Wisps Posts Tagged as 'Father'
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we utilized every modern aspect of bringing up a child. He was my lover's child with an ex-wife. The child was a gift that was supposed to save the marriage. It didn't happen.
I lived in another state when my lover (Pap) and I met. He was traveling temporarily for work when we became acquainted. We dated joyfully for six months before a life ultimatum. Pap's work was ending and he was experiencing difficulty dividing his time between his son and I. He asked me to move 800 miles for his son's sake (whom I never met) to keep the dynamic intact. If he moved with me his relationship with his son would have suffered a hit. He was only five. I didn't want to parent or interfere with his right to do so. I respectfully broke it off. 28-Feb-2019
we killed no fetuses to have him. He was adopted. 08-Feb-2019
We had a gayby once... 07-Feb-2019
The boy who defined my sex was a Jehovah's Witness and my cousin. I was his sex obedient from age 8 to 18 (when he bored of me.) He took my sex while I was asleep as I woke to a dry and cold orgasm.
I gave him a hickey the night before he wed his first 12 year old bride. When I came out to him at 16 he used the moment to remind me that I should never mention having sex with him and his brother (they were straight) and that he had a penchant for children. It was a chilling moment. Five wives under the age of 13, countless children, countless cover-ups from the family and the church and innumerate weddings that my cousins and I forced smiles for. I was a Jehovah's Witness too but I quit because they couldn't cohesively answer "why I couldn't celebrate my birthday."
The monster tired of his wives at the age of 18. The family joke was that they woke up. The reality was that he violently possessed them. He gained sympathy and property of his children and was regarded as a great father because the children seemed overly physically attached to him. He carried them around like monkeys. He was the only one allowed to touch them. The family celebrated every child marriage and birth like it was holy. He was a beloved violent boxer.
When I told my mother, she was flabbergasted. All boys do that. I snitched on the family. Bullshit! Get over it! Family first! Do not discuss this with your sister (the saint?)
My cousin was a teen heartthrob. The mothers gushed, the women flirted and the girls were overcome. He was a Puerto Rican with blue eyes, freckles and red hair that cascaded in the wind. What I saw was the guy from Mad Magazine with a diabolical edge. Women are funny. 06-Feb-2019
When my favorite aunt announced to the family that my father had raped her throughout her early teens, I believed her and granted her support. My sister discarded it as the ravings of an alcoholic and my mother sought to investigate the situation.
Mother asked me...
"why would my aunt continue to hang out with us as a family if she was so perturbed by the incident? She must've enjoyed it then."
"I don't know," I told her. "It's her experience, ask her."
My mother never asked and remained unmoved by the discussion as my aunt's confession became a family joke. It hurts that my amazons couldn't unite with her. 23-Apr-2018
I had to trek to the future to find out that in the past I was a twink, my father a brawling gangster, my mother a mental distortion and my sister a secret strategist. 05-Feb-2018
The first time I saw a gun, I was a toddler, my mother was wielding it to shoot my father. She shot once, almost hitting her baby brother, before being subjugated.
The first time I felt a gun, I was fifteen, it was pressed against my temple and my mother, who was suffering from a breakup, threatened me with leaving home or dying. I was so exhausted by her instability, I chose death. I closed my eyes and waited for the bang but she chose to spread her boyfriend's clothes in the family room, blocking my exit, and start a fire which I proceeded to extinguish.
The first time I held a gun was to steal it from my mother whilst she vented to her older sister, with the idea of returning it to the idiot that thought she could handle it.
I called my father, explained and pleaded with him to take his gift back. If I could bring it to him he would get rid of it. I put it in a paper bag, headed out and traipsed an hour by subway in panic, sweats and paranoia. I shivered at the presence of police but I didn't rest until it was in my father's hands and out of our lives. My father never allowed her to retrieve the gift and it was one of the most sympathetic gestures my father ever extended to me.
I fought my way out of misery, the ghetto, my mother, without the need for a physical weapon or a gang. I think its why my words are so striking. 04-Jan-2018