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Wisps Posts Tagged as 'Family'

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Mother arrested 'after flying her 12-year-old daughter to GA to have sex with a man

Mother sex-trafficked 5-year-old daughter to man who murdered her

I had a favorite cousin who birthed two adorable boys. The eldest (4) liked to rummage through her clothes and dress-up. He had a quick brain and he made us laugh. OMG! He might be gay, like me. I was my cousin's favorite thing. I felt no such thing. I felt sorry for him, like my mother does for me.

Father was elated, mother was ecstatic but the boy with the dress kept complaining his ass hurt. The parents exclaimed that it was a quirk but I couldn't help but think the worst. I brought up my sexual abuse concerns to her but she stamped them ludicrous. I respected their privacy. I couldn't prove something I did not see. I never brought it up again.

FFW two years later. I'm hanging out with my cousin-in-law, getting plastered, trolling strip bars and listening to music in his car. Between trolls we would call the wife and make excuses, sit in his car, and listen to "Jeremy" by Pearl Jam, sometimes, on repetition. We were fucked up. Before our final round and the last "Jeremy," he asked me to listen intently to the song because he had something to confess.

The reason his son was confused about his gender was because daddy dresses his son like a girl and fucks him. My head started to spin. Why did he presume I would understand? We went to our last strip club and I found an excuse to depart. Cis men will tell gays perverted crap because they think we are all perverted. What?!

I went home and told. I got death threats. My mother got involved. It ended my relationship with my cousin, she got divorced and the kid grew into a cis toxic military male bastard that hates us all. I don't blame him. 29-Dec-2021

Tags: $, Abuse, Children, Confusion, Family, Father, Gay, Myself, Parenting, Sex, Treatment, Violence, Youth

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01-Jan-2022


 

The only time we saw a cop in the ghetto is if we called them, my mother or sister were dating them or I was being sexually abused. West Side Reality. 26-Dec-2021

Tags: Community, Cultural, Family, Fraud, History, Latin, Life, Police, Politics, Puerto Rican, Reality

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26-Dec-2021


 

The idea of sharing neighborly grief and sentimentality with food is a common tradition that our family never followed. Dished food was constantly being brought to our home with gestures of warmth and or greetings yet remained untasted. At funeral gatherings my mother would throw out the stranger's food and keep only the family's. When the strangers inquired about their food my mother showed them the empty dishes. "It was so good the people gobbled it up." There was always an excuse. She didn't like what they said, they appeared unclean, smelled, had cats, were old, of another race or white. Mrs. Brady would have no chance at delivering "other food" to our mouths.

Our mother turned eating out into shopping for a restaurant. She wanted to make sure it was clean and comfortable and that more than two people were eating there. She didn't want to appear uncool.

Before she died, my stepfather's mother made some of his favorite dishes. We drove to pick them up. They were neatly packed in containers and my stepfather was excited to bring the food home and share it with us but mother smelled something foul in the car on our way home. I smelled nothing. Is it coming from those containers?! Throw them out! Those containers are not coming inside my house! They're poison. Throw them out or you're not getting back in the car! My stepdad deflated as he dumped the last taste of home and I felt so bad for him. It's his mother's food and he's the only one obligated to eat it and if he wants to relive a fond memory, he should goddam be able to. Mother! Go into another room while he gobbles it down. I'll clean it up. I told her that and she yells at me "yeah, but you don't know these people." (Spells and shit.)

I've never held to her philosophy and as an adult enjoyed much food by hospitable strangers and neighbors and obviously never died. My mother was afraid someone else would usurp her talent. 01-May-2021

Tags: Family, Food, Mental Health, Mother, Myself, Women In Charge

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01-May-2021


 

I was under 25 living a fantasy gay lifestyle with my perfect partner in Brooklyn. I lived 20 blocks from my mother and my newly appointed stepfather. It was like living in a colorized version of "I Love Lucy." Yes, I was as corny as all of you once.

One evening.

Mother calls hysterical. We had to come over. We were just there. What happened?

Rewind: my stepfather wanted to be more seductive for my mother so he called us for advice. My Russian advised him to get her flowers, lay them out, get a thong and strip for her. I agreed it might be fun for her. It was all the craze and my stepdad had the body.

FF: a family dinner was the event where he decided to put sexy daddy in motion. I was flabbergasted but I didn't want to embarrass him and or hear the wrath of mom. I watched as he stripped to a thong and ran her out into the kitchen. He automatically proceeded to dance and strip for my lover and I. Dude, my lover was getting into it. I slithered into the kitchen before my stepdaddy lap dance, checked on mom and she was furious. "That fuckin' maricon." Men don't do that shit. I'm humiliated. I apologized and told her it was my fault and that I thought it would be cute. I didn't know he was going to take it so seriously. She softened, laughed and whispered that "he used to be a bouncer at gay clubs. That's where he learnt the moves. (I didn't know bouncers had to bounce.) He says he never did anyone there but after today I'm not so sure." My mother accepted it as a joke, stepfather got dressed, we ate hardy, laughed ridiculously and went home.

The call.

Mother: Something's wrong with your stepfather, he's beating himself up,"como un loco." I think it's an army thing.

I was what? I returned to mother's and he was indeed beating himself to a pulp. He was punching himself and body slamming his head against the walls. We restrained my bloody step and stored him in a room away from my mother.

Step: your mother... (he couldn't speak)

Me: why were you punching yourself dad?

Step: (crying) because she pushed all my buttons and I wanted to hit her. I made a promise to myself that I would never hit another woman, ever, so instead of punching her, I punched myself.

Later.

Mother: pendejo. He really is an idiot isn't he? (She laughs. Ok. I laughed too.) I would rather he hit me and prove that he's a man instead of acting like this. (More laughter.) Your father knew how to corral a woman. I liked that. That's the kind of man I want. Not this. You have some of that too. (Ha!)

I asked he if she got off on it and she said yes. Out of the blue...she admits Osama Bin Laden gave her wet dreams. "There is something about that man. Don't you think?" (I was speechless. Why is she telling me this shit?)

I've taken her to countless hospitals with boyfriend injuries and interceded physically to save her life and she gets off on it? The hurt, the police, the pity, the crying, the worry, the danger, the attention, the fraud, the violence all for a tickle? 05-Mar-2021

Tags: Family, Marriage, Mental Health, Mother, Myself, Puerto Rican, Violence, Women In Charge

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05-Mar-2021


 

I came out to my mother when I was 17 years old and no longer residing in her household. I didn't expect a good reaction so I called her on a public phone and announced it to her. She cried, became quiet and told me she suspected it but that she loved me, no matter what. I didn't have to lie to mother anymore. It was freeing. I visited her a few days later. She had time to absorb and ponder having a gay son. She cried again, I asked why and she said because being gay meant I was destined for a miserable life. That's impossible, it was such an overwhelming feeling to be me. I had to prove her wrong. She asserted conditions for my new identity: no meeting of "my men," I must continue to have a masculine presence, especially around family and don't get sick. I ignored her, introduced her to every one, told as much of the family as I could bear and kept my masculinity in check.

My mother recently confided to me that she used to receive dick pics from my croc daddy in the US mail while I was living with him. I thought, he might have done it as revenge for my unwillingness to absorb giant dick pain and or tricking him into being a gay bottom. When I took him to Gay Pride he cried because he thought I mistook him for one of those. He was straight. His shit was no joke but he was. A child molester was my educator and entrance into the gay world. I also figured my mother and I were even. Her boyfriend tried to brutally rape me. Mother's boyfriend was two years older than me, my croc daddy was 55. Our boyfriends shared the same culture, understood the nuances that make people vulnerable, and always seemed to be creepily plotting something sexual for us. Neither man represented our community. They were perverts sidling up to mommies so they could play with their children. (Now I know why she tried to cut him out of my photo albums.) I understand her comments and I realized her concern. My gay education came from perverts. The community hates itself more than the media loves it. Clicks work for a minute, the families we create are fake and we all die alone. We need less "Boys In The Band" depression and more gay reality awareness so we can come up with better coping mechanisms. Not smile at weirdos taking advantage of us because of politically correct etiquette.

I apologized to my mother. My croc stalked me, stole from us, used me, beat me up, tied me up and raped me. Afterwards, he thought of not releasing me because he was afraid I would kill him. You bet your life! But I had no choice, I begged for my life, stroked the psycho's ego and he loosened one arm while he Soniced out of the apt. I was stalked by my ex, my mother was stalked by her ex and I was stalked by both exes. I spent a lifetime trying to prove mother's sentiment wrong but in the end, she was right.

(Pic of my daddy croak included. Mother destroyed my croak dic picks but y'all can ask mother if she kept her copy.) 26-Oct-2020

Tags: Abuse, Awareness, Environment, Family, Fear, Gay, Heritage, Latin, LGBTQ, Machismo, Men, Mental Health, Mother, Myself, Psychology, Sex, Treatment, Violence

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26-Oct-2020


 

The stereotype we run from is our family. 24-Jun-2020

Tags: Family, Fear, Heritage, History, Hypocrisy, Myself, Stereotype

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24-Jun-2020


 

My grandfather was so devastated by grandmother's cheating and impregnation by the family pastor that when he moved to NY, he became a warlock. He was the most affluent and secured force in the family, with my god fearing mother his apprentice and I a witness. 24-Oct-2019

Tags: Family, Magic, Religion

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24-Oct-2019


 

We're not allowed to complain about getting old. The new adults (any person not our age) are so adamant about excluding themselves from God's given fate that they will extricate you to locations that fossilize the brain until you can't remember Marvel movies. I'm scared, my gayby is a Nazi. 18-Oct-2019

Tags: Aging, Family, Gay, Life

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18-Oct-2019


 

It taught me that war has many voices. 15-Oct-2018
If I needed more information than a program could provide, I read the book. 14-Oct-2018
My cartoons were my respite from reverberations associated with abuse. Still are. 11-Oct-2018
It helped push me out my bubble. 11-Oct-2018
I learned how to tie a necktie for my first job interview by watching JR Ewing tie his own...and I got the job. 10-Oct-2018
I learned I wasn't alone. 10-Oct-2018
I found its world kind. 10-Oct-2018
I travelled. 10-Oct-2018
It informed me that what my mother was doing to us wasn't a punishment but abuse. Thank you Phil (Donahue.) 09-Oct-2018
It's where I met a good mother. Thanks Mrs. Brady. 09-Oct-2018
TV was my mother. 08-Oct-2018

Tags: Abuse, Art, Environment, Family, Freedom, Genius of Art, History, Mother, Support, Survival, TV, World, Youth

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15-Oct-2018


 

I watch horror movies anticipating that they will scare me more than my mother did. No such luck. 07-Oct-2018

Tags: Abuse, Art, Family, Mother

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07-Oct-2018


 

My mother attempted suicide several times. The first time I was taken out of school where my sister was waiting to inform me. I deactivated myself from the world with the possibility that what I loved most in the world could die. Seeing her after the drugs were pumped out of her made the possibilities ugly. I cried non-stop, I caressed her, I kissed her and told her how much I loved her. I held on to my sister as they carted my mother away for further examination and then my sister schooled me on what to tell the authorities about mother's mental health. They would put her in an asylum and us in foster care if we didn't act accordingly. We needed to establish the overdose was an accident and we shouldn't admit that mother displayed any mental instability. Mother knew to lie as did we and she was given therapy recommendation and allowed to return home. My sister and I dedicated several weeks to making mother feel wanted and appreciated because we witnessed a scenario in which she could be taken away from us.

My mother overdosed a few years later but this time it seemed directed at someone. She attempted suicide in my sister's room. The same process occurred. She received much love and attention and we lied to authorities and said it was her first time (going to a different hospital helped.)

The last time, I was a teenager, I came home and found my mother sleeping on my twin bed with pill bottles laid out on my dresser. She left a note blaming me for the sadness in her life. I called the ambulance, my sister and stepfather. I was schooled once again except the rules had changed. They warned me, don't cry, don't tell her you love her, don't fawn over her. She is doing this for attention and as soon as we ignore her the faster she'll get over it. It broke me to see mother suffer but I listened to my elders and they were right, she never did it again. She threatened us with it but she didn't dare try. Another hospital and another pack of lies to authorities and she was home again.

Like my mother, I'm obsessed with death but I would never commit suicide. My mother had a mantra to life,"the worst thing that could happen is death. It happens to all of us. You shouldn't make choices in life because you are afraid to die." I agree.

As sad as the world gets, I will let my timeline play out because I would like to see how it all ends. I am very saddened that we can create such an unbearable environment for a person that they want to leave it. 10-Apr-2018

Tags: Death, Family, Mother, Youth

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10-Apr-2018


 

I figured it out. She called me "the little prince" because I was a dreamer. 19-Jan-2018
Between the ages of 4 and 5, my favorite aunt, baby sister, taught me how to read and write in Spanish. She started with vowel pronunciation and as the night progressed I graduated to reading latin soap comics. I don't remember all the tricks she employed that evening but I am forever grateful.

She always called me her "little prince" and I really don't understand why. 11-Jan-2018

Tags: Family, Words

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19-Jan-2018


 

It was family time at the 7 lakes, I was probably 7 and he appeared under the guise of a free-loving bisexual. Gay enough not to offend my father's masculinity and curious enough that my mother could use him as a plaything. A green-lime banana hammock and muscles sliding off his 50's bod were his cloak as well as a winning personality was his hide. My parents took joy in his flamboyance and invited him into the family drink and party fold. The drinking became heavy, the voices louder and my mother's infatuation embarrassing. Once green-lime banana hammock started grinding on my mother atop a picnic table, I tore myself away and went for a walk in the woods.

In the woods, I ran into 3 of my younger cousins and we moved forward happily exploring freedom from adults. It didn't take long for green-lime banana hammock to breathlessly catch up and another second to chime excitedly how he had something he wanted to show me. His offer was exclusive and did not include the other children. I told them to hold hands and wait diligently while I tended to the commands of an adult.

He kept leading me farther and always 5 steps ahead, having me guess where to go next. He stopped at total desolation and stood branches apart. He told me to come closer which I slowly and dreadfully did. In his hands he massaged what I constituted was the serpent from the Garden of Evil as he begged me to come and touch. My first look at a man's penis and it was a dick monster. I had no idea what he wanted me to do with it so I started walking backwards until running was my only clarity. I made it to the cousins, warning them, as we ran back to the mild serenity of adult family. I was proud of how I handled it and even prouder that we made it unharmed.

Green-lime banana hammock wasn't deterred by my avoidance and turned it into a challenge. He entered the fold and seduced my mother again while the creeps shook my body and the hate strangled the scratch he had bred in my head.

"Time to go," were the best words I heard from any adult that day. Packing was a quick chore and helping an accomplishment. "Goodbye, Mr. Green-Lime Banana Hammock." My parents exchanged numbers and pleasantries with the dick monster amid too many hugs and kisses. He invaded my space to shake my hand but I couldn't react because I was still strangled. My mother broke it with a command to be courteous to this nice man. He won. He got me to touch him. Can we go home now?

We had made it to the car, away from green-lime and I was anxious to get home. My uncle, my sister and myself occupied the back seat while my father drove, my mother by his side. My father had started the motor as green-lime approached my father's window to ask for a ride because his entourage had abandoned him. Fuck. My mother exclaimed that as much as they would love to, there was no room. Yay! Green-lime, quick on his feet with a purpose, suggested that he could take my place and I could sit on his lap, that is if I didn't mind. Holy fuck. In my family, kids have no choices. Mother commanded it and so it was. I realized why in film when we change from human character to a cartoon we are no bigger than an ant. That's how I felt. It was a long ride but at least he was now dressed in shorts and a tank.

The dick monster I had avoided all day had my tiny ass in its clutches and it wasn't going to let go until it was satiated. He held me tight and I was constantly stabbed and ground. Every time there was a bump I took advantage and lifted my ass and kept it in the air but he just squashed me down harder. My mother complained to stop being fidgety and I collapsed into him because my leg muscles couldn't withstand me and the dick monster was too strong. I didn't know what he was doing was sexual. I thought it was some sort of violent revenge for not touching the snake. I know now that he was getting his jollies, probably shot a few and I felt totally incapacitated. I couldn't tell my family that their new best friend was hurting me because they would have expended more punishment and humiliation due to lack of proof but I would have been grateful if just one family member had noticed. 17-Jan-2018

Tags: Banana Hammock, Family, Society, Violence

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17-Jan-2018


 

I was raised by Amazons. The only way a man could usurp power was by detonating elsewhere, avoiding, colliding, humiliating and repaying. Those who wielded unwarranted conviction were made love to but never exalted. The many men, including myself, would willingly provide all income, overtime pay and proof of such. We received an allowance that enabled travel and nourishment but not anything that would celebrate non-family enjoyment. The Amazons guarded and manipulated the money, the children and the home. The more money, the bigger the celebration, the less, the bigger the wrath. There was no man to look up to because there was always an Amazon to kick his feet off the pedestal. Imagine my surprise when I enlisted in reality and women declared inequality. 20-Dec-2017

Tags: Family, Women

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20-Dec-2017