Jie Jie Sola-Binna sat at her desk, in her illegally built wooden house in the countryside outside the village of Cou-Poux (neck poop) where she lived. She had had it built by her son Tony and his friends, from the left over monies of her dead husband Jackie. It was a modest house, but well put together mostly, though the tin roof made it insufferable during the summer months. She wrung her big old hands together while staring at her computer screen, the arthritis taking a toll on her hands the more she aged. She was close to 70 years old now and had on occasion thoughts of death. She knew that that day was coming and she wondered about her existence, had she lived a life worth living? Hell, no! Of course not. The fact that she hadn’t already killed herself or one of her two children when they were young had always amazed her. Now, of course, she was glad that she hadn’t, she loved her grand kids who lived next store, or at least the youngest one who still lived there. It gave her something to do, something to ease the pain of her own painful thoughts. Life had seemed like that: just a series of painful memories or realities in progress. She alone knew that she suffered from BPD (borderline personality disorder) but she had pretty much control of that today – or so she thought. Nothing was perfect or forever.
She had never really considered it. It was something that she’d just decided to do. One day Jane Snitly bought the auburn hair coloring treatment, went home, read the instructions on the box, locked herself up in the bathroom and one hour later it was done. She’d become a redhead at twenty.
On top of it all, she looked good as a redhead. It wasn’t the flashy bright red of some, but more classy, like Katherine Hepburn in the 50’s and 60’s. And so it was, she’d chosen this look seemingly out of the blue – thinking it gave her an aura of the beautiful actress. And yet, even while she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t ignore the pressing images that assaulted her there…
It was a gorgeous Buick of light blue sitting outside on the street under the front yard maple tree – to keep under the shade. It was a hot summer day in the valley. There’d been a woman sitting in the passenger seat. She was very pretty, quite well dressed and she’d come with her Dad who was now in the house. He was having a conversation with Jane and Jenny’s Mother. The two little blond girls were 9 and 12, Jane was the youngest; Jenny the oldest. The two little girls were intrigued with the woman but didn’t dare speak to her. They’d been playing jacks in the driveway.
Blue curling up smoke from the woman’s cigarette went into the tree itself – seemingly dancing with the leaves – and Jane wondered who she was: this silent friend of her Father’s. Jenny felt it too and the girls left long lingering looks in her direction while halfheartedly spinning and catching. Voices were suddenly raised within the house and Jane and Jenny knew what that meant: another argument between their Mother and Father. They’d known something was up as their Father had ordered them to ‘stay outside and play’ upon his arrival and that he’d ‘wanted to speak to their Mother alone.’ Hearing those words had created a stir in their young bellies, but they had no clue as to why.
The wailing coming from within was low at first: a kind of moaning. Was that human? They both wondered while looking simultaneously at the house where their Father was now exiting. He didn’t say anything to them except that he loved them and would talk to them soon.
Jenny being older asked,”Daddy, where are you going? Why is Mamma crying like that?” She asked while chewing on her fingernail. Her Father stopped and seemed to reconsider something. The woman in the car was watching intently.
“Honey, Daddy is going to go and live somewhere else for a while…. but I’ll come back soon and we’ll do something fun, okay?” This was a lie, of course yet he wanted to give them a warm fuzzy of some kind. A lie was better than nothing. And perhaps he’d made himself believe that his words were true. Jenny didn’t say anything and he got into the car and started up the engine.
The wailing from within the house went up a notch and Jane suddenly found herself standing in front of the running engine, standing in front of the car where her Father sat with a strange & beautiful woman. Jane knew what it all meant. He was leaving. Leaving their Mother; leaving them. Leaving with the woman with auburn hair. Her Father stepped out of the car and asked, “What is it Janie?” But a paralysis overtook the little girl and no words would come. “Honey?… Okay, I’ve gotta go now sweetie – move out of the way.” And just like that she did what was asked of her. Her Father drove away. The woman gave her a sad smile and a slight wave of a manicured hand.
“Don’t go Daddy,” she whispered as the car drove out of sight. She’d forgotten to breath for a moment and felt slightly dizzy. Jenny had run inside to see her Mother. Janie stood there for a long time. Watching, waiting, trying to figure out what had just happened. Her tears and the low moaning were suddenly hers. Her Father had left her. Had left her Mom and sister. Only a Father Ghost would remain now….
**** Explanatory Note:
Almost sixty years later, Jane Snitly (her name has been changed to protect her identity) would die of Emphysema at the age of 68. According to a certain psychiatrist, she chose this hair color because unconsciously she chose to be the woman that her Father left with. That means she wanted to be the woman he chose to be with. (To be the woman that her Father loved). At the same time, she also chose to be the Mother that her Father left. The woman scorned and angry. Probably too, that both of these identities co-existed subconsciously within.
That being the case, the two inner personalities or roles were at constant battle with one another; that the Mistress hated the Mother and that the Mother within hated the Mistress…The Father reassures and helps in developing a sense of identity to children in a family. When a Father abandons his children or is absent, the child will constantly search out that Father image – an image that he or she needs in order to construct their identity. The child (and later on adult) will do this subconsciously, of course and unknowingly will set up repetitive failures with people, people that the unconscious mind will perceive as a potential Father image. This is called the Father Ghost. Many of us have a Father Ghost, though we don’t realize it. He hoovers there constantly and is played out within the people around us, especially family members or other potential father-type images. Because it failed with their own father’s, and is an unconscious functioning, it will fail time and time again. No matter if you are a perfect Father figure, the scorned child will find fault with you somehow. Until the child becomes consciously aware of what is happening (and learns to make a conscious effort to change) he or she will continue to destroy potential Father figures. It is something imprinted within and a vicious circle…Some people will find other ways of creating identity with the pathology of the Father Ghost haunting them. Some will choose to work in psychology, health services and even religion…Anything that will give them a strong sense of belonging and reassurance…
*** ‘A noted sociologist, Dr. David Popenoe, is one of the pioneers of the relatively young field of research into fathers and fatherhood. “Fathers are far more than just ‘second adults’ in the home,” he says. “Involved fathers bring positive benefits to their children that no other person is as likely to bring.” Fathers have a direct impact on the well-being of their children. It is important for professionals working with fathers— especially in the difficult, emotionally charged arena in which child protective services (CPS) caseworkers operate—to have a working understanding of the literature that addresses this impact.
Such knowledge will help make the case for why the most effective CPS case plans will involve fathers. This chapter lays out the connection between fathers and child outcomes, including cognitive ability, educational achievement, psychological well-being, and social behavior. The chapter also underscores the impact of the father and mother’s relationship on the well-being of their children….
THE IMPACT OF THE MOTHER-FATHER RELATIONSHIP ON CHILD OUTCOMES One of the most important influences a father can have on his child is indirect—fathers influence their children in large part through the quality of their relationship with the mother of their children. A father who has a good relationship with the mother of their children is more likely to be involved and to spend time with their children and to have children who are psychologically and emotionally healthier. Similarly, a mother who feels affirmed by her children’s father and who enjoys the benefits of a happy relationship is more likely to be a better mother. Indeed, the quality of the relationship affects the parenting behavior of both parents. They are more responsive, affectionate, and confident with their infants; more self-controlled in dealing with defiant toddlers; and better confidants for teenagers seeking advice and emotional support. One of the most important benefits of a positive relationship between mother and father, and a benefit directly related to the objectives of the CPS caseworker, is the behavior it models for children.
Fathers who treat the mothers of their children with respect and deal with conflict within the relationship in an adult and appropriate manner are more likely to have boys who understand how they are to treat women and who The Importance of Fathers in the Healthy Development of Children are less likely to act in an aggressive fashion toward females. Girls with involved, respectful fathers see how they should expect men to treat them and are less likely to become involved in violent or unhealthy relationships. In contrast, research has shown that husbands who display anger, show contempt for, or who stonewall their wives (i.e., “the silent treatment”) are more likely to have children who are anxious, withdrawn, or antisocial.
THE IMPACT OF FATHERS ON COGNITIVE ABILITY AND EDUCATIONAL ACHIEVEMENT Children with involved, caring fathers have better educational outcomes. A number of studies suggest that fathers who are involved, nurturing, and playful with their infants have children with higher IQ’s, as well as better linguistic and cognitive capacities.Toddlers with involved fathers go on to start school with higher levels of academic readiness. They are more patient and can handle the stresses and frustrations associated with schooling more readily than children with less involved fathers.
The influence of a father’s involvement on academic achievement extends into adolescence and young adulthood. Numerous studies find that an active and nurturing style of fathering is associated with better verbal skills, intellectual functioning, and academic achievement among adolescents. For instance, a 2001 U.S. Department of Education study found that highly involved biological fathers had children who were 43 percent more likely than other children to earn mostly As and 33 percent less likely than other children to repeat a grade.
THE IMPACT OF FATHERS ON PSYCHOLOGICAL WELL-BEING AND SOCIAL BEHAVIOR Even from birth, children who have an involved father are more likely to be emotionally secure, be confident to explore their surroundings, and, as they grow older, have better social connections with peers. These children also are less likely to get in trouble at home, school, or in the neighborhood.13 Infants who receive high levels of affection from their fathers (e.g., babies whose fathers respond quickly to their cries and who The Link Between Marriage and Fatherhood Caring, involved fathers exist outside of marriage. They are more likely, however, to be found in the context of marriage. There are numerous reasons for this, not the least of which being the legal and social norms associated with marriage that connect a father to the family unit. That may also explain, in part, why research consistently shows that the married mother-and-father family is a better environment for raising children than the cohabitating (living together) mother-and-father family.
It is interesting to note that, contrary to stereotypes about low-income, unmarried parents, a significant majority—more than 8 in 10—of urban, low-income fathers and mothers are in a romantic relationship when their children are born.
Most of these couples expect that they will get married. One study found that more than 80 percent expected they would get married or live together. However, only 11 percent of these couples had actually married a year later.
Why they do not marry is an interesting question open to conjecture. However, as Dr. Wade Horn, Assistant Secretary for Children and Families at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services has pointed out, it may be because these couples receive very little encouragement to marry from the health and social services professionals with whom they come in contact.
Fathers and Their Impact on Children’s Well-being play together) are more securely attached; that is, they can explore their environment comfortably when a parent is nearby and can readily accept comfort from their parent after a brief separation. A number of studies suggest they also are more sociable and popular with other children throughout early childhood.
The way fathers play with their children also has an important impact on a child’s emotional and social development. Fathers spend a much higher percentage of their one-on-one interaction with infants and preschoolers in stimulating, playful activity than do mothers. From these interactions, children learn how to regulate their feelings and behavior. Roughhousing with dad, for example, can teach children how to deal with aggressive impulses and physical contact without losing control of their emotions.19 Generally speaking, fathers also tend to promote independence and an orientation to the outside world. Fathers often push achievement while mothers stress nurturing, both of which are important to healthy development. As a result, children who grow up with involved fathers are more comfortable exploring the world around them and more likely to exhibit self control and pro-social behavior.
One study of school-aged children found that children with good relationships with their fathers were less likely to experience depression, to exhibit disruptive behavior, or to lie and were more likely to exhibit pro-social behavior. This same study found that boys with involved fathers had fewer school behavior problems and that girls had stronger self esteem.
In addition, numerous studies have found that children who live with their fathers are more likely to have good physical and emotional health, to achieve academically, and to avoid drugs, violence, and delinquent behavior. In short, fathers have a powerful and positive impact upon the development and health of children. A caseworker who understands the important contributions fathers make to their children’s development and how to effectively involve fathers in the case planning process will find additional and valuable allies in the mission to create a permanent and safe environment for children.’
Lily Bean – (Part 2) by matt carlson
The children had been manic that day, so had she. They’d laughed and sang : giggling like crazy! Such a fun day at the San Francisco Wharf last March. They’d eaten fried fish and chips, sodas and cotten candy. They’s walked along the water (Lily more slowly due to her increasing weight) and watched the seals play on the rocks down below. The boat trip to Alcatraz so scarey too – and beautiful. Now it seemed so long ago.
Patsie Bean, 14 her overweight daughter was still at home, the spitting image of a younger Amie Winehouse but without the drug problems. She was a sensitive girl, an artist. Open to the world, but only on her termes. She was reclusive in nature, an introvert most of the time and tried as best she could to deal with the world. Her new bedroom at Creek Haven in Fresno California was a protected space, her ‘away space’. she loved stealing away Snickers bars and Gummy Bears in her secret drawer of delights.
Her skinny, pot smoking younger brother Bernie was in Juvenile Hall. He was 17 going on 30. Already a Father to two little girls who lived with their mother hidden away in Dinuba. He hadn’t met them yet, hadn’t told his own Mother about it either. He felt shame. Adding to the growing list of problems, his stay in Juvenile Hall wasn’t all wine and roses. He’d been picked up for stealing a second car and was paying the price. Plus he had had marajuana on him when the police arrested him.
Lily sat at her small table in the den, munching on a Gummy Bears (her favorite along with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups) while looking out the window towards the courtyard. She scratched her left arm while watching a young mother play with her daughter. It was a special moment for them and while observing the two was thrown back again into her past, when raising her young children had been fun. It wasn’t the case anymore, aside from Patsie of course. Patsie was her rock. So solid that girl. They’d developped a close relationship, much more like two best friends than daughter and mother.
She ran her fingers through her brown hair and remembered her very short ex-husband Bill with his wavey brown hair; he too had been a part of that little family once upon a time. They had grown apart, wanting different things. He had suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder – this had created an enormous division between them as well. She had sincerely tried to help him up to a certain point, but to no avail. His being almost dwarf-like had pleased her, at times she could imagine he was her little boy as they walked the aisles of the grocery store. But he had been all man in bed, his endowment below the waist making up for any short stature elsewhere. ..
Besides being alone suited her best. She liked being single. She could just fart in bed when she wanted, instead of leaving the room with a pretext and having to pass gas down the hallway. That and nobody stole her candy or raided her prized refrigerator. It was a european brand called SuperCOLD 5000 and she had gone through a lot of trouble to get it here in California. That was partly thanks to her husband who still sold appliances and had contacts over there. She smiled to herself while looking dreamily at her beloved grey shiney colored refrigerator and its unusual cucumber shaped door handle…With a sigh she breifly remembered Bill’s below the waist attributes…
Suddenly, she briskly pulled a package of hair color out of her purse: was she really gonna become a blond? Ted had often asked her to do it – now she would do it just for herself. Now that ‘Tampon Ted’ was out of her emotional picture, she could be herself again. She still missed his long blond curls; loved playing with it, brushing it. He had wanted something more from her, something that she was unable to give. Now she wanted to answer that eternal question : ‘Do blonds really have more fun?’ by herself. Patsie would of course, be her hair assistant.
“It looks great on you! I can’t believe it,” claimed her daughter. “You look soooo different!” Her eyes bugged out of her head, her mom really did look terrific.
“Really? You’re not just saying that are you?” Asked Lily. She looked in the mirror, squinted hard at her reflection in the mirror. She kind of liked it, kind of didn’t. But she was going for different and different it was! She smiled at herself, “You’re right it does look pretty good.” Now if only I could get rid of these 20 extra pounds on my ass! They laughed in unison. Mother and daughter where a bit chunky, both with consequential behinds – very popular with black men….
She stood up and looked at herself fully in the hallway dressing mirror, Patsie standing next to her, twin-like, one blond, one dark haired. They laughed together at their image. These little moments were what life was all about.
BE HERE (& Life At Le Pin Pastèque)
by mATT cARLSON
May 19th, 2014. Approximately day 3,328 at Le Pin Pastèque (the watermelon pine tree) in the south of France.
It was a blustery day: the wind rattled so much that even the screws safely secured in wooden posts trembled. Branches bended & leaves sang. Squirrels and birds huddled safely in their nests; cats in their country hotels slept, dogs too on their masters or mistresses beds. Outside hanging on the home made wall of a wooden veranda – a small square mirror. It had been rescued from the trash. Tiny red tiles framed it – though a few were missing. It went “bang, bang” and then “scrape, scrape” : a dance of wind & an old mirror.
A large grey barrel sat on the dirt nearby pushed up against the wall beneath the mirror. “Gloup, gloup, gloup,” went drops of rain into the barrel. The wind had freed the drops from their pine needle prison on the plastic roof. There were always a lot of pine needles on that roof.
The barrel didn’t mind more drops joining the party, it just sat there full of water. As a matter of fact, the barrel didn’t think at all: it was only a container – left there in that exact spot to collect rain water. But it was steadfast sitting and a comforting sight. The ensemble : an outside bathroom of sorts. There was an old iron brasserie stem too (next to the barrel) used as a small table, though the marble had been broken long ago, with enough room to put a glass and a few tooth brushes. Tooth brushes that were now laying in the dirt.
With the television off, I could attend my ears to those sounds around me. An instant ago, they had been mere background noises, but now I could hear them. Joining the mirror dance, the thin door of the laundry room banged too as the machine inside shook my clothes angrily in its ever revolving mouth of plastic and steel. Outside: waves of air rolling, twisting & crashing into inanimate objects. A dog barked in the distance. Someone whistled.
Each time a new noise sounded, Foebbe and Fender (2 white Jack Russel’s) jumped down from the couch and ran to the glass front door. They jumped onto it excitedly with their front paws or in realizing an absence of anything worth discovering, would return to lie down, each in separate corners. “Of course”.
I took a deep breath. Aside from the dogs, I was alone. Of course Truc (Thing) the cat was there and the fish in the pond, but for all practical purposes, I was alone. And I desperately wanted to bring myself back to me! Back to my own thoughts – not those that were once again clamoring at my brain’s doorstep. Those were NOT my thoughts.
It was as if I wanted to read a book, but instead of the first page of a book I’d chosen, there were 1st pages of other books opening at the same time in my mind. Books from other people. “Read this one!” They yelled simultaneously, or almost. Similar to one door opening and suddenly shifting into perspective: another door! Way the fuck too many doors- or books! I took a deep breath and with impatience yelled at the dogs to go and lie down again.
“Breath in deeply,” I told myself. “Count to four.” Wait four seconds. “Exhale,” and I did while still counting “1, 2, 3, 4″… There was no need to be anywhere. I mean, I didn’t have any obligations outside of the house, the animals, taking care of the home front kind of stuff. O had left a couple of months earlier and I had had little news.
Today I would just try and exist. To breath. To listen to the wind. I would not even try to focus on that first page of any book. I would not sing. I would not write. I would not try to figure anything out. I would just sit here with Foebbe and Fender. Together we would listen to the wind.
“Be here,” I said .
Piddy and Diddy had been married now for a number of years and their life together, though complicated, was comfortable financially. Diddy had his Broker’s License and had established himself at Yosemite Lake’s Park as the main real estate agency. Piddy, through the love of her Father, a man who loved to play with money, had given his daughter half a million dollars.
Of course course Piddy’s sister Clara and her Mother Edna were scandalized, calling out injustice. A family war broke out that would never be healed again, even after Diddy had had the biggest of all houses in the park built for Edna, complete with fancy doors and southern white front porch columns making Tara in Gone With The Wind look small in comparison.
“You’re just an evil daughter!” Edna screamed out at Piddy. “Wheeling & dealing behind my back to get at your Father’s money. I should of had that egg ripped out the moment it got fertilized!”
Piddy’s eyes rounded out in surprise then narrowly focused at her Mother. She’d held her tongue too long. She was gonna take down this old croony for good now – she didn’t need her bullshit any more.
“You are the poorest excuse of a Mother – all you think about is yourself. You’re a cold, calculating, old bitch…. it’s a miracle Papa slept with you twice at all. No one else would have! And Papa gave me that money ‘cuz he knew I was the only one smart enough to do anything with it. What did you do to ever help him out? All you’ve ever done for years is get on his back and complain! Bitch about your clothes, bitch about your house – now you’ve got a fucking mansion and you’re still bitching!! Well, you know what? I’m sick of it.”
She picked up her her purse, turned towards the door, paused and then turned back towards her Mother and said, “Just fuck off now and forever. I don’t need anymore of your whining and complaining. You’ve got what you wanted, just get on with your life and leave Papa alone. And me too. I’ve had it.”
And out she went from her Mother’s house on the hill with it’s exquisite decor and fancy garden landscaping, then got into her brand new Porcha 901 and sped off down the road. She was barely 30 years old, rich, brazen and free from her Mother once and for all. Today she had lots to do: houses to sell, rentals and she had just been elected President of the Home Owners Association of the park. There were weeds to be pulled out there – too many old gezers with their narrow minded ideas. She loved a good fight and was ready for them!
Edna, in the meanwhile sat down in her beautiful kitchen with all the latest modern appliances. She and her husband Bill had been separated for many years, but they still saw each other on ocassion. Their two daughters were the connecting force, otherwise they would’ve chosen to not see one another, although, this was a quandry for her and her Mormon religion. She still loved him but could do without him. He was always getting involved in some some ‘cock- a – mamie’ scam in order to make money. He had already lost millions several times!….And he was not a practicing Mormon either. Her body was a temple, so she didn’t drink or put unhealthy things in it, while Bill was like a fish consuming alcohol like it was water.
And now this final betrayal, giving all that money to Piddy! Such an ungrateful child…She pursed her lips and without thinking ground her teeth together too, her left leg began tapping all by itself. Passing the living room mirror, she looked at herself, a slight woman, quite thin, 5 feet, 5 inches tall with a roundish formed black dyed permenant sitting high on her head to make her look taller. Her clothes expensive and exotic looking, but still she had aged considerably. At 60 the wrinkles were taking over. She decide she would make a hair appointment for the afternoon, get a pedicure. That would help her think about something else other than the selfish daughter of hers’.
Fresno Times N° 8
Piddy and Diddy by Matthew Carlson
Piddy and Diddy were a match made in Heaven and Hell. Piddy was 20 and Diddy was 40. Piddy was an almost perfect look alike of Barbara Streisand, except she had long dark black hair, almost blue. Her tits were better than Barbara’s too (large, round and uplifted naturally) and her nose shorter. She hated it when people told her “Oh my, you look just like Barbara Steisand!” Mostly because of the nose issue; she had always been sensitive about her nose. She liked to listen to Barabara sing however. Piddy was like a race horse, moving fast and furious. She was a business woman too (taught by her millionaire Dad) and didn’t take any crap from anyone, including her heavy drinking husband. She knew how to bust his balls (she’d practised on her own Father over the years, & he was even taller than Diddy)…
Diddy was too tall; a big guy of 6 feet four and a half inches, with long slender legs & a pot belly. You could have fit a couple of babies in there, to be honest. His graying hair was plastered backwards partially hiding his bald spot in the back, long greying with black sideburns from a not so long ago Clint Eastwood era. Cowboy boots, cowboy neckties, lizard and alligator belts of like a zillion different colors hung or sat in his closet. He loved country music (Buck Owens and The Buckeroos, Johnny Cash. His favorite song was ‘Ring Of Fire’ and he had a sweet spot for Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynne – they both had great tits too). Eight track tapes oozed out of his glovebox and from under the car seats, filling up the big tired LARGE sized 4X4 four Cherokee jeep. An ex-drinker and a ‘trying to be’ ex-skirt chaser, Diddy was a little bit famous in the mountains where he lived with his new young wife Piddy.
They had met when she was working at Savemart in the Tower District in Fresno. She was quick with her hands, fast with her words and managed everyone, client and fellow employees with ease and assurance. When Diddy first came to her cash register, there was an immediate attraction.
“Well, you are a big strapping man,” she said after he had already complemented her on her cleavage.
“Yes, I am sweetheart and a nice one too,” he smiled his Marlboro smile and gazed at her intently.
“That remains to be seen”, she responded with just enough vinager so he’d know she was not easy, but interested.
“In that case, can I buy you dinner? That way you could see for yourself…” And then with a suave turn of the head he added “You sure are a pretty thing”.
She laughed with a bit of mockery in her eyes. She had heard all the lines before so knew exactle how to handle men. But this older bull had her intrigued and she was aroused.
“That depends,” she said.
“If you have a gold card or not,” she half snickered, but was serious.
He pulled out his wallet and a string of credit cards unfolded in their plastic happy spaces. All gold.
“Well, I guess it’s a date” she said. “I get off at seven”. She smiled her sexy Barbara Streisand smile….
Paris Times (Chapter 3) A Kitchen Encounter by Matthew Carlson
Brandon Smerque sat at his computer on the top & second floor of his small bedroom, which also happened to be inside a famous castle known as La Reine Blanche, one of the oldest buildings in Paris. His political writings and research had taken over and he spent his days looking for that small piece of information that would put the fitting ribbon on yet one more chapter. But it had become some kind of fool’s game because one chapter led to another and then another. Suddenly, or so it seemed, a few years had passed and he was still an illegal alien with no job. Still taking care of Patches. Granted he had a place to live, but there was no true investment in that, and life with Patches had gone down hill along with her disintegrating physical abilities. First the crutches, then the walker; now a chair.
Their brief love affair had been only that, brief. That he still enjoyed the late evening titty show, while he helped her undress, her luscious large breasts ripe for the picking, if he wanted them. But he didn’t. It only led to him becoming another tentacle to do this and then to do that: a never ending errand boy on a leash. It drove him crazy to think that his gilded cage had slowly wrapped its’ arms around him and it was only his writing that had saved him. Emotionally, that is. But to what end?
Butterfly had arrived early one morning at the castle to take care of her client, Patches. She was black, tall and skinny with an afro (she had had it cut on her 21st birthday party a few days earlier after having mixed too much vodka and kalua), but regularly put on long hair extentions for variety. Variety was the spice of her life.
Lesbian, feminine and with a generous outgoing personality, she was liked by everyone and loved too. She always brought with her wherever she went, some kind of bright light or energy. Though she could be very distracted if she had more than one thing to do and someone wanted to talk to her. She loved talking! But it wasn’t a good idea when she was working because all kinds of things could happen. The first thing she would do upon arriving was to plug in her new Iphone. She always had at least one conversation in progress (usually more) whether social networks or a chat or by texting. She knew alot of people.
On this particular morning, she was cutting up some 100% health food figues from Costa Rica into a bowl of soja yogurt, when Brandon came downstairs into the kitchen. It was early and he was not expecting her there. He wore a tight t-shirt and paisley boxer shorts.
“Oh hey,” said Brandon.
“Hello Brandon,” she smiled genuinly happy to see him. Too her eyes took in the vision of Brandon still sleepy but a bit aroused apparently. Though she preferred women, she could appreciate a good looking man or men. She had had boyfriends too. Sex with them was quite different than with women. It was better for her with women, they were so sensual and wanted to please. Men a bit too selfish, though she still enjoyed a good poking now and then. But she wanted a long distance bike rider, not just a quick hike to the neighborhood mini-mart.
“How’s it going?” asked Brandon checking her out. Her clothes were very tight, showing every curve and angle. Her blond extensions went down to her butt crack in the back, hidden through her dance tights was a pretty tatoo of a butterfly circa 18th birthday party. And again a mixing of alcohols. She would never learn, she thought sometimes.
“I’m good. How are you?” They chatted thus for a while and the sauce had somehow taken between them. For a long time the energy that each had sensed in the other had risen to the top, so to speak.The good news: Patches was still asleep.
One thing led to another and Brandon jumped on her in a second. Butterfly too was thirsty for love and easily equaled Brandon’s passions with her own. They ended up with Butterfly spread out over Patches’ wheelchair which was located on a silly difficult to access entryway, attached to the kitchen by a small red stairwell.
“Put the break on! My head’s going into the wall,” encouraged Butterfly as she tried to keep her balance. Brandon pulled the lever and the rolling stopped. They continued pounding away and as they both began to feel the explosion of gratification, they plainly heard Patches’ voice from her bedroom, “Butterfly, come & get me! I’ve got to go to the toilet.”
Their intensive moment, of entwining arms, legs, bodies, heads & genital parts spread over a wheelchair, though conclusive, had been disrupted.
“Did you guys finish? I have to go to the toilet!”
Patches’ hearing was still in perfect working order.