The Child in the Shadows

If you wanted to find this boy, you had to go on the hunt. He was quiet, shy and did not do fuss or drama. If there was a crisis he would pitch in, He wasn’t a slacker. but there’d better not be trouble, or he’d just run and hide.
He had a soft, quiet voice, you would never hear sing or yell.
He learned to excel at whatever dad asked, so he didn’t hear blame or get the belt. He moved quickly and never rebelled.
He preferred a book in the corner or maybe some soft music on. He went the trade route in school, just so he’d be done sooner. He was a fixit or a long haul delivery driver, so he had little to say when he dealt with the public. He preferred solo to working in a crew at all.
He was shy with the girls and the few he went near were all found in his church. They came into his arms , first as a friend.
He became a parent and ended up a better one than their mother. He was patient and kind, but a stern man when it came to discipline. He took his babies to the doctors every time it was needed.
His wife was his tormentor, according to him. Yet when it came to custody, he didn’t want a fuss. So he shared them with her. Whether or not that saw to their protection.
Then he found another wife, but he went from Barbie doll to Miko this time. He didn’t want anymore drama in his home and marriage.
If he had a bad mood, he went in to his heart and mind. He lifted it up to God. I don’t know where he came from, but he sure seemed like an adopted child, if he hadn’t looked like a blond version of his two brothers, I’d have said he was for sure. No one else in his family was quite like him.

She Was the Gift of God!!?

She was the prodigy. And out of a group of backwater conservatives, it must have been like a miracle. Neither of her parents had been above grade 8 in small town schools. None of her older siblings could get beyond grade 10. Especially poignant was the fact that when she had gone to kindergarten, she couldn’t speak a word of English!
So was it family pressure or the early giggles of her class mates when she spoke that compelled her? Maybe both…
She was a fastidious child. Pretty close to OCD, if not. Though never diagnosed with that? She was moody as well and years later was told she was prone to depression.
She played the violin well, or so they said, though in early days it sounded worse than cats in heat in a bag fighting. 😛 So her siblings weren’t in awe of her performance.
Her parents allowed her out of most of the household chores. She took to her bed every month, when she had a visit from aunt flo. For days!! I mean, get used to it??
Every other child needed to work outside the house, to bring money in, but not her. Yet she cost them more with her lessons than all the rest put together. She never put a dime toward the house or her lessons.
And she was a diva. Boy could she scream! And her older sister has scars to this day on her from their many tussles.
That fastidious girl? She became a tease, more than a virgin. She would remain a virgin till her wedding night, no matter what! Well the what was she may have been wearing white on her big day around 30 years of age, but if you hadn’t seen the slip under it, you would have sworn it was grey. Not that they ever got into her vagina though… Poor guys got tested! Let’s just leave it there. Maybe she was practicing domme arts of chastity? You can have me, but you can’t touch me!
She hated her parents for sending her for the lessons, which confused her siblings. If she didn’t want them, a few would have happily had some lesson. Why didn’t she quit? But she did say she loved her teachers… so maybe that was it?
She hardly made any friends at school and wasn’t making fans of her siblings either. She was a snot! The best of the best at school, at her lessons, at church… Like I said, she may have been OCD. And she wore those prim collars, like she was already a school marm when she was @12.
Boy could she rage! And where it was that this mood struck her didn’t matter at all. The look in her eye was that of a murderer. Whether it was a sibling, her “friend”, her bf or husband, or even her children when she was older.
And yes, she did become violent. She actually did try to kill someone. Her family covered it up, so she could remain the good girl. Even at the cost of destroying someone else’s life by their lying. Leaving her kids in danger, so she could be seen as perfect still.
You have to wonder, just what it was that flipped her? IDK, post partum? PMS? Maybe the wine she drank by the bottle, even when she was pregnant and breastfeeding?
Those violin lessons? All she ever ended up doing with them was training to be what she would never succeed at, never becoming more than a tutor. Safe or not, she taught kids private lessons in her own home. Just imagine if she went off on one of them and her family couldn’t cover it up?
I wonder what would have happened if they had put even half of that into another child?

Little Mama

By the time she was 11, it was like she had become the wife and mother of the house, She knew why she should. After all, it was told to her often enough. She had babies to raise, whether or not they were out of her own womb. It’s not that she didn’t care… but really? When was she supposed to be a child? It’s not like she could complain though. It needed to be done, and if she didn’t… who would? So she did.
Till dad crept into her bed drunk, though they tried to say that was a delusion. Who did she think she was, Lot’s Daughter? She got sadder, angrier, less cooperative,..till dad kicked her out when she was 15. There was another daughter who could take over till the new wife was instated. Apparently she was replaceable. They could manage without her.
She fell into a tailspin. Trying to replace the babies and Lot with every man who looked at her. Her soul missed them, but it also missed the childhood she hadn’t been allowed to finish. She lived a confused version of those needs as a result.
Just over 20, she got married to a Lot version and had her first child. But the baby fought for place with her inner child and her husband wasn’t a copy of Lot, quite like she had thought he was. So they separated. Lot kept intruding on her relationships. Her son had so many candidates for a dad, except for his own. He almost had a sibling too, till she had a second term abortion. Which eventually caused an hysterectomy.
She couldn’t keep a job, a man and her health was a mess. Her son was passed from pillar to post. Just so long as he rarely went to granddad’s. She had given her childhood to that man, but he had nothing to return. They barely spoke…
The Lot substitute search almost cost her her son, when she tried to live in another country for a year. The school called the police, child services and she was told to come home or lose him. She came, but with rage in her heart. Ok she was in the house, but he barely saw her. Probably less than if she had visited from the other land.
When her husband died, she wailed and gnashed her teeth, like a grieving widow. Even though she hadn’t seen him in a decade. And neither had his child. Though husband had tried to keep in touch and had managed to raise his girlfriend’s children as his own. He was by all accounts a good step dad. Just not Lot. She attended his funeral dressed in widow’s weeds, with her son hanging onto her arm. Son wanted to know who this man was, mama was wailing over. She held court over the girlfriend he had been living with for almost as long as she had been gone.
She became involved with a cult and played out most of the rules, and rites. Except for the Lot search. She couldn’t seem to keep her thighs together. Whether or not she could give them a child.
When her son was 14, she kicked him out of the house. He wasn’t turning into the mini Lot she had thought he would become. And he was too much trouble for someone who wanted to keep their inner child, play the saint, plus do a Lot search. She called it tough love.
She thought she was doing the right thing for her health, but she took so many vitamins, she actually managed to poison herself. She was also barely eating. Yet she carried extra pounds on her frame. Nobody could figure out how she stayed alive. But it’s not like she drank or did drugs. So what could they do? Even supposing they were looking that close.
To this day, she carries on somehow. With barely a breath for change. Poor little mama.

The Screw Up Kid

He was the kind who was a good boy till you kept insisting he wasn’t. Then he thought, aww fuck! and he reached for his first cigarette. So you caught him smoking and took him out behind the barn.
He’d get a look in his eye and swear you’d never catch him smoke a cigarette again.
Things would calm down a bit, between the young and older man. Tempers flare and fume then fizzle for a while…
Then you needed a whipping post, so off he’d go again to be what you needed. Good son that he was for his dad. He tried a beer. One of yours went missing one day. He had no way of knowing that you counted them. Off you chased him thru the fields and finally caught him. To the barn again.
Tempers flared and gone again.
Time passed and he saw you needed a release again. So he called a friend and got together to play a game of daring do. Who could get brought home in the back of his dad’s pal the cop’s car the fastest? You guessed it, the screw up kid struck again. Well if there was one thing you didn’t do to dad, it was call down the wrong kind of attention on his name! The screw up kid was getting the hang of this.
Back to the barn for a few lessons in being a good son and things were quiet for a while again.
With all that was going on in the home, dad needed more releases so the screw up kid manned up and took the hit. He got caught with his hands on a girl where no other man’s had been. The screw up kid saw that dad’s eyes were green in a way they had never been. But it was back to the barn again.
Awhile later, dad was getting ornery again, so the screwup kid went looking for trouble again. He found it in a gang. They hung out together and used drugs, till dad caught a whiff. His cop friend told him who hung out with his boy when he was working. This time though, instead of getting the same attention the screw ups had always caused before, the cop was told to take the wastrel off the farm. He had no use for such a bad kid. The screw up kid just screamed. I did mention dad’s name before, didn’t I?
He was carted off to a jail cell “for his own good” and dad took to fathering his next son.
The screw up kid went off to live the screw up life that used to get him his dad’s attention, but where dad was no where to be found.
He smoked, he drank, he shtupped anything that moved near him and did drugs till he landed in a coma for six months. He barely lived thru his screw up life. But even though dad heard, he didn’t take his son back home again. So he went to lands where fists were needed, cowboys and teamsters reigned, and lived the screw up life on the government’s dime as well. The screw up kid seemed not to care whether he lived or died.
In and out of jail and hospital, living the screwed up life, till a judge told him he was sick of seeing him. One more time and he could stay behind bars, the judge said.
So he went back to farm and hammers, till he got back into dad’s good graces again. He left the screwed up life for the most part and became his dad’s son again. Except he knew if his dad took him behind the barn again, it wouldn’t be his hind end that was blistering!
Boy was the moon a-changing!

We Saw Him Coming Up

It was ignored.
Every time he acted as he did and someone caught him at it, it was ignored.
They caught him stealing their panties and gave him a swat. They knew what he did with them, so they never asked for them back. I mean, would you?? He blushed and made false promises and of course, never kept them. But nothing changed. He kept stealing panties.
He kept looking up skirts. He had such shiny shoes you could eat off them. And he had a long handled small mirror he saved up for for months. He so loved the mini skirt phase! But only when the tip was unintentional. He took late and early walks around the neighbourhood so he could see the ladies in their deshabille, or even better, showering. After saving up for months, he finally had a small camera. Then he learned how to develop the film. When instant cameras came along, he was in heaven. No waiting. His dad had more than one chat about how he shouldn’t be peeking, but again he made false promises.
He learned how to swim and dive well, so he could be a life guard and swim coach. He needed no excuse for hanging around and now he could touch the women too. So he would cop a feel whenever he could. Blush and apologize when he had to.
He loved taking public transportation. Buses, trains…When most people were complaining, he was in his glory. He could walk thru the crowds and stand in breathing distance of a woman and rub up against her. No one could say for sure if it was necessary. He wasn’t a klutz!
It’s not like the literature wasn’t available after all. Some would say he was shy, and that was normal. Some would say he was exploring as boys do, and that was normal. But somewhere along the way, his discomfort went from where he could barely tolerate polite society to where he was imposing his need on them. Where he went from being a boy who might have been saved, taught. To a predator.
Some would think it was about self gratification. That he did these things to masturbate afterwards. But that was rarely the case. It was like the deed was the orgasm.
When he did masturbate, it was to blood and guts, to snuff porn. And not the fake kind either. He got boot leg copies of real crime videos. That’s when it all came together for him. When he saw what had been itching at his brain all along. One day soon, the murderer would be him.
But before that day, he began to build the sham life. If it wouldn’t hide him, it might change the harsh mind of the judge at sentencing. He can’t be all bad, right? He has a wife and kids. He has a job. He goes to church… But, don’t they all?

making a nest

It never failed. Every time the two of them got together, E & L would argue and at times had to be pulled apart. They both wanted J. J wanted neither of them, especially after they kept fighting over him. He didn’t like the drama at all. But nothing J said got this thru to the two women. Things would settle down for a few weeks, then they roared at each other again. J started marking his calender. Yep hormones. He threw up his hands and walked away from the whole thing. Bleeding women, literally!.
You would think it would be two men fighting over the woman in heat, but no. These women were true to type. J spent all of college hiding from E & L. He wasn’t ready to be a father yet, and surely not with them as the baby mama!
The fights got more and more violent when they saw J was around less. They thought their posturing would attract his attention. Make him think they loved him more if they won the fight. They couldn’t grasp that J was truly repulsed by their behaviour. Especially when he figured out that they were wanting to breed.
Meanwhile, J had his eyes on another woman. Apparently she had a different cycle, because M never competed with E & L. She was barely aware they existed.
J liked it better that way. E & L also weren’t that interested in M because she wasn’t in heat when they were.
Despite J’s lack of interest, E & L were storing the things they would need for when they finally got ahold of J. J made dang sure he was never caught near them alone. And just to be safe, he made sure M wasn’t either in case they were faking their lack of interest in her. J just prayed that they set eyes on a better breeder. Funny how his lack of interest seemed to be working against him. But nobody was going to make him be a dad before he was ready!
The day came when he graduated, and he practically ran out the door. And out of town too for that matter. E & L wailed and dressed in black for a year. He would have laughed, but his teeth were still chattering over his close call.

competition and aggression between women
scarcity principle…
The scarcity principle is the very same principle that salespeople use routinely to increase the purchasing interest of potential consumers (“We have one more left in the warehouse…someone else expressed interest in this house earlier today, so we’d better submit the highest offer you can afford as soon as possible…Call now—the remarkable ‘thneed’ is available only while supplies last…”).** So, in the context of a bar that is closing, when our options are scarce, what is available becomes more attractive.…
Females compete for resources needed to survive and reproduce, and for preferred mates. Although female aggression takes diverse forms, under most circumstances relatively low-risk competitive strategies are favoured, most probably due to constraints of offspring production and care
.adult females may require safe nest sites or other limited resources for reproduction , whereas adult males often compete for mating opportunities with a limited number of sexually receptive females
For both sexes, living in groups intensifies competition for limited resources, such that selection favours traits that enhance competitive ability. Similar competitive traits, including displays and ornaments, as well as weaponry and aggression, are found in both sexes to varying degrees, and competition for resources is mediated by social mechanisms that operate both within and between groups.
female competitive interactions include a broad repertoire of aggressive strategies, tailored to social conditions at both population and individual levels..
In each case, the intensity of aggression is correlated with population density, and aggressive behaviour can be interpreted as a strategy to reduce competition for space and resources. Aggressive behaviour often involves ‘ganging up’ by females or coalitionary attacks, presumably to minimize risk of retaliation or injury.

game theory…
So the fitness of an individual organism can’t be measured in isolation; rather it has to be evaluated in the context of the full population in which it lives.

female rivalry…
Men demonstrate and promote their physical abilities and social status (masculine traits favored by women). Women tend to promote their youth and physical attractiveness (feminine traits favored by men). Men try to derogate their rivals by disparaging their economic and physical strength, while women criticize the age, appearance and character of their opponents.…
Women are more competitive, more risk-taking, and more socially dominant, if they are affected by high levels of sex hormones (both estradiol and testosterone). Surprisingly, the hormone that plays the clearest role in female social competition, and in feminine lust, is not an estrogen, but an androgen – testosterone.…
hormones surge just before ovulation,
Female sex drive may actually increase as a woman’s sex hormones and fertility decrease,
“By 40, a woman’s testosterone levels will be about half the level they were at 25,”

bleeding ears

I come to you to hear about the world, cuzz I am told you as a woman are the story teller of the people. I hear you are a great listener, madam. Would you like to hear me out?

first comes the mother
I would love to hear your story,but there are babies to nurse, ill to tend to, injured to bandage and old and little ones to supervise. I would otherwise! Would you excuse me please?

then comes the crone
I’m sure I’ve heard it before but probably have forgotten. I’m also sure I don’t want to hear it again. I haven’t much time left, you know.

then comes the whore
I would if you paid me. Then my time is yours. Otherwise, all I ask is you tell me a tale that will better my knowledge for my clientele.

last comes the virgin
Unless it is innocent and full of ideals, I care not to hear it. You look like a pervert when you approach this young a girl!

I come to you to hear about the world, cuzz I am told we have much in common, good sirrah. I hear you are a good listener. Would you like to hear me out?

first comes the father
I would but there are not enough hours in the day, and my honey-do list is long. Why I barely have time to hear out my own children. Unless of course you are one?

then comes the misfit
I would, but unless it speaks about the end days or a rival group where I can get all steamed up and preach on the corner, why would I? My head is far too full of voices already today.

then comes the rebel thug
I would, but would rather argue or fight you. Why waste good words no one hears when we could practice for the zombie apocalypse, a gang or race war, or just pretend we want to wrestle, when we’re covering up our play?

last comes the monk
I would, but I’ve been trying to reach my gods all day and no one is answering. And I have all these tests and trials I must do before my life ends. Or I won’t reach heaven and we all know where lies the other way.

I sat down and cried for all were busy, or had a bad case of bleeding ears.

crocodile tears (the crone)

Everybody came to her for advice and succour. She held them in her flabby, short arms and her old skin caught and held their tears until she weighed enough to submerge in her pond again.
She heard tales of sorrow and fear, of marital trouble and sexual strife, of fertility anxst and new baby blues with equal aplomb. They thought she was a kind old lady, an elder of the village.
What they didn’t know would fill a book. But this is what it boiled down to…
She was a horrid gossip! She was smart enough not to let the villagers hear her regurgitation of their intimacies. Of how she mocked their feelings and the tears it took for her to sink deeper into her favourite waters.
They didn’t know that she often masturbated after their visits, or invited her lover to enjoy her energies with her.
They had no clue that she had a group of ladies who were called to visit whenever she had gathered a mock show together for their guffaws and hoots.
Ladies she knew could never get the tale or context right enough that they could pass the story along. So her secret was safe with them.
It was kept from all but the village shaman who was getting angrier with each outrageous act of hers.
The shaman finally broke and cast a spell on her so her true personality showed every time she came near the villagers.
Her hair turned into stringy worms. Her skin became scaly and hard. Her arms no longer comforted, they repulsed at each touch.
The crone soon noticed the effects of the spell and knew who could have done this. She went to the shaman and asked what she had done to offend and how she could fix this. When she was told, she sat down and thought it thru.
She tempered her show by not including the villagers’ names or anything that would identify them. Her hair returned to it’s finery. She stopped inviting her lover over after the sexual tales and her skin became more supple again. Her words actually comforted and her ears listened rather than gathering tales for gossip. And her arms started to comfort again.
The shaman was pleased with her progress and warned her that this lesson could be taught again if she ever lost the point of it.
She bowed her head and went back to her pond to ruminate about what her behavour could have cost her. And she became what the villagers had always thought she was, an elder with a good heart.