I’m finished doing my makeup and it’s my first time which is surprisingly good and I get a goose bump feeling and just feel some type of way. of course I play with myself and after finishing I feel a sense of regret but at the same time I felt like keeping it on because well I don’t know why.
Anyway so a month passes into summer break by and I get a temporary job with my dad. We’re eating lunch one day and I get these anxious feelings again where I wonder if I want to be a woman because of the want to be a female feelings and interests I have. This lasts for 5 or 6 days this time. Of course I don’t really think about it and continue to go on with my day.
Fast forward to after senior year ( btw nothing crazy just school) and I start getting into gender bender animation videos “sapphire foxx” where magical things happen to the guy and turn him into a girl where he at first hates it but later on starts liking being a girl. Pretty soon these videos start getting tasteless and I find this anime called “tsf monogatari” and “residence” and I’m instantly hooked.. these two anime’s are what “got me off” however what made me get a want and anxious feeling was watching MTF transformation timelines and HRT changes and affects. Around a week or so after watching the anime’s I get the idea of wanting to blow myself again. This time I actually reach.. only difference this time is when I’m self sucking I’m imagining myself as the lady in the porn video rather than just pleasuring myself like tried doing a long time ago.
Another months passes by and I finally get a full time job with my dad but it’s in a different state. So we move up there for our first day on the job and it’s been a month since I’ve engaged in crossdressing and the hentai porn. The first week goes by smoothly. Throughout the week I find a way to play with myself by downloading an app and doing my makeup on it and turning my body feminine by adding breasts etc. second weeks rolls in. We get into work as I’m working on putting a tire back on I see one of these female mechanics walk in with a very feminine personality and figure and I get an unknown surge of anxiety and worry about whether or not I wanted to be a girl and this anxiousness caused me loss of appetite, no motivation to work, hopelessness, and constantly questioning my thoughts. I tried challenging my thoughts by looking at this female at my workplace (I'm a mechanic btw). anyway all I could image was my breasts pressing up against the hood and being able to feel my ponytail resting on my shoulder along with smelling the makeup on my face and feeling it on my face. The female worker had a ponytail, Full makeup with pink/reddish eyeshadow and a considerable curvy figure. After imaging this I got deep anxiety and couldn't work or let alone focus on my job. As weeks passed by I reached out to a therapist and ended up leaving the online therapy and instead connected with Jesus on a deeper level along with getting answers on quora. I did the research day and night until there wasn't anything else to look up regarding what I was experiencing and I decided to reach out to another therapist who actually helped me see the problem along with the help of some people in the reddit community with a true/pure helping desire regarding my questions. I did the quora research and google research for 2 months and the other two months up to now I've been learning correct and true information on this discord community with people from reddit and this therapist I'm currently with. These feelings lasted for 6 months.
Fast forward to a month later and I’m successful recovered from the anxious thoughts. The only thing that stands in my way now is the stronger urges to crossdress, the pit in my stomach feelings I get when I see woman I know I can transition into if I decide to and the constant rushed feeling I’m having everyday regarding if I need to transition or not because I’m running out of time. What’s stopping me from transitioning is the uncertainty I have. Lately I’ve been getting desirable feelings to be a woman outside of the sexual experience but I still get aroused when I crossdress and afterwards the feelings kinda fade but lately they’ve been sticking around and what I mean by fade is after I’m done playing with myself the feelings of wanting to transition into a girl fade but lately the feelings are starting to linger after the fact which is why I’m trying to figure out if this is just a fetish or me finally being able to express myself and having the arousal factor as a tabboo affect. Please help you guys I need to know what this is I’m going through
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2020.09.21 17:29 PhatA21Sepl Ama-zing Col-lege Sl-uts Po-rn
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2020.09.18 06:02 justcallmerocky Secret porn mom
Back in high school, I used to date guys that were terrible for me and every. single. one. of them cheated on me or dumped me for being a “prude” (I was 14 wtf?!) I can’t say I blame them too much bc we were so young but they have all had a lasting effect on me.
Especially this guy I dated who was cheating on his baby mama with me and I didn’t know. He had 2 kids by the time he was 18 (when we were dating). He ghosted me after we had sex and honestly it was pretty traumatic for me. I really really liked this guy and one day he was there and the next he was gone. I vowed to stop dating completely for a long time.
That’s until I met my current boyfriend. He basically swept me off of my feet and made me finally feel safe and secure again. I was like if anybody’s gonna be loyal, it’s gonna be this guy. Well, he cheated on me a little over a year ago. I was so used to being hurt I didn’t even react when he told me I just mentally shut down. We decided to work on things bc I believe in 2nd chances (not 3rd chances) and he showed so much remorse. Weve been working on healing steadily since it happened. He’s made a lot of changes and we’ve set some mutual boundaries. But I’m just not ok. I have actual triggers and things that send me into panic mode. The main one of them being when he watches porn. Which he hasn’t figured out how to stop watching bc he is emotionally addicted to it. We’re working on it, he’s gonna go to therapy, whatever. 🙄
That’s not the worst part of it. In May, I stumbled upon a secret facebook account that my dad has been keeping. The friends on that account are only half-naked women. He’s been cheating on my mom online. I called him out on his sh*t and basically he asked me not to tell my mom and told me that he’ll delete the account. This POS keeps earbuds next to the toilet (which only means one thing) and all the hooters girls know him by name and they didn’t even know he has kids until last night. I want to tell my mom and i don’t know how.
I did not have trust issues, insecurities in my relationships, or any problem with porn until these things happened. I actually would watch it myself until my bf cheated. Now I am genuinely triggered by places like hooters, movies with sex scenes, porn, dirty jokes, locker room talk, and even some attractive women/celebrities. It’s so unhealthy and it’s literally fight or flight for me
Both of these issues are going on at the same time and I’m so broken. My perception of men is absolutely wrecked.
I hate my dad. I hate porn. I hate infidelity. I hate girls who think it’s cool to throw herself at men that are taken. I hate liars. I hate sneaky people. I hate single men that see women as sexual options instead of as people. I hate this constant pain that I’m in. The anxiety from these situations are affecting my actual physical health.
I’m not looking for advice I just needed to get it out.
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2020.09.17 09:25 Meda17Sep1l Reddit Inc-est Shower Sed-uction Vid-eo
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2020.09.16 00:00 GreyBuildings679 Secret mom porn
It happened on the evening of September 15th, a cool, windy Saturday, just on the cusp of fall. When leaves begin shedding their green, like snakeskin, revealing an inevitable and beautiful death in the process. It was on that night that Freddy Gilmore went up to his parent’s room, sneaking through to their closet, and opening a hidden compartment. Standing on his tip-toes of worn socks with the big toe poking out, calves flexed, he groped around for that familiar box, pushed back to the very edge. It was heavy, both in physical and mental terms, containing his father’s Glock G-19. Freddy picked up the gun pressing it into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
I would later hear my father talking about the incident in the living room, past midnight when I should have been in bed. He was a councilman, and privy to certain information, including photos taken at Freddy’s crime scene. “When I saw the body I thought somebody had dropped chiclets on it.” He said turning to my mom, “Turns out they were his teeth, his goddamn teeth Miriam, scattered everywhere.”
There was no suicide note, but school officials found a stack of gay porn crammed in Freddy’s locker and assumed the pressure of his sexual orientation, was what lead to his demise. At a school assembly Freddy’s parents appeared, red-faced and teary-eyed, “I loved my son.” His father sniffled, “I would have accepted him for whoever he was.”
Our school, community, and town rallied together around Freddy’s death. From guidance counselors, to the priest at our church, teachers, and even my bewildered parents. His suicide became their insignia, and the message was clear, be yourself, be different, we accept you, ask for help, don’t be afraid!
Even though Freddy was in my grade, we had only spoken a handful of times, his death in a strange sense provided me a sense of comfort, like being swaddled in a warm blanket, as I had my own secret. If Freddy could have been accepted, maybe I could be as well.
The secret that I had been holding so close to me, I revealed by chance at the Vet’s office. Our dog Daisy had been whimpering for the last few days and refusing to eat. My mom and Dad hung back while the vet examined her, “It could be giardia,” The vet bit her lip, “We’ll do a stool sample to be safe.”
“She said that she ate a balloon.” I interjected, “It was in the garbage from the neighbor’s kid’s birthday last week. She knew she shouldn’t eat it but she did, and now her stomach’s hurting.”
I looked around, first at my parents and then to the vet. Something about their expressions had changed, eyes narrowed, mouths twinged, their nostrils inflamed as if they smelt something unpleasant, like the scent of a pungent shit taken in a public restroom.
I realized at that very moment the biggest truth of my young life. My parents, and all adults for that matter were full of shit.
Whatever they spouted in response to Freddy’s suicide, was just a mirage, a lie. Different always meant bad. The secret, that I had so carelessly revealed, I quickly packed up again, hiding it in the depths of my internal closet.
“Your son has an active imagination.” The vet said finally, while my parents shifted uncomfortably.
“I was just kidding.” I shrugged, “I saw her eat it.”
“Well, that helps things. Thank you, Daniel.” The vet bit her lip again.
Later when Daisy was returned to us sans balloon. She curled up on my lap, licking my hand, and in a low growl, spoke to me as she did sometimes. “Better now, much better.”
I hadn’t always been able to understand Daisy, it happened gradually. At first, it was simple words that hit me, happy, food, outside, sad. Slowly becoming more robust sentences or more like streams of thought. I love you forever and ever, and ever, and you’re my favorite thing.
I could sometimes hear other animals in passing, but it was only a single thought, like a flash of lightning that would dawn on me, before disappearing. I didn’t think much of my ability or whatever it was, viewing it the same way as anything outside the norm, like the large mole on my classmate Sam Tucker’s face. Or how our neighbor Jennie Wilson was born with only four fingers on her left hand.
All of that changed when I met Myra Bard.
Myra had moved to our town last year from Ohio. We shared Biology class, though never interacted. She was one of the only black kids in our school, and had skin so dark, in some lights, it almost looked blue. She was pretty but shy and kept to herself. I saw her on occasion eating lunch in the library, or outside on the picnic tables, always alone.
Most days I would walk to and from school. There was a path that ran in the back of the building cutting through a wooded area that looped in the back of my neighborhood. One afternoon I was walking home when I heard something. It was in the distance but sounded like a light cooing, undecipherable, but at the same time familiar.
Curious I followed the melody, veering off the trail. Through the trees I could see Myra, she was crouched down, close to the ground, the sound was coming from her. She was surrounded by a circle of squirrels looking at her intently. I took a step forward, trying to hear better. A stick snapped under my foot. Myra and the squirrels turned in unison, their eyes meeting mine. Myra grabbed her backpack from the ground, sprinting into the woods while the squirrels dispersed.
The next day at school I found Myra at her usual location, outside eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She didn’t look up when I approached.
“Hey.” I sat down opposite her, and took out an apple from my backpack, biting down into it, “What was that you were singing in the woods? I couldn’t understand the words, but I recognized it. Myra’s eyes widened, “You could hear me?”
“Well, duh.” I smiled.
“You understand animals,” Myra said it not as a question, but a statement. Vocalizing it out loud shook me, and for a moment fear blossomed inside my chest, I had been found out. Myra must have sensed my shift, as her eyes softened, “Don’t worry, I can too. “Really?!” I said this a little too eagerly and bits of apple flew from my mouth.
Myra nodded, “Yeah. I’ve been trying to practice how to talk back. That’s what you caught in the woods, most people can’t hear it.”
“I can sometimes catch what my dog is saying, less so with other animals, but it’s usually just a word or two.” I was excited and talking fast.
“It’s not the hearing.” Myra sighed, “Everyone could hear animals if they really listened, it’s the understanding, you got to be able to understand the language.” She looked at me, her brow furrowed, “I can teach you… if you want.”
I started meeting with Myra every day after school in the woods. She was right. It wasn’t just a matter of the hearing. If I silenced myself and shut my eyes and really listened, I could hear everything around me. What was more difficult was being able to decipher the noises, recognize the tones and sounds, till they materialized into digestible words.
“Every animal has a distinct dialect, like how humans have different languages.” Myra told me on one of our first afternoons together, “But there is another tongue, it’s the language of all things. It’s transferable and connected, like the roots of a tree. Once you learn the base, you can understand everything.”
“Like how people who know Latin can understand other languages?” I asked.
“Yes!” Myra grinned.
“Where did you learn this?” I asked amazed.
“A friend.” A moment of sadness crossed her face, “I could understand some of it, bits and pieces, just like you at first. He taught me to understand the roots, from there everything fell into place.”
After a month of sessions with Myra, I was beginning to grasp the language of all things. I could comprehend what the birds were saying, the chatter between squirrels, even the nighttime whispers of spiders, crickets, and other nocturnal creatures.
“How do you communicate back?” I said to Myra one day, as we sat on a mossy log in the woods.
Myra was fiddling with a stick, drawing circles into the ground, “My Aunt does yoga, and she told me they have this sound called OM, it’s more like a chant. She said if you do it correctly it vibrates, putting you on a certain frequency.”
“Huh?” I arched my eyebrow, confused.
Myra giggled, “Yeah, I don’t exactly get it either, but I found if I push out from my stomach, and focus sometimes I can get animals to understand me. Watch.”
Myra took a deep exhale, puffing out her chest, fanning her lips apart. A deep melodious hum emerged, like what I had heard the first day in the woods. She lowered and raised her tone, closing her eyes like she was in some sort of trance. My eyes went from her, stopping when I realized we were not alone. A pack of mice had neared, as well as a group of chipmunks. Several spiders and bugs inched closer.
Her lids fluttered open, and she let the low hum go, releasing it like a kite into the wind, for several seconds after it remained, lingering in the space between us.
“You’re incredible,” I whispered, and Myra blushed.
While my relationship with Myra grew, we held a certain distance from each other at school. I would occasionally eat lunch with her, and smile at her in the hallway, but I had my own group of friends, and Myra was separate from that, belonging in a different world altogether. Sometimes I reminisce on that day when everything changed. If I had acted differently, would things have turned out another way? I suppose that question is mine to bear.
We had Biology class second period with our teacher Mr. Cooper. When I entered, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. On every desk was set up a clear white trey with various instruments. As well as a clear plastic box, with a frog inside.
“Come on in everybody!” Mr. Cooper grinned, “Today we’re going to be doing dissections.”
I sat down at a desk, looking at the frog, whose bulbous eyes stared back at me. I tried not to listen, but I could hear it as clear as day, ringing out, like a bell. “Water, water, water.” I gulped, trying to avoid eye contact.
Then I heard something else, a scream, that sliced through the room like a knife. It was Myra standing up at the front of the class. She was crying, her checks slick and wet from tears, a yellowy mucus bubble formed in her right nostril. She was hysterical.
“Myra, settle down now. If you don’t want to participate, you can excuse yourself.” Mr. Cooper said, lowering his gaze. “Just calm down.”
It all happened so fast, so much so, I felt my head spin. Myra took out her hefty Biology book, and chucked it with all her force at the window facing out towards the schoolyard. The glass broke, shattering into pieces, and falling to the ground. Students began to yell and move at the commotion.
“Jesus Christ.” Mr. Cooper said angrily, reaching towards her, but Myra flung him off. Running around to the tables, she collected the frogs, carrying them close to her chest.
She went to the window evading our now livid teacher and tossing the animals outside as tenderly as she could manage.
The other students began to talk simultaneously as I watched dumbfounded, unable to move.
“What a freak.”
“She’s like a fucking animal.”
There were other things that people said. Much worse things.
Myra didn’t seem to notice, her attention was on the frogs outside, who remained unmoving. She closed her eyes, moving back and forth, vibrating. From her mouth erupted the hum, the chant, louder, and more powerful than what I had ever heard from her before.
I could understand a single word, run. The frogs began jumping, hopping into the distance, away from the school. When they were out of sight, she stopped, and looked at me, exhausted. A half-smile formed on her face, before her eyes clouded over as she looked into the distance, to something I could not see or comprehend. She began screaming again, this time more violently and frantic.
“Come on young lady, that’s enough now.” Mr. Cooper went over to her, grabbing her by the arm, and pulling her outside of the classroom. “Class stay in your seats till I get back.”
I decided to go to Myra’s house after school to check on her. Everyone in our grade was talking about the incident, gossiping about the crazy frog girl. I held my tongue as my friends chatted about it during lunch. As I turned onto Myra’s street an ambulance went past me, spraying water onto my shirt and soaking my hair.
As I approached Myra’s house I could see that the door was open, her father was there talking to a thin older woman with short curly hair. He looked shaken and I could hear his deep voice even from the street, “When her friend Freddy committed suicide we talked to her about it over and over again, we never thought that she would try to take her own life.”
“No parent does.” The woman said, cupping her hand on his shoulder.
“She was talking nonsense when we got home…” Her father sobbed, “How she could hear the animals, the trees, the water. We should have done something, but we thought...”
“It’s true!” I yelled barging inside, “Myra can hear them. She’s not crazy.” I felt my voice tremble as both the woman and Myra’s dad looked at me. “Is Myra okay? Where is she?” I felt like I might break down into tears.
The woman stepped in front of me. “She’s okay. Myra’s parents stopped her before she could do any permanent damage.” Turning to Myra’s Dad, “Let me handle this Joe, you should go to the hospital and be your wife and daughter. I’ll follow along shortly.”
Joe gave her a grateful nod, before grabbing his car keys and rushing out of the house. The woman came outside to where I was, closing the door behind her, as Myra’s Dad drove away. She sat down on the front steps and patted the space next to her, indicating for me to sit beside her, I did.
“My name is Dr. Konrad, and you must be Daniel. Myra’s told me a little bit about you.”
I nodded my head, unsure of what to say.
Dr. Konrad crossed her long thin legs, “I’m Myra’s therapist, I’ve been seeing her for a while. I know about the language of all things.”
“You do?” I blinked.
“Yes.” She gave a sympathetic look, “I started seeing Myra after Freddy Gilmore killed himself, he was my patient as well. He could also understand it.”
“I didn’t know anyone else could.” As I said I realized Freddy must have been the friend that taught Myra.
“More than you think.” Dr. Konrad said, “The government has known that people could understand the language for a while. At first, it was just a small number, still scared the shit out of them though. Those in power tried to suppress it, even destroy those that could decipher it. Turns out they didn’t need to. More and more people, especially kids your age are catching on, beginning to comprehend.” Dr. Konrad looked down at her hands.
“Dr. Konrad, why did Myra try to kill herself, was it because of the frogs? Was it because I didn’t say anything in class?” I felt racked with guilt, ashamed I didn’t stand up for her sooner.
She shook her head, “At first it starts with being able to understand animals, which I suppose could be traumatic if you were to walk by a slaughterhouse. It always leads to more though, soon people begin to hear the sounds of plants, trees, rocks. Freddy told me he could hear the memories of plankton and algae whenever he put gas in his car. The sounds of screaming when his mother was in the garden picking vegetables. It was too much for him, too much for Myra.”
“Maybe if the government, if we, had tried to do better, to understand things, or change things sooner when we realized there was a language connecting everything, we might have been alright, been able to figure out a solution. But now…” Dr. Konrad paused. “I’m afraid now it may be too late, us dinosaurs of old don’t like change, and there are those despite all the evidence that refuse to even acknowledge the language’s existence. We’re looking at a pandemic waiting to happen, a generation of people dying needlessly.”
I didn’t know what to say, but held her gaze, “What will happen to Myra?”
“We have a facility for people like her. There’s no way to turn it off once it’s on, no way back. She’ll have to be hospitalized for the rest of her life.”
“No…” I said in a whimper, “That’s not right, that can’t be right.”
“I’m sorry Daniel.” She took out her card handing it to me, “I am available if you would ever like to talk. I’ll give you the same advice I gave to Myra, try to avoid hearing it, if you can. It’s near impossible, I know. Myra described even attempting to ignore it is like living without breathing.”
I’ve done my best over the years to heed Dr. Konrad’s words. It’s becoming harder to avoid the language of all things, I can feel it around me, pleading and praying, that envelops the empty space. As if it’s begging to be listened to, waiting with an open hand to be acknowledged. When there are wildfires or other natural disasters it becomes especially bad.
And sometimes at night in the dark, I can hear Myra. That low cooing, her strand in that invisible braid connecting everything, all things. Calling for me, waiting for an answer.
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2020.09.15 22:54 throwaway192132134 I ruined a 10 year relationship 9 years ago and ever since, I have done nothing but hurt the person I thought I loved. We just broke up and after looking back at our relationship, I hate myself for being such a piece of shit.
10 years ago I met someone who changed my life. It was my first real relationship and it felt good to spend time with someone who wanted to team up and "beat the world," and all that cute and romantic cheesy shit. Our first date was 19 hours long and every second of it was amazing. All of our friends from both sides loved us and thought we were perfect for each other. We felt the same way. She liked me because I had this air of openness and freedom much akin to being a hippy - I loved everyone because the universe was a fantastic place to be and every human in the universe, and their experiences, was an important piece of life. I was honest and open with her, was interested in everything that she was and would be, and according to her, confident. I loved her because she had her own interests that she was willing to share, she was thoughtful and caring, funny, beautiful, and interested in spending time with me. We fit well together, at least on those metrics.
I was also addicted to porn. At that point, I had been addicted for years because that was "all I thought I could get." I had a couple of short online relationships as well as some cringe attempts at starting relationships in real life so I was pretty discouraged. Porn was a crutch to get through not having any luck. It was a complete secret, of course, as I was good at hiding it after having to deal with roommates for years. By the time I had met my girlfriend I had remade myself to be a lot happier but the crutch of pornography was still there. I had the best of both worlds - someone who wanted to have sex with me and others who wanted to perform sexual acts for my personal gratification whenever and however I chose.
A year into the relationship, I exposed myself in public multiple times and eventually was caught and arrested. I immediately admitted guilt to the charge and went to trial and sat in absolute misery as I felt I had to pay for all of the other times I committed the act as well. I felt I had to throw my life away, or at least not allow my life to be worth anything because, how could it be? I listened to some people who saw the docket for the court session that day talking about my case while I was sitting right next to them. I let them blindly shame me. I sat in loathful silence and drank up every word of seething hatred and disgust for "that creep that preyed on people" because I wanted to hurt that much more. I wanted to pay for all of it at once. I was nearly suicidal but chose to endure everything because self-flagellation by emotionally beating myself into the ground and saying I didn't deserve anything felt like a just punishment for the way I acted towards my victims, my friends and family, and towards the person I loved. I felt I had disappointed everyone I knew even though they weren't aware - hundreds of people who still call me friend to this day do not know what I did, and I hate that at any point they could disown me. Despite coming to pick me up from jail from the initial arrest and after learning of the charge, my girlfriend continued to be there for me. She accepted that I had done something wrong and said that she forgave me because I had to deal with a problem, that she would support me, and that it would be okay. She gave me every bit of support that she could, but I never told her what really happened until years later. Sidenote: I also lied to my parents. I told them it was a fluke and it was a weird situation that got out of control. I couldn't admit guilt to anyone that hadn't already found out, and I was deathly afraid of revealing how truly awful of a human being I thought I was. I was crippled with fear of anyone finding out.
During that time of crippling fear and hatred for myself, I was looking for sexual validation. I couldn't trust my girlfriend's empathy because she loved me. Her opinion and feelings mattered, sure, but it was tainted by her wish to care for me. After being arrested I still poked around on sites like ChatRoulette and crept on people there; some that were interested and some that weren't. I wanted to feel the same sexual attraction and rush that I had before being caught because I couldn't handle a sexual attraction from someone who I had disappointed. I stopped this after a few months, but sexual interest in my partner didn't grow back. I escaped to porn again. We would have sex every once and a while but it was closer to once a month at best. Porn was every day.
A couple of years later, her father passed away. I became her support while she was crippled with her own feelings of depression that lasted more than a year. At this point, even if I was interested in sexual stuff with her, this was not the time. My addiction to porn became stronger because it helped me through a time period in which my girlfriend was emotionally distant.
As time went on and we moved in together and got engaged, the sex dropped off to zero. I guess my justification is that after two years of being engaged, no plans for the wedding had been started and as the joke goes sex is less likely when married anyway. There was always an excuse as to why she never started planning the wedding that she opted to be in charge of planning - where do you even start? should we hire a planner, but they cost too much? I joked with her about it, offered to help, gave some advice, but it never changed. I guess I was turned off by her lack of motivation and of course, turned towards easy access to millions of videos and pictures of willing participants on the internet whenever I wanted sexual gratification. I was getting married regardless of the amount of sexy we were having. More importantly, though, I had gained a significant amount of weight and was less active. I was focusing more on playing video games and eating bad food rather than caring about myself and our relationship. Attempts at sex were made but it didn't feel as good as masturbation could ever feel. I wasn't in shape to perform at all and in one situation I had pulled almost pulled muscle and had to stop. Performance anxiety took over and added to the still crippling (but not as strong) fear that I had disappointed her enough in our relationship. As a result, it was easier to avoid more disappointment by never approaching an opportunity.
At no point did we ever discuss our wants or needs about anything. Not once did I tell her how I felt, nor did she tell me how she felt, but the reality at this point was that we were closer to roommates than romantics. She at one point brought up different love languages and we spoke about it - I was very physical (but not intimate) and she found love based on acts of service. This became a statement of our differences as we neared the bitter end of our time together. If you aren't familiar, read up here: https://cratedwithlove.com/blog/five-love-languages-and-what-they-mean/
Earlier this year we had a discussion with more detail about everything - the arrest that happened at the beginning of our relationship came up, our lack of intimacy, and the lack of desire to change. The pandemic had already hit in some ways so my stress levels were off the charts. She had already lost her job and was sitting at home alone for 8-10 hours a day only for me to come home and ignore her. I was complacent and wanted nothing more than to unwind after a stressful day at work instead of doing something like caring for the other person that I lived with. She would fall asleep and then I would stay up hours longer, sometimes not coming to bed until morning just to catch a quick nap. Sometimes I would fall asleep and she would stay up on the couch instead of coming to bed. We were on our own schedules that never lined up. We talked, we ate dinner, we watched shows together, played video games on occasion, talked about the news, but that was it. We were roommates.
This past week, we finally broke up. Initially, it was a soft "hey I need some space so I can figure things out and get some therapy, etc." She even mentioned couples therapy, so I had the hope that maybe we could work things out together. She went to her mom's place to spend a couple of days with her family and think things through. I told her "if you have to leave me to be happy I understand, your happiness is everything." I do care for her, but the reality is, I've spent the last week feeling suicidal, messaging her and apologizing for everything and pleading with her if there was a chance to get back together at some point in the future - unless my arrest and my lack of action were too much to bear. She asked me why I loved her and my answer was what I felt to be true. I asked her the same question. Her answer, in comparison, made me feel like mine was so shallow and empty and it made me feel like shit - like I never knew her in the first place. I felt like I had dishonored her by being nothing but a shallow person who just wanted a companion instead of being in a relationship with someone I loved for who they were. The breakup became final and she was going to start collecting her things. In between bouts of crying and punching myself in the head out of self-hating rage for being such a failure, I told her that when she comes to get her stuff, I did not want to be there.
In the middle of the night, I packed up all of her stuff because of a frantic grieving episode. She initially wanted to meet and to talk in person while packing things but after I had mentioned that I had packed up her things, she felt I was being passive-aggressive and that I resented her for her decision to leave me. She asked that I not be present when she was packing as she didn't want to deal with me while her family was helping. I apologized and said that the reason I did it was not to be passive-aggressive, but I just needed something to do so that I would stop hating the truth that I had been a failure. I had not even thought about it being passive-aggressive, I was just dealing with the feeling of 9 years of inadequacy and disappointment all at once.
As of today, some of the items have been taken - some items I was not expecting, and others that I was hoping would be gone. Every time I look at the remaining pile of items I have a dreadful feeling of immense sadness and disappointment in myself for failing to act in a way that was meaningful towards the person I thought I loved. I hate looking at what is going away, what I am losing in my life. I hate that it feels like a huge part of me is dying, and I wonder if it's losing the woman I loved or if it's the thought of losing a nameless companion that made me feel not alone. Many shelves are empty, bookcases are empty, the computer I had built for her is now turned off and the desk is no longer covered with her little knick-knacks. The house is silent unless I make a noise, and the only noises I am making right now are noises of grief and sorrow. Everywhere I look I get this paralyzing feeling of loss and the need to punish myself for failing to be better to her.
The lease on our apartment was only achievable because she was present when signing it, otherwise, my criminal record would not allow me to live in the apartment we are in. For the first time in my life, I now have to make a budget to see if I am going to be forced out of my living arrangement and have to deal with the fallout of being rejected in just finding a place to live. It may even be the case that when I renew the lease without her that I am no longer allowed to stay anyway. The paralyzing fear of what I was afraid of years ago is coming back: What if I lose my job? What if I lose my home? I have no family in the area so who can I count on to help? I've shaken off so many friends over the years simply because we lost touch as I found new friends that were mutual to myself and my girlfriend. Who is left? Or am I already alone? This anxiety pales in comparison to my victim's fear of my actions so many years ago, but my contrition comes through feeling as they did - confusion and loneliness.
Last night I laid down and scrolled back through my Facebook messenger app because I wanted to see how my attitudes had changed over the years, to see who I had talked to and what friends I had been subconsciously ignoring. What I found and focused on, however, were a couple of chats between me and other women that I feel were not entirely platonic. Nothing that turned too serious, and there were only a few (3), but looking back to nearly a decade ago while I was in a relationship with someone I should have been paying attention to, they look inappropriate. I feel I can justify most of the conversations through the lens of my hippy-esque attitude at the time, but it doesn't make it right. All of those types of conversations started before the arrest and definitely stopped around the same time that I stopped seeking sexual and emotional validation from strangers on the internet, but the conversations were inappropriate in the sense that I used to have a crush on one of the women. In our conversation, I was actively trying to hang out with her before she moved. Not once did I mention my girlfriend. I cannot remember if I mentioned her when we were talking in person but the remainder of the message logs just talk about them moving away and me being glad to see them one last time before they went. Maybe it was platonic, but since all of my thoughts are pushed towards punishing myself for being a disappointment, maybe it was me shifting my emotional interests away from my significant other. All I know is that these conversations cover about a 6 month period from before to after the arrest. Looking back on this makes me feel horrified that I dishonored the one I thought I loved by being emotionally unfaithful. There was a large gap of no odd conversations or wrongdoing, but years later I attended a trade show conference where I connected with someone. I specifically didn't mention my girlfriend to this person either until the end of the conference. We didn't do anything physical - we just spent time at a couple of bars and with other people, but we also talked alone a couple of times. We talked about life and feelings and interests, but we also flirted. I could sense their interest in me and I let it play out a little bit because it made me feel wanted. I eventually said that I had a girlfriend because I started to feel guilty as the situation did start to get serious, but the feeling of being wanted by a new person was an incredibly empowering feeling: "I am wanted by someone who has no way of knowing that I flashed people in the past, and if I said yes right now I could go back to their hotel and have sex with them." I kept in touch with that person for a short while after the trade show but then we broke off contact, which was the right thing to do... but the infidelity was already there. I went home to my then-fiancee and did nothing to make her feel as wanted as a complete stranger had made me feel. I never told her because of how ashamed I am of it.
So, 9 years ago I ruined my 10 year-long relationship. In a sudden tidal wave of depression and panic she left me because for years, we never talked about our intimacy problems, about my secret fidelity issues, and about my addiction issues. I didn't want to talk about them. I wanted to have a normal, happy relationship with all the white picket fence bullshit. Even now we are talking, and we deeply care for each other, but I wonder if I'm doing it out of self-preservation in hopes that I magically end up in a relationship that I can be complacent in again, or If I am doing it out of love and affection for an actual person that I want to succeed in life. I can't tell the difference because right now it is more important for me to punish myself for my failings and disappointments. I have lost 15 pounds in the past week because I have pretty much stopped eating except what I can down just out of necessity. I delight in the sense that I am wasting away. I have cried now more than any other time in my life and I deserve to be sad and alone. I ruined the majority of someone's early adult life by being a selfish, loveless, creep.
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