Sunday Confessions: Sex

  I have been waiting a while to write about this. Sex... 

  I won't lie, I enjoy sex. But that hasn't always been the case. It took me until I was in my 30's to realize sex was even enjoyable. 

  I used to honestly think something was wrong with me because I just couldn't get "into it".  I couldn't get excited. Couldn't get turned on. I sincerely hope that isn't TMI. 

  I guess it took meeting the right person who I "clicked" with. Or better yet, someone that knew what the hell he was doing. 

Now, sex inspires poetry. So I'm going to bore you with one I wrote. Here it is, it's titled "Beautiful Climax". 

"His hands are on my body 

My skin is scorching hot 

I run my fingers through his hair 

And beg him not to stop 

He softly kisses my wet lips 

Making  his way to my neck 

My heart starts to race 

Wondering where he'll go next

His breath is hot and fevered 

My body arches close 

I wrap my legs around his waist 

I want him and he knows 

He pulls my arms above my head 

Puts his hand around my wrists 

He leans his head down to my ear 

And whispers that I am his 

I answer with yes..yes..yes.. 

Take me now my love, please 

He kisses my aching breasts 

And settles between my knees 

Then he makes love to me 

With his hands, his mouth, his lips

His head is between my thighs 

His hands are gripping my hips 

I am in agony and I love it 

I don't want him to ever stop 

Once I reach the beautiful climax 

He lays down and pulls me on top

We make magic together 

It's amazing how he turns me on

I collapse in his arms exhausted 

And together  we greet the dawn" 

That pretty much says how I feel about sex. Sex is awesome. May I even say, it's Spock-tacular? 

  

Inside My Pain: Part 2

  The decision to move in with my father at the age of 12, was my own. My mom had 8 children all together , including me. We struggled every day. Many times we went without electric, running water and even food. She did her best. I can not even imagine how hard it was for her. School was hell. It was literally like a living hell. I was tortured. Although I was a great student, I still dreaded school every day. I was picked on relentlessly. Other kids took for granted things I wish I had. Even simple things like deodorant and clean clothes.   

  My father had only his wife and their child. When he suddenly showed up out of the blue and showed an interest in me, I saw a way out. I hate myself for being such a greedy, selfish child and abandoning my mom and siblings for what I thought would be a better life. But I was desperate. I thought my father loved me... Many people ask why I didn't tell someone or go back to my mom. The answer: I was ashamed. I felt it was what I deserved after choosing my father over a mom who had loved me, protected me and took care of me all of my life. That is the thought process of a 12 year old child. My mom only knew my father drank on occasion. She had no idea he was a monster. Here is part 2 of Inside My Pain.... 

 

My step mother was jealous of me. 

Now, I didn't realize that at the time. There is just no way a child's mind could comprehend or understand that. 

She viewed me as competition for my father's love and womanly affection. I see that now. As an adult, I'm able to grasp things I just never could as a young girl. 

She knew things I didn't and never even tried to protect me from what was to come. She could've. She just didn't care about me enough to do it. I wasn't her child. I was the spawn of another woman and her demonic husband. 

She wanted me gone. She gloried in my pain and suffering. She would come to me and discuss my father as if I were a grown woman. Telling me things that would forever scar my young mind. 

My father didn't view me as his daughter. To him, I was a conquest. A prize to be broken and conquered. One that would be won at any cost. Even the cost of my childhood. The cost of my innocence. The cost of my trust. The cost of my faith in men. 

 

And it was a price I alone would have to pay for the rest of my life. 

My tears and pain never once stopped my father from abusing me. Even when I attempted to take my own life at the age of 14, he convinced everyone that I was "messed up in the head". As I recovered in the hospital, my father never once visited me. My teacher from school did. The night I came home, he slapped me and raped me. 

  

He would always promise me that if I didn't tell, he'd take me back to my mom.. And I believed him. When I realized he had no intention of returning me, he told me my mom wouldn't want me because I was a nasty whore. 

It took me nearly four years of unimaginable abuse at the hands of my father before I finally confided in my teacher that my father was raping me. 

She alerted authorities and I was whisked away by my loving uncle, back to the arms of my mom. Who welcomed me back home without any hesitation. 

For many years, I was terrified I'd somehow end up being an evil monster like my father. I didn't want to be him. I couldn't be him. I wanted to be better. I couldn't allow his abuse to turn me into a person like him. So I didn't. I share my story because I hope it will help others. Maybe even you... 

Inside My Pain

My father divorced my mother when she was 5 months pregnant with me. I only saw him a few times throughout my young life. At the age of 12, I went to live with him, my step mother and their 1 year old daughter. 

After only being there a few days, 

I realized he was an abusive drunk. I was not even permitted to eat when I was hungry, and would get hit when I did. I was allowed to eat when he told me I could. 

Keep in mind, I was a straight A student in school. Honor roll, Beta Club, Honor Society, all that. The worst thing I ever did was leave my light on at night after falling asleep reading a book. But my father always found a reason to beat me. It was if he took delight, even pleasure, in it. 

I remember being held against the wall, my feet dangling off the ground, by his hand around my neck. Why? Because I had not washed the dishes well enough. I still vividly recall the horrid smell of his breath as he told me he couldn't stand the sight of me. 

I found no love from my step mother, either. She couldn't bear to even be in the same room with me. I began to despise myself. I couldn't understand why they hated me so much. It had to be because I was a horrible child. I would soon learn why they hated me. I will save that for another blog post. Another glimpse inside my pain...

Sunday Confessions: Hope

  Hope. There have been moments in my life that I've had no hope at all. I just wanted to give up and throw in the towel. Life sucked. I didn't see it ever getting any better. 

  It felt like I was in a boxing match with life and it was beating the shit out of me. I kept waiting for the referee to ring the bell to stop the fight before life finally killed me, but the ref was no where to be found. 

  I wanted to lay there and just take the beating, since I had no hope of things ever changing. I didn't believe I deserved any better than what I was getting. 

  Maybe I had talked smack about life before the match and he heard about it. Maybe he was pissed at me for being ungrateful for the chances he'd given me in the past. Maybe he decided that this time, he was either going to beat some sense into me, or kill me trying. 

  Maybe this time, he was going to bring me to my knees and make me see that things could only go up from here. 

  I was at my lowest. I wanted to die. I waited for life to take the final blow. I was ready. I closed my eyes and prepared myself. All hope was lost. I had nothing to keep fighting for. I braced myself for the punch. 

  But he didn't do it. He leaned down and kissed my forehead and whispered "Don't give up..keep fighting..there's still hope left."  

  I left the ring bruised and battered. I could barely stand. I could hardly function. I walked outside and felt the sun shining on my face. The warm, soothing sun. Oh, how I had missed that sun. 

  Suddenly, I could feel my heart beating again. I could feel it trying to put the shattered pieces back together. 

 Maybe there was hope left for me after all. 

  

Sunday Confessions:Forget

  What comes to mind when you think of the word forget? As for me, many things come to mind. 

  The one that stands out the most, is the fact that I've gotten to that age where I forget everything. I literally forgot my own age. Seriously. I had to count back from the year I was born. That's sad, I know.

   I couldn't remember if I was 37 going on 38, or if I was going to be turning 37 on my next birthday. 

   I'm not sure if it's a combination of motherhood and age, or just my age. 

   It seems like the instant I hit 35, my memory ran away. It not only ran away, it hasn't returned since. 

   I'm always forgetting what day of the week it is. I use my calendar on my iPod more than I do anything else. 

   I left my house once and forgot my shoes. That's even more sad than forgetting my age. What makes it even worse, I didn't even notice for ten minutes. I had to walk all way back with my head hung in shame to retrieve them. 

   I guess you can blame that on growing up in the South. Growing up, we only wore shoes when we went to school or out somewhere. 

   To top off this beautiful platter of memory loss, my boyfriend has the worst memory around. He is no help whatsoever. He expects me to remember stuff for him! 

   It's almost like he's forgotten that I forget EVERYTHING. 

   I'm constantly checking burners to make sure I turned them off only minutes before. I can never remember. Ever. 

   I'm worried one day I'll forget my own name. If I do, someone please remind me that it's Chasity. 

  And now I have forgotten where I was going with this post... 

Dear Mom.

Dear Mom, 

 I'm writing this because some things are just so hard to say. 

When ever I try to speak, my tears always get in the way. 

I'm really not sure where to even start. 

I guess I should begin by saying, I love you with all of my heart. 

The thought of not having you.. it rips me in two. 

I'm just not ready to let go of you. 

But that seems so selfish for me to even say. 

Because I can't imagine how you must feel day to day. 

Every time I hear you cry, it's like a part of me is dying inside. 

I nearly choke on my anguish, and I want to run and hide. 

I don't want to face what I know is surely to come in time. 

I don't want to even picture you gone from my life. 

If I could somehow take away the pain you feel every day, 

I'd do it in an instant.. I would make it all go away. 

If I could heal you with my love, I'd do that too. 

If I could take away your fears, I'd take them all from you. 

Every day I wonder, is this it? Is the day my life will change? 

That's always in my mind, and it's driving me insane. 

But this shouldn't be all about me, it should be about you. 

I just never know  what to say, I don't know what to do. 

I want to lay my head on your chest, and hear you say it's all right. 

I want to scream and yell for you to not give up! To please fight! 

I can't even fully express how badly I hurt for you all the time. 

Even now I am blinded by tears, it seems like I'm always crying. 

I don't know how you do it, mom. You are the strongest woman I know. 

Through out all of this, you've hardly let your fear show. 

I can't begin to understand the decisions you've been forced to make. 

I can't comprehend the hurt you must feel, the fear or the pain. 

But what I do know, is that you mean the world to me. 

And without you here, my heart will feel empty. 

I'm sorry mom, for all the stupid things I said as a kid. 

I'm sorry for any pain I ever caused, any bad thing I ever did. 

But mostly, I'm sorry I can't help you now.. I can't change all this. 

I can't stop time, turn it back, or erase it all with a wish. 

I just want you to know one last thing, before I bring this to an end. 

You are not just a mother to me, you're also my best friend. 

I hope you never feel alone, because you are not. 

Even hundreds of miles away, I'm right there.. In your heart. 

 

                             Love, 

                           Chasity 

Sunday Confessions: Without

Without.. That's a word that could take this post anywhere.

 It could lead to funny conversations, like the time I left home without my shoes and didn't even notice for nearly ten minutes. 

It could lead to deep conversations, like how I'd be lost without my family. 

But instead, I'm going to write about me without caffeine. 

How can I best describe me without caffeine? Hmmm. Let me put it this way. I'm a bitch. A total bitch. I'm grumpy. Moody. I'll rip your head off over the least little thing. 

Let's say you breath too loudly around me. I will look so deeply into your eyes, with an evil look, and curse your very ancestors for creating you. I will practically breath fire at you. Burning you to cinders. 

Ok, I'm getting a little carried away. But you get my point. Me without caffeine is not a pretty picture. 

I'm hooked. I'm an addict. A caffeine junkie. Is there rehab for caffeine addictions? No? Good! Because I don't want to be cured! 

Stripper, my boyfriend,  often harasses me over my caffeine addiction. My reply to him, "Caffeine is my ONLY weakness! I don't smoke, don't drink, don't do drugs! I could be addicted to much worse stuff! Let me enjoy this, dammit!" 

Rise, all my fellow caffeine addicts! Let's rejoice! Then let's enjoy a tall glass of whatever your caffeine preference is. Mine is Coca Cola. 

Excuse me while I go open a cold can of happiness.