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Mad Truths, Confessions, Revelations, and Struggles
- Mad Truths, Confessions, Revelations, and Struggles -
Originally written on Sunday, December 17, 2023 (Edited for Content on December 8, 2024)
From the year I quit school, all the way up through my early to mid twenties, I had a habit of... when I was out for long walks to get away from all the troubles and drama at home for a while... staying out for a great deal later than perhaps I should have. Whenever it got towards five in the afternoon or later than that, it became quite a needful thing to call home in order to let everyone there know that I was alright. Otherwise, someone would have probably come out looking for me, and that was often unpleasant for everybody. As phone booths more and more were being phased out in town, it got harder and harder to find a way to call home given that during those years in which I felt compelled out of necessity to do so, I did not have my own cell phone yet. And android phones were still a great many years and years away from existing yet. Out of convenience, I would stop by the middle school I had attended when I was a kid in order to use the phone there, since they had kept a pay phone right next to one of the school's side entrances. My grandmother was usually the person who answered the phone at home, and she got used to hearing from me that I was calling from the middle school. Initially, I tried to do the same thing at the high school... but they were pickier about non students just walking into the school like that, plus in all honesty the high school was a great deal closer to home whereas the middle school bordered the park I always went for my long walks in the most. By the time I might get to the high school, it was easier just to walk home and forego the customary phone call. Old habits died hard, and in 2009 when I was about thirty five years old and actually had my own cell phone by then... I no longer needed to use any phones in places if I was out and about and needed to call home. It was only my grandmother living there, after all, by that year... and aside from visits from my younger brother which were occasional but, indeed, far from frequent, nobody was there who would be worried or concerned about my well being. That was a very depressing thought for me, and truth to tell it weighed heavily upon my heart knowing how lonely my life was during that time, that phase of it. 2009 fell squarely during a period in my life during which I was deep within an eight year depression caused by various tragedies and personal troubles which had affected me deeply and darkly. I went out for long walks a great deal less frequently than I had in years previous, and when I did it was because I desperately needed to attempt to seek out some normalcy in a life grown increasingly abnormal and strange as the years progressed. That, or there was an errand that needed to be accomplished. During the late May of that year, however... it was not needful, to be out on any pressing errands on the day of which I shall presently speak. It was... a need for a feeling of human normalcy, that prompted me to go out on this notable occasion, more than anything else. My whole life, I had felt like an outsider, like the other more than others of my generation typically had. But, I was not one who could be categorized in any of the typical ways. I remember what I was wearing that day when I went out... a pair of blue rayon harem style pants, a long silk blue tunic top with Japanese designs that were covering it, and a pair of black ballet flats with chrome colored metal studs on the tips of them. I had taken to shaving my head completely following the almost total loss of my hair back in the year of my mother's death. And, out of a similar necessity which prompted me to shave my head, I kept both of my eyebrows shaved off just as completely. I no longer looked the same as I once did, but I was alright with the changes to my appearance. It granted me a certain feeling of anonymity which was rare to have in a town where you grew up and lived in for almost your entire life. Only family and relatives might be able to fully recognize me... and this was one of several times in my life where I had reinvented myself. I had a couple of friends in town still, at a couple of stores I shopped at a lot, but for the most part none of the people I used to have meaningful relationships or friendships with were still living in the area any longer. It gave me the dreadful feeling that everyone was moving forward in their lives except for me. I felt stuck in the past, and mentally trapped in more pleasant times that had long since passed. That is to say, I pined for those pleasanter days even though I knew full well they were gone. The town changed as well, becoming a city, and with that change its' population had changed. It was familiar, yet different.
Out of a need for nostalgia, I decided to stop by the middle school to see if anything had changed and I was curious to see if the old pay phone was still there by the side doors any longer, or if they had just finally up and removed it to get more with the times. It was spring... late in the month of May, as I have said... and the day was pleasant to be out and enjoying the weather in. It was just a little past one in the afternoon, and the children were still in school at that hour. I felt just a little bit awkward when I walked up to the doors, and even more so when I tried them and found them to be locked. It seemed that during all the years since last I stopped by there, they had tightened security to this degree. That made me feel sad, because I could recall a time when such a measure was not necessary. The world had changed, and sometimes I honestly did not like what it was becoming. I sighed, and began to walk back towards the track and the sports fields since that was where a path leading into the park was... the same path I had taken to get to the school to start with. “Sometimes, you just have to let the past go.” I told myself very silently in my head, as I walked along. I passed by some children who were being escorted by a teacher towards the nearest sports field, and walking away from them towards the direction of the outer edge of the track was a woman of eighteen years of age. There was nobody running on the track at present, and it seemed strange that this woman was just sitting there by herself. Even stranger that the teacher, for all intents and purposes, seemed to not care or want her even near her. She stopped near to the short stretch between the track's edge and the path into the park, and just sat on the ground with her legs crossed and her head in her hands with her knees on her lap. The typical pose of, actually... a young child who could be bored, depressed, or paying rapt attention to something or someone. She was a lovely woman, to be sure! She had shoulder length black curly hair, grayish blue eyes the same color as my own, and lightest pinkish skin. She had rosy cheeks, a round and angelic looking face with lots of freckles upon it, and a stocky build to her body that told me she was a strong lady. She wore on her face a pair of round glasses with thin black frames, that somehow made her look that much cuter than if she did not have them on. Though I suspected she would look adorable either way, at least to me! She had small but plump lips, a nice butt, nice breasts, and she walked in that sensuous way women walk when they are trying to get a man's attention but in a subtle way. She was wearing a navy blue romper with floral print on it, a pair of navy blue sneakers with white trim and laces, and a pair of short white socks on her feet. She wore, on her right wrist, a royal blue beaded bracelet with big beads. She smelled of a floral perfume, of a type I was unfamiliar with, and it was a lovely scent whatever it was. Once the teacher and all of the students were off doing their thing on the sports field, I walked over to this woman and I took a moment to ask her: “Hey, pretty lady! How come you are all by yourself?” And she looked up at me, sighed, and spoke to me in answer to my question. Her voice was rather high pitched and breathy... and she had a slightly impatient manner to her, as well as an obvious restlessness made manifest by her rocking side to side, even as she sat on the ground. She said: “Oh, hey there! Yeah, I just don't feel like teaching sports today, and I suck at them on a good day as it is. I had my doctor write a letter saying I was too sick to do heavy physical stuff for like a week, so I could take a break from it... and I gave it to the other faculty. It's not true, but it's not a lie either... I could do it if I had to, really, but I don't feel up to it even though I'm not sick. But now I'm bored! I wish I could just skip teaching at all today, but I don't want to lose my job.” I knelt down so I was more at her level, and I said to her quietly, conspiratorially: “Listen... if you want to walk out for the rest of the day, just for today and just this once, we could always just go hang out in the park together and nobody would be the wiser if we did. You could always tell the other faculty you got sick, and had to rush home for the rest of the day. You could even blame it on your doctor, say it was his advice that you take off if you felt sick or got ill.” The woman chuckled a bit, got to her feet, and said to me after that: “That's not a bad idea, actually! The other teachers all think I'm sick so they're avoiding me. I can't drive, by the way. I walk everywhere! I just never bothered to take it up is all it is. I know I'd just get too nervous behind the wheel anyway, and am honestly not fond of the idea of being in traffic.”
“Come on, let's go, let's do it!” she said excitedly... and let me take her by the hand, as we walked into the woods by way of the path. “Just don't tell anybody we did this, though. Like I said, just say that your doctor advised you on it. That way... you won't end up getting fired.” I cautioned her. Then... she smiled in a mischievous way and she told me: “All the other teachers think I'm weird, fancy that! But there's a certain one who always picks on me as if I was one of the kids and she was the class bully... and, I can't totally blame her for it since I'm always trying to talk her into doing stuff to get her in trouble. She's out sick today legitimately, or so everyone swears, unlike me. Oh, if she only knew that I was, pretty much, faking being sick and skipping out just to hang with some guy... she'd be so jealous of me! So don't you worry... no one will ever know that it was you who'd talked me into this. My parents.... raised me to be a good and proper girl, not to take off with strange men, all the usual nonsense. Yet, my father was big on being quick to hit me and he didn't care about what he did to me. So much for protective parents! Go figure, huh? So the way I see it, I couldn't possibly end up meeting someone worse than my father.” She was talking very fast, very nervously, yet she seemed totally calm otherwise. She went on, saying: “Oh, and don't mind me if I talk like super crazy fast sometimes... I've actually got a really, really bad case of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, A.D.H.D. … so my brain is like a kaleidoscope sometimes, and it's super hard for me to stay focused on just one thing for too-too long before I get totally distracted by something else. Oh hey, look! I think I just saw a crow over by those trees... right over there.” and sure enough, the woman was correct, and I'd spotted the black bird where she was pointing, right as soon as she had told me about it. She was a veritable ball of energy in human form, and I found her energy to be quite exciting and fun. Being around her made me feel younger, almost eighteen myself, and for a bit I felt as if I could forget all of my troubles and worries. “So, what's your name?” I asked her, and she told me that her name was Rebecca, though she preferred to be called Becky. She asked me my name in turn and I decided to give her an alias rather than tell her my actual name. “Mine is Jeremiah, but everybody just calls me Jerry for short.” I lied and told her... and she fully accepted it as the truth, with all the trust that women have if they were raised well and taught proper manners. I hated my actual name, and truly in those years I had yet to consider what name I would prefer... so I would often try out different ones to see what they felt like, and it was kind of a hit or miss sort of thing. “Becky is a very pretty name, and it suits you since you are a very, very pretty lady.” I told her, to which she responded: “Thanks, Jerry! You have a nice name too, and it really suits you good also.” I was not sure why or how it would suit me, if I were to be honest about matters, but so long as Becky liked the sound of it then I would be Jerry for her, and be happy to. We stopped walking for a bit when Becky bent over to pick up some wildflowers off to the side of the path, and as I bent down to have a look at the flowers with her I took a chance and did actually put a hand on her buttocks, though not lewdly just gently and lightly. Testing the waters... so to speak. The material of her romper, was very soft, and her butt felt nice beneath that and the panties she had on underneath it. She did not so much as say a word about it, and I took that to mean she was okay with me doing that. “Those are very pretty flowers you found there, Becky!” I exclaimed... and she gave me one to hold unto, telling me that one was just for me. We got back to walking after that, and the very same hand I had just had upon her rump was now once more holding hers. “You act exactly like my last boyfriend.” she told me, mentioning what I had done at last, and then adding: “I actually asked him why once, and he told me I've got a nice ass that's good for feeling. He'd often embarrass me in public as he constantly would grab my ass even when it definitely not appropriate to be doing so. So Jerry, is that the reason you felt my ass... do you think it's nice?” Very clearly, she was hitting on me even as I had to be honest with myself and admit that she did indeed have a quite spectacular ass. “Yes, I'll own up to that, and admit it... that was definitely the reason why I did it! I'm guilty as charged, and ready for any sort of sentencing you've got in mind. But, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, if I did.” And, much to my surprise she told me: “You can do that again... if you want to. Glad you enjoyed it!” So delicious.
As we walked along some of the older trails... passing over this small footbridge that was made of old wooden boards and planks, before heading up an equally small hilly area before delving deeper into the woods, I was leading us specifically towards the area of the woods where I used to practice the mystical arts of the ancient Druids back when I was a teenager. It was the darkest place in the whole park, and it felt secluded and comfortable to me. I wanted to share that very special, magical place with Becky, and share that feeling of comfort with her that I always felt when I ventured there. My hand was well upon her butt for most of the way, and there were a couple of times when I gave her rump a bit of a squeeze... which elicited from her a slight gasp but never once did she tell me to stop. I had her convinced it was a gesture of affection on my part, but there was a deep animal lust in my heart for her that I found hard to deny. It was growing more and more the further we went into those woods, the more I realized she and I were alone together with no prying eyes to see whatever we might get up to. “I'd used to practice magic in this part of the woods we're coming up on soon.” I told her, adding: “When I was years younger than you are right now. Did you know this part of the woods has real magic within it?” And she looked very amazed to hear me say all of this, replying innocently: “No! Can you teach me to do magic too?” and I told her: “I could, but it isn't like in the movies and stories. You can't actually fly, or throw fireballs, or turn into animals or turn invisible, or anything like that. Real magic is actually more like the Force from Star Wars... you just tap into the life force of the universe, and it then empowers you and enables you to affect the world around you, and by extension the universe as well. You can't do mind tricks, at least not like the Jedi in Star Wars can, and you can't push people or things without touching them... believe me, I wish it was possible to do exactly that to some people, the ones who get me mad. But it's more subtle, more personal, though still very powerful. You don't even need to have great concentration to make it so things happen, you just need to have a strong will, an open mind, and a good heart.” Becky chuckled a bit, and admitted to me: “I'm not that good a girl most times! Dad always said I'm bad, and Mom was quick to say I got it from him. Can I still learn magic anyway even if I'm a bad girl?” I confessed to her in response to her question: “Yes, Becky! Even bad girls can learn magic. When I say a good heart, all I meant was a heart that is good by how you define good. Not, how other people define it. Your dad could consider you bad, while you yourself never actually felt like you are. For instance, the world would say it's bad for a teacher to walk out and just ditch her teaching duties and her students, but I think that is all good because it allowed you to get out of having to teach sports today and let us be able to spend a bit of time together. So sometimes very good things can come from doing things that others might consider to be bad, and so these 'bad' things are occasionally not actually bad at all.” She seemed to understand this, and I realized she was well on the path to comprehending the gray and flexible nature of morality in the world. If I did teach her magic, she could become very powerful indeed, with a mind already well geared in the direction of indulging one's own deepest desires rather than what society wants or expects from us. Thus, in her, I discovered a kindred spirit! As we entered the dark part of the woods officially, with the sound of the insects and birds resounding all around us in between the gentle sighing of the wind, it felt as if we had crossed the border of one world and entered into another one entirely different from it. I do not know what was on Becky's mind at that moment, but she asked me inquisitively: “So, this is like a lot of those movies where there's an enchanted forest or sometimes a haunted one, and then weird stuff starts to happen. Do weird things happen in this part of the woods, Jerry?” I answered her by telling her, in a truthful and honest manner, the literal fact when I said: “Sometimes. Not always! And I think today we will not experience anything too strange here since we're here together. It only gets truly scary or crazy here if you are alone, and that can be dangerous. But with me at your side, there is not a thing to fear from this place.” I took my hand off of her rear and grasped her hand in my own a little bit tighter than I had before, to reassure her that she was safe, and Becky smiled contentedly as we kept on walking along. I asked if her previous boyfriend took her for such walks, and she told me he never did.
“I love going for walks, but it's always by myself mostly... my one friend is always too busy or doesn't feel like it. She's such a jerk sometimes!” she confessed to me. Then, she said: “I wish I had a boyfriend like you, who could take me for walks and teach me magic.” I chuckled and reminded her: “And, touch your very cute butt because it's so nice.” She blushed, then admitted: “Yes! That too, that too. Hey... I'd walked in on my parents kissing when I was little, and like everything I was told not to do that with any boy because I wasn't old enough to. I already knew kissing is something people who love each other do, though. It's in all the movies and practically everything! In school... everyone always said your first kiss should be real special, with someone you like whether it's a boy, or a girl. I lost out, with my ex! Would you like to kiss me, Jerry?” Then... she stopped in her tracks, and stood there, looking up at me almost pleadingly, puckering her lips to show she meant she wanted a kiss right there and right now. “I'd love to kiss you, Becky!” I admitted, and I leaned in so I could give her a very passionate kiss. She stood on her toes and reached up to caress my face, as my lips touched hers. She was very short for a woman of eighteen years... and I myself am roughly five foot and eight inches in height. I used to think that I was five foot and nine inches tall... but recently, a doctor measured my height and I found out what my real height actually is. I probably thought it was that other height, because I had been five foot nine in a lot of different past lives and previous incarnations. But this time around, it seems I was born just a tad bit shorter than usual for me. Our tongues entwined, and I could tell that indeed Becky had seen moments like this in movies and was trying to make this as romantic as in those movies. She pressed her body up against mine, and I found the beginnings of passionate arousal for her stirring in me strongly. My hands were upon her hips, caressing her, and then my hands were upon her buttocks squeezing the plumpness of her splendid rear. All of her was splendid... and as she made a slight “Mm!” sound during the course of our lover's kiss, I pulled her as close to me as she was tightly pressing herself already. I thirsted for a moment like this, and I hungered for more carnal delights even than this. As our kiss ended, she said to me in a breathier voice than her usual whilst breathing heavily: “Oh wow... that was amazing! My first ever kiss with a guy. Yeah, I wish!” And I said to her: “A guy who loves you.” And she nodded her head in the affirmative, expressing her approval by jumping up to kiss me on the lips one more time... briefer than the passionate embrace we shared a moment ago. “Does this mean you're my boyfriend now?” she asked me, and I told her that yes, it did. And that I was indeed her boyfriend now. She clapped both her hands together very childishly and jumped up and down going: “Yes! Yes! Yes! I have a new boyfriend. Fuck you, stupid ass ex of mine!” And I whistled and asked her: “Becky, did you and your ex ever make love? As your new boyfriend, I'm just curious is all.” And she told me: “Well, that's an awkward sort of question! But no, we didn't do that. Oh, I gave him blowjobs and hand jobs, and we made out a lot, but when it came to sex he just wasn't into me like that I guess. That's part of why we broke up in the end. He wouldn't do it with me, but I ended up catching him cheating on me and fucking some other woman. The asshole pretended he believed sex was only for making babies, but it turned out he was lying just to avoid intimacy like that with me. Last I heard, he's still single! Big surprise there. No woman wants to be with a liar and a cheat. Actually, to tell the truth I'm still a virgin in that respect. To be fully and just a bit brutally honest with you, I'm really crazy curious about what it feels like! Would you teach me what it feels like, would you like to be my first? I'd absolutely hate the be the only teacher in town to remain a virgin into my twenties. Besides! We're all alone here, it's real romantic, and I think you're cute... and kind of cool, too.” She had up until now exuded an almost innocent way about her, and partly she still had that illusion of innocence intact. Her boyfriend's foolish loss would just happen to be my gain, it so seemed. “Sure, why not!” I exclaimed happy, grinning. I picked a spot in the dark woods by a large tree in an area that I used to regard as a sacred grove. There, we sat down, and I decided to begin educating Becky about sex, teaching that pretty little teacher something new and exciting. I have a mind for a lot more hands on style of approach when it comes to teaching people certain things... and this called for it.
I put a hand on Becky's thigh, and began to caress it while telling her in the most romantic and highly appealing way possible, how fun and enjoyable sexual intercourse can be. The way I explained, it only served to make her more excited for engaging in the act itself. I kissed her passionately once again, this time running my hands all over her body, caressing her thighs, arms, and breasts. She only got more and more excited as this went on, and she then whispered to me at one point: “Teach me... lots more! If you want to be this naughty teacher's pet.” I then touched and felt her up, between her legs, and as I did so I whispered to her: “I can do better than that! I'll show you.” And I put her hand on my cock, for the shaft of my manhood was stiffening. I told her to rub it and give it a squeeze every once in a while... and she reminded me that she already knew how to give a hand job thanks to her ex boyfriend. But she wanted to show me what she used to do for him, and was keen on getting me as hard as possible before we got to the main course of this delicious banquet. I told her the truth about me, that I was born with the sort of intersex condition whereby I could have chosen to pass as either a male or a female despite the fully functioning male genitalia between my legs. I spared her the revelation of how I was born and all that... all that was important to me at the time was the moment I was living in, and how Becky defined it for me. I said, after all that was out of the way, that I was content to be a man for her, the man she desired.
The pants I was wearing were of a very light and very airy material, so this felt very good to have Becky arousing my cock with her hand through that material. Even as I felt her and fondled her and kept with running my hands all over her body. I leaned forward and kissed her all about her face, and I asked her if she was ready to have sex for the first time. “You won't be a virgin anymore after this, though.” I told her, and she said something deeply troubling to me. “I'll tell you a secret, Jerry. I'm not a virgin anyway, my mom told me once, when she first explained to me what sex was... and I haven't been, not since Dad did something to me when I was ten years old. He... he took off all of my clothes and put his dick up in me, up between my legs and inside my hole... and it hurt, it felt like something was just tearing when he was moving up and down on me, and I bled for a while after that happened. I cried a lot, but aside from the pain it felt good in some ways too. But really, really dirty because of the sticky stuff. I had asked my mom what he'd done to me and she told me I wasn't ready to learn about it at all yet. She let it go, she just let it go and only threatened Dad with something she whispered to him that had made him never do that to me again. Both of them made me promise never to tell anyone about it, but I thought it was time and that I could tell you at least. I just tell people I'm a virgin because to me rape doesn't count as being a proper first time. That wasn't about love like it should be.” I promised her that I would be very gentle, unlike her father had been with her. I then said to her: “We'll do it together, you and me, and we'll make this your real first time, Becky. So that you can remember it being with someone who actually does love you, rather than it having been with a father who'd only wanted to hurt you. Since he didn't do that with you out of love... whereas me, I love you and want to show it to you by doing this right with you.” She thought deeply about it for a bit, then she told me: “Yeah... my father, when he did what he did to me... he never touched me like you're doing. There wasn't foreplay or forewarning. He pulled off my clothes, did it to me, and that was it. For years, I imagined it was something that older men like to do with little girls. That was what Dad told me, but I didn't know it was sex exactly because I didn't understand any of it. I'd heard Mom tell him that it was wrong of him to do, but she never explained to me why it was wrong for him to do what he did to me. When I got older and Mom finally got some guts and told me everything, I understood it wasn't sex that was wrong, but that it was wrong my father forced it on me like he did. But this... what we're doing.. this isn't wrong! Nothing in my whole life has ever felt more right.” And I told her that it wasn't wrong at all, the things we were doing together. I made it sound truly as if her having sex with me would alleviate everything that was messed up about her childhood trauma and what her father had done to her. It was probably a little selfish of me, but at the time it did not feel that way. I felt that I loved her. And she clearly wanted me to be her first... to erase the pain of her past.
“Yes, let me see what it feels like having sex with you!” she pleaded, with her lovely eyes practically all aglow with excited delight. We were already sitting in a patch of soft grass and soil beneath that tree I mentioned, so it would be plenty comfortable enough to do it here. I would have preferred to bring her back home with me and make love to her on my soft, comfortable bed... but we were both in the mood right then, there, and in that moment and I knew that if I brought her home with me I might never want to have her go back to her own home again. And that would have been selfish indeed! I began to undo the drawstring on my pants, and I told Becky to lay down on the ground on her back. Once I had taken off my pants and set them aside, I slid the woman's romper off of her lovely young body and I tossed it over with my pants. I pulled her panties off next, and her breasts looked magnificent. She was not, I so noticed, wearing a bra... so after her panties were removed she was naked except for her shoes and her socks which were still on her feet. We didn't concern ourselves about those, though! I took off my own underwear next, and then told Becky to spread her legs as I inserted my erect penis into her sweet cunt. I went slowly and gently at first, and only went in so far with my cock, not wanting to hurt her after all. But I explained to her that because she was a bit small and I was so big down there, that there might be some pain, and she understood. “It can't be worse than with Dad!” she said, chuckling... and I began to move in and out of her, with the speed of my thrusting increasing a little at a time until Becky began to moan from the experience. It was not a moan of pain though, she was genuinely enjoying what it was I was doing with her. Naturally, I did not put my full weight upon her body and the way I fucked her was careful yet passionate, and soon we were both sweating and savoring this golden moment. She was wet for me, and only got wetter the more I fucked her. There was no blood, and if there had been any tearing it had to have been minimal since she never once acted like she felt any pain whatsoever. Or if she did, she kept it to herself. We continued like this for a long while, until I felt myself nearing to my climax. I was raining kisses down upon her gorgeous face, licking her cheeks with my tongue and telling her that I loved her with all my heart. I meant every word of that too! Soon, I felt my seed shoot up into her, and my sticky cum filled her eager cunt. I kept at it even after that, until she was able to orgasm from it, her lovely body shuddering from the experience. Only after that... did I kiss her passionately again and as I did so, I withdrew from her my manhood. As I did that, at the very last... a rather fair amount, of both of our fluids, flowed forth to make a slick and sticky mess of the short lady's meaty young thighs. She had been calling out my name, saying “Oh God! Oh, God! Oh... yes! Oh, Jerry!” in between letting out loud cries, shrieks and moans of all sorts leading up to her moment of supreme ecstasy. She was a screamer, it seemed, and truthfully when it comes to sex I do not mind that in the least. Actually, I typically prefer girls of this sort who let me know when they are enjoying themselves. Those are the ones who, during a good bout of intercourse, excite me, arouse me, and please me the most of all. She was now breathing in a very heavy and breathy manner after our combined exertions, and I laid down on the ground next to her, whilst I ran my hand through the curls of her raven black hair. I normally prefer blondes and just as much redheads, but I also have a genuine weakness for girls with black hair. They have an allure that is all their own, and a way about them that never fails to touch my heart deeply. “I truly do love you, with all my heart and soul, Becky.” I told her, and she said to me in between trying to catch her breath: “Oh, wow... Jerry, I love you too. Oh Jerry, I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you.” and she seemed a bit on the verge of some sort of ecstatic madness. A madness we both shared in that moment. She then turned over and wrapped her arms around me, and she told me: “I don't want to have to go home, Jerry. I want to stay with you, forever! But I know I have to go home. I can't run away with you, to wherever it is you live, I can't quit my job and do whatever I want. But part me wants to run off, wants to just say to my colleagues 'fuck off!' and for all I care they can literally all fuck one another in Hell. I'd truly love to watch the world burn sometimes! And my stupid family with them. You ever feel like that?” and I told her that I felt like that pretty much all the time. I had no great love for society... or, the world in general.
We both got dressed shortly after that... and we walked through the deeper woods until the forest gave way to a sports field near to the road that winds in a large circle all through the park. This place held for me so many memories over the years, and with Becky I had one more to add to them. I thought about a lot of things, about Becky's ruined childhood, her dislike of her fellow teachers and her job in general... and her general dissatisfaction with the world. Often, in the middle school years, girls do end up losing their virginity to the older boys... and nobody ever thinks ill or wrongly about that. Fathers will pat their boys on the back, to the tune of “boys will be boys” and it's a notch in the boy's belt if he got laid with the prettiest girl in his class or in the school, or at least the prettiest one in his eyes. But how many of the fathers who do so reflect upon the kind of men those boys might one day grow up to be? What kind of boy had Becky's father been, I wondered, that he so took his own daughter's virginity before any boy had the chance to even think about it... had he been a good boy, a bad boy, a religious child or a godless one, I wondered. I thought back on some of the relationships I myself had with young girls in the past, some around middle school age, and I realized that the only difference between Becky's father and I was that I'd never touched my own child in such a way. And the only difference between myself and some of those middle school age boys was my age. That, and the fact that I wasn't ever after notches on a belt of any kind in life. Lust and love were more, for me, the primary things upon my mind when Becky and I made love. And though she was well of legal age, being eighteen at the time, she reminded me with her personality of a girl far younger. There is a prejudice in society and a bias when it comes to things of a certain sort though, and it is as unjust as it is cruel because it often is a cause of great tragedies for all so concerned. At least with Becky, we didn't have to keep our relationship a dirty secret. But still, we kept it only between us in the end. And, never in the whole of her life after that did she ever tell a soul what we had shared up at the park on that beautiful and golden spring day. I suppose... she wasn't the type to kiss and tell is all it was. “I don't regret a thing, though.” she confessed to me, and admitted: “I'll think about you over the years, even if we never see each other again. But maybe, this town being so small... we can get together again sometime! I'd love that.” and I admitted to her that I would love that also. I'll never know why, but at the time we did not share phone numbers or addresses... it seemed as if we had agreed that if fate decreed we should meet again then we would. I never got to teach her about magic... but the lesson in love, passion, and in pleasure that I gave her was far more meaningful and a lot more firmly grounded in this world, than any mystical arts could ever be. I had not learned her last name, and she never learned I had any name aside from “Jerry”. She was one of those special women who seemed to appear in my life at precisely the right time, when I needed her the most. Something about her I knew would always be beautiful and perfect, at least as I define such things... and wonderful as the years went on. There was something unique about her I longed to revisit. We walked around the long and winding circular road, the towering trees to both sides of the road feeling like the pillars of a majestic holy place. This natural cathedral was where I oft felt a divine presence, more so than in any church or synagogue, temple or mosque that I have ever been in throughout my life. And yes, just in this one single life... my present, current one in which I am writing this... I have been in all of those houses of worship, religion, and spirituality. I had called many religions my own prior to the time in my life when I merged them all to form my own mystical and spiritual way. I knew that Becky... or someone like her at least... would understand my way if I ever had the time and chance to teach it to her. But when my eyes went from the trees and the greenery all around us to gazing upon her face and bodily form... I knew that my greatest act of idolatry was my worship of such as she. To me if there was a living manifestation of true absolute divinity, it would be in the shape of a girl of such unsurpassed wonderfulness as Becky so possessed. I could hear the waters past the fishing landings lapping against the ground there as my young paramour and I walked past them... we held each other's hand, walking hand in hand. She was short and sweet, a lot like the lovemaking we had indulged in, the casual sex that for me meant so very, very much more.
As we walked along, I recited poetry to Becky several times... and she was delighted to hear me do so. She seemed to have a deep and abiding interest in poetry, and I told her that I often posted my poetry on various sites online, along with my various other written works... and I told her precisely which internet sites it was that I was frequenting for that purpose. On doing that, I also let her know what names I was going by on those sites so that if she ever wanted to do so... she could just go on them, find my written works, and read them to get to know and understand me better. There was still so much about myself I had yet to reveal either to her or to the world through my writings, and yet even back then there was an amount decent enough to give people a general idea of my deeper aspects. I thought that someday, when I felt bold enough to do so, I might write about Becky and about what we shared together. I asked her if she would like that, and she said maybe someday it might be a good idea but not at that time. I agreed... since time would grant her freedom from her past, and once she was free to determine her own fate and course in life then that would be the time to write about what she had meant to me. As of today... she, is thirty two years old and will turn thirty three this year... and we have kept in touch ever since it was that she got a hold of me, quite out of the blue really, as soon as she turned twenty five back in 2016. One of the last messages I ever received from someone on a poetry site that is now closed down. We oft spend time with each other over our webcams when we get the chance to and catch up on what is new in both of our lives. She prefers to be called Beck now, rather than Becky, but at heart she is still the same lady I fell in love with back when we first met. I never did get around to teaching her magic, but I have fully taught her all the intricacies of my mystical way and she has become a loyal convert to my spirituality. I hesitate to call it a religion, but one could classify it as such if they wished to. Faith proved better to be teaching her about rather than magic, and long before I had the sort of online following I do today... she embraced my teachings without hesitation, proving herself to be as brave and strong as ever. She is still the beautiful woman I imagined she would ever be, and to say she is devoted to me would be a definite understatement. She no longer lives in the city we both grew up in, and neither do I, and like myself her family is a distant and sometimes troublesome memory to contend with. Like attracts like, and time will always do strange things if you pay attention to the changes attentively enough to notice. People oft say that you never forget your first, and Beck still sees me as having been her first... the one who delivered her from her virginity and taught her what true love really is... having long since excised her father from her mind and memories in order to be able to fully forget that the awful man had ever existed at all. In a way, our most passionate moments that we now share together using video call services such as Skype have become for Beck the very best sort of therapy for dealing with the most horribly traumatic aspects of her childhood. Sex may not cure everything, but combined with love and passion it can do wonders for any wounded soul if they are open minded enough to accept what it has to offer them. It works hand in hand with a variety of spiritual alchemy wherein the baser aspects of oneself and one's life can be, as miraculously as one might imagine, transmuted into something golden and pure. What is rotten may be made fresh again, and what is is dead or dying within us may live once more. In a way, perhaps it is a kind of sexual healing magic, and if that is the case then it seems I have taught Beck a variety of magic after all and kept my old promise to her thereby. She asked me a funny question once, she asked me if I was actually human. And I asked her what made her think I was not, and she replied: “Nothing! It's just that your writings, and the things you talk about and reveal in them, they aren't like the kind of things a normal human being ever even thinks about at all. A lot of it seems to be more on a higher level, and it just feels a lot like something a higher being might delve into more than a regular person.” I chuckled a bit, and this was over Skype on video when we had this conversation... and I said to her: “Who said I'm not a higher being? But seriously! For a moment... I thought, you were going to say you thought I was an android, a robot, or an alien of some kind.” She then grinned almost mischievously as she asked me: “So... are you?” and, she giggled a bit after that. I smiled, and replied in answer to this: “And if I am?”
It is not always good form to answer a question with a question, but sometimes it can fun to just be a bit silly and tease somebody whom you love dearly. Beck always responded to my teasing in a way that was pleasant, she would sometimes blush, sometimes smile a big crazy looking smile before laughing or giggling at what she took to be a joke. Some of it was intended humorously, though sometimes we'd talk about things of a more serious and less philosophical nature than the exchange I just mentioned. I loved her sense of humor, which developed more and more as she got older into something truly special that never failed to make me smile whenever she would delve into it. I never tell her that I have a rather serious and somewhat uncontrollable paranoid schizophrenic dissociative identity disorder, and she just never asks me about my mental health to a big enough degree that I would need to bring up the subject, which is a type of subject we simply never bring up for discussion at all, that kind of serious condition. It has only been very, very recently that I have been able to accept this about myself at all, although I've been able to look back into my life and see and understand that it was always present even if I tried not to see it, not to accept it, not to realize it or think about it. Beck is the occasional sense of normalcy that slips into my life from time to time in order to remind me of good memories from years gone by. But, for the past couple of weeks I haven't heard from her. We normally meet up on Facebook and then see what we might get up from there, but she's been offline more than she's been online of late and I guess that is what prompted me to write about her, resulting in this work you are reading now. Though, I am certain Beck and I will be in contact again sooner or later... she reminds me of some of my other loved ones and good friends, and I suppose Beck counts as both of those things to a large degree. I know how it is when life gets in the way of things, and keeps a person from doing what they'd like to do. And upon that subject... sometimes, I think about my former therapist Sybil and my old flame Camilla Flores, and how they covered for me about my split personality's identity of Chloe. The version of me that I become when I dissociate to so large of a degree that I have no memory of what I am doing at all whenever that happens. They were kind and good to do that for me, I suppose, since I was at the time not even aware of being Chloe and the truth has not hit me well, to say the least. If anything, it has broken me further, but made me more able to understand certain things about myself than I perhaps would be able to, had I never known about this at all and remained ignorant of the truth. I have been talking a lot to my latest therapist, Megan, about this ever since the truth about Chloe became known to me and the seriousness of just how schizophrenic I am when I am Chloe became evident. Chloe believes she has a whole life that she has lived independent of the rest of me, complete with family and a whole history that since she is indeed a part of me is all in truth a delusion. And I can see that, and understand that, and realize it. But I know the next time I become Chloe again, I won't be aware that it is a delusion and I will once more be in the grip of believing the things that Chloe believes. But there is no cure for schizophrenia, nor is there a cure for dissociative identity disorder. Just like there is no cure for being a romantic. I've had to accept some pretty terrible truths about myself, and Megan has been helping me to realize I am not evil because I am psychologically troubled. I do not believe I have ever mentioned this, but Megan's full name is Megan Avise-Rouse, and she has her own tiny private office downtown in a neighboring city just up a nearby highway from the small, sleepy town I am at the moment living in. The city is at the edge of the Mississippi River, and the drive is a bit of a drive to get there so to speak, but it isn't ridiculously far. Megan is beautiful! She has dark hair, lovely eyes, and looks gorgeous in her glasses. She is a big woman, very voluptuous and not overweight. She wears clothing that flatters her figure to a nice degree, and I believe I have mentioned before in other writings that I find her attractive. I actually told her that my former therapist Sybil... whom I was seeing before I saw Gloria, the therapist I had to see prior to my first session with Megan... was a bit crazy, and that Sybil and I ended up in an intimate, sexual relationship that crossed too many professional boundaries. At least Gloria simply retired. Sybil lost her practice, and I cannot say the woman did not deserve to lose it for doing some of what she did.
Between pursuing a sexual relationship with me and revealing quite a few of Chloe's delusions right in public on the poetry site Sybil and I are both members of, it was honestly only a matter of time, with the writing being on the wall, before Sybil lost her practice for good. I don't miss Sybil, honestly, now that I realize and understand the extent of the damage she was doing to me as her patient. As for Gloria, she at least simply retired in good standing, and it was Gloria who recommended Megan to me saying she would be a good fit. And honestly, Megan truly is! We hit it off remarkably, and whilst Gloria was able to determine that I was having serious dissociative moments, it was Megan who finally was able to get to me realize what those dissociative moments entailed. I find Megan incredibly attractive, as I have said before in other writings of mine... I would definitely have sex with her in a heartbeat. But sadly, I know she is very “by the book” about things, although like Gloria she did cry during one of the sessions in which I was telling her about some of the traumas and tragedies I have lived through in the past. She feels for me deeply, as every therapist I see ends up doing, but unlike Sybil I do not believe Megan to be the type of woman who would risk her job to become intimate with me. To be honest though, if we did anything together I would tell nobody because I would not want to jeopardize her job. But... she has a husband and a family and I believe she is happy enough with him that she would not have an affair on him behind his back. Sybil, she had nobody but herself to concern herself with, and was of a far more selfish bent than Megan. As for Gloria, she was too old and too much like a mother for me to think of in any way except as a motherly figure. But all that having been said, I am finally beginning to speak with Megan openly and freely about Chloe being a part of me and what that is like. She told me that from now on, she is going to ask me at the start of each sessions which personality is present, either Kara or Chloe, and we'll go from there. Since the sessions before my latest one, during that one Chloe was present and I barely remember anything about that session at all, though when I am Chloe I can fully recall all the details of it. I do not need to trouble Beck with all of this, but I would wager that in time the subject will come up and doubtless she will understand. She tends to take a very broad view on those sort of things, so it is a case of never say never. These are mad truths, mad confessions, and even madder revelations, and yet these are things that I have had to write about because I can only bottle up certain things for so long before I have to let them out. It is the only way to not go even crazier from it all than I clearly already am. I think back to the year 2009, and then I jump ahead to now and it feels like my life has become a tree with countless branches that back then I could never have envisioned in the form in which they exist currently. Back then, I was still seeing only the trunk of the tree, whereas now I am beginning to see the entirety of it for what it truly, actually, is. I suppose I am fortunate, since many people go their whole lives and only ever see the trunk... or, if they see the branches, it is only at a distance, removed from getting close enough to make out the fine details of each and every leaf. I see a lot of the details now, and I can only hope that in time I will come to feel more at peace with what I am learning and having to understand. I believe I have come a long way in life! There was a time when I'd never have written some of the things that I have felt the courage to write in recent years. I used to just bottle up my pain, my memories, and the truths of my life whilst I contented myself to focus on other things. But if you bottle a thing up, it will not go away... it will still be there, and so it is best to face a thing head on and bring it out from the darkness when it is needful to do so. I sometimes ask myself if I am a good person or a wicked person. The truth is... I am both, good and wicked. Because we are, all of us, carrying some degree of wickedness within ourselves along with any goodness that we possess. The trick is to find a way to accept it and understand how to better oneself from the moment of that singular acceptance onward. It is not about how pure you are, but about how pure your heart is at the core of you and in the very center of your being. Because that is where the real you lies! And, as fractured and split as the real me may be... there is a purity at the core of it all, and people like Beck and others I've loved over the years have glimpsed that purity with their own eyes and not been able to turn their gaze away.
Originally written on Sunday, December 17, 2023 (Edited for Content on December 8, 2024)
From the year I quit school, all the way up through my early to mid twenties, I had a habit of... when I was out for long walks to get away from all the troubles and drama at home for a while... staying out for a great deal later than perhaps I should have. Whenever it got towards five in the afternoon or later than that, it became quite a needful thing to call home in order to let everyone there know that I was alright. Otherwise, someone would have probably come out looking for me, and that was often unpleasant for everybody. As phone booths more and more were being phased out in town, it got harder and harder to find a way to call home given that during those years in which I felt compelled out of necessity to do so, I did not have my own cell phone yet. And android phones were still a great many years and years away from existing yet. Out of convenience, I would stop by the middle school I had attended when I was a kid in order to use the phone there, since they had kept a pay phone right next to one of the school's side entrances. My grandmother was usually the person who answered the phone at home, and she got used to hearing from me that I was calling from the middle school. Initially, I tried to do the same thing at the high school... but they were pickier about non students just walking into the school like that, plus in all honesty the high school was a great deal closer to home whereas the middle school bordered the park I always went for my long walks in the most. By the time I might get to the high school, it was easier just to walk home and forego the customary phone call. Old habits died hard, and in 2009 when I was about thirty five years old and actually had my own cell phone by then... I no longer needed to use any phones in places if I was out and about and needed to call home. It was only my grandmother living there, after all, by that year... and aside from visits from my younger brother which were occasional but, indeed, far from frequent, nobody was there who would be worried or concerned about my well being. That was a very depressing thought for me, and truth to tell it weighed heavily upon my heart knowing how lonely my life was during that time, that phase of it. 2009 fell squarely during a period in my life during which I was deep within an eight year depression caused by various tragedies and personal troubles which had affected me deeply and darkly. I went out for long walks a great deal less frequently than I had in years previous, and when I did it was because I desperately needed to attempt to seek out some normalcy in a life grown increasingly abnormal and strange as the years progressed. That, or there was an errand that needed to be accomplished. During the late May of that year, however... it was not needful, to be out on any pressing errands on the day of which I shall presently speak. It was... a need for a feeling of human normalcy, that prompted me to go out on this notable occasion, more than anything else. My whole life, I had felt like an outsider, like the other more than others of my generation typically had. But, I was not one who could be categorized in any of the typical ways. I remember what I was wearing that day when I went out... a pair of blue rayon harem style pants, a long silk blue tunic top with Japanese designs that were covering it, and a pair of black ballet flats with chrome colored metal studs on the tips of them. I had taken to shaving my head completely following the almost total loss of my hair back in the year of my mother's death. And, out of a similar necessity which prompted me to shave my head, I kept both of my eyebrows shaved off just as completely. I no longer looked the same as I once did, but I was alright with the changes to my appearance. It granted me a certain feeling of anonymity which was rare to have in a town where you grew up and lived in for almost your entire life. Only family and relatives might be able to fully recognize me... and this was one of several times in my life where I had reinvented myself. I had a couple of friends in town still, at a couple of stores I shopped at a lot, but for the most part none of the people I used to have meaningful relationships or friendships with were still living in the area any longer. It gave me the dreadful feeling that everyone was moving forward in their lives except for me. I felt stuck in the past, and mentally trapped in more pleasant times that had long since passed. That is to say, I pined for those pleasanter days even though I knew full well they were gone. The town changed as well, becoming a city, and with that change its' population had changed. It was familiar, yet different.
Out of a need for nostalgia, I decided to stop by the middle school to see if anything had changed and I was curious to see if the old pay phone was still there by the side doors any longer, or if they had just finally up and removed it to get more with the times. It was spring... late in the month of May, as I have said... and the day was pleasant to be out and enjoying the weather in. It was just a little past one in the afternoon, and the children were still in school at that hour. I felt just a little bit awkward when I walked up to the doors, and even more so when I tried them and found them to be locked. It seemed that during all the years since last I stopped by there, they had tightened security to this degree. That made me feel sad, because I could recall a time when such a measure was not necessary. The world had changed, and sometimes I honestly did not like what it was becoming. I sighed, and began to walk back towards the track and the sports fields since that was where a path leading into the park was... the same path I had taken to get to the school to start with. “Sometimes, you just have to let the past go.” I told myself very silently in my head, as I walked along. I passed by some children who were being escorted by a teacher towards the nearest sports field, and walking away from them towards the direction of the outer edge of the track was a woman of eighteen years of age. There was nobody running on the track at present, and it seemed strange that this woman was just sitting there by herself. Even stranger that the teacher, for all intents and purposes, seemed to not care or want her even near her. She stopped near to the short stretch between the track's edge and the path into the park, and just sat on the ground with her legs crossed and her head in her hands with her knees on her lap. The typical pose of, actually... a young child who could be bored, depressed, or paying rapt attention to something or someone. She was a lovely woman, to be sure! She had shoulder length black curly hair, grayish blue eyes the same color as my own, and lightest pinkish skin. She had rosy cheeks, a round and angelic looking face with lots of freckles upon it, and a stocky build to her body that told me she was a strong lady. She wore on her face a pair of round glasses with thin black frames, that somehow made her look that much cuter than if she did not have them on. Though I suspected she would look adorable either way, at least to me! She had small but plump lips, a nice butt, nice breasts, and she walked in that sensuous way women walk when they are trying to get a man's attention but in a subtle way. She was wearing a navy blue romper with floral print on it, a pair of navy blue sneakers with white trim and laces, and a pair of short white socks on her feet. She wore, on her right wrist, a royal blue beaded bracelet with big beads. She smelled of a floral perfume, of a type I was unfamiliar with, and it was a lovely scent whatever it was. Once the teacher and all of the students were off doing their thing on the sports field, I walked over to this woman and I took a moment to ask her: “Hey, pretty lady! How come you are all by yourself?” And she looked up at me, sighed, and spoke to me in answer to my question. Her voice was rather high pitched and breathy... and she had a slightly impatient manner to her, as well as an obvious restlessness made manifest by her rocking side to side, even as she sat on the ground. She said: “Oh, hey there! Yeah, I just don't feel like teaching sports today, and I suck at them on a good day as it is. I had my doctor write a letter saying I was too sick to do heavy physical stuff for like a week, so I could take a break from it... and I gave it to the other faculty. It's not true, but it's not a lie either... I could do it if I had to, really, but I don't feel up to it even though I'm not sick. But now I'm bored! I wish I could just skip teaching at all today, but I don't want to lose my job.” I knelt down so I was more at her level, and I said to her quietly, conspiratorially: “Listen... if you want to walk out for the rest of the day, just for today and just this once, we could always just go hang out in the park together and nobody would be the wiser if we did. You could always tell the other faculty you got sick, and had to rush home for the rest of the day. You could even blame it on your doctor, say it was his advice that you take off if you felt sick or got ill.” The woman chuckled a bit, got to her feet, and said to me after that: “That's not a bad idea, actually! The other teachers all think I'm sick so they're avoiding me. I can't drive, by the way. I walk everywhere! I just never bothered to take it up is all it is. I know I'd just get too nervous behind the wheel anyway, and am honestly not fond of the idea of being in traffic.”
“Come on, let's go, let's do it!” she said excitedly... and let me take her by the hand, as we walked into the woods by way of the path. “Just don't tell anybody we did this, though. Like I said, just say that your doctor advised you on it. That way... you won't end up getting fired.” I cautioned her. Then... she smiled in a mischievous way and she told me: “All the other teachers think I'm weird, fancy that! But there's a certain one who always picks on me as if I was one of the kids and she was the class bully... and, I can't totally blame her for it since I'm always trying to talk her into doing stuff to get her in trouble. She's out sick today legitimately, or so everyone swears, unlike me. Oh, if she only knew that I was, pretty much, faking being sick and skipping out just to hang with some guy... she'd be so jealous of me! So don't you worry... no one will ever know that it was you who'd talked me into this. My parents.... raised me to be a good and proper girl, not to take off with strange men, all the usual nonsense. Yet, my father was big on being quick to hit me and he didn't care about what he did to me. So much for protective parents! Go figure, huh? So the way I see it, I couldn't possibly end up meeting someone worse than my father.” She was talking very fast, very nervously, yet she seemed totally calm otherwise. She went on, saying: “Oh, and don't mind me if I talk like super crazy fast sometimes... I've actually got a really, really bad case of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, A.D.H.D. … so my brain is like a kaleidoscope sometimes, and it's super hard for me to stay focused on just one thing for too-too long before I get totally distracted by something else. Oh hey, look! I think I just saw a crow over by those trees... right over there.” and sure enough, the woman was correct, and I'd spotted the black bird where she was pointing, right as soon as she had told me about it. She was a veritable ball of energy in human form, and I found her energy to be quite exciting and fun. Being around her made me feel younger, almost eighteen myself, and for a bit I felt as if I could forget all of my troubles and worries. “So, what's your name?” I asked her, and she told me that her name was Rebecca, though she preferred to be called Becky. She asked me my name in turn and I decided to give her an alias rather than tell her my actual name. “Mine is Jeremiah, but everybody just calls me Jerry for short.” I lied and told her... and she fully accepted it as the truth, with all the trust that women have if they were raised well and taught proper manners. I hated my actual name, and truly in those years I had yet to consider what name I would prefer... so I would often try out different ones to see what they felt like, and it was kind of a hit or miss sort of thing. “Becky is a very pretty name, and it suits you since you are a very, very pretty lady.” I told her, to which she responded: “Thanks, Jerry! You have a nice name too, and it really suits you good also.” I was not sure why or how it would suit me, if I were to be honest about matters, but so long as Becky liked the sound of it then I would be Jerry for her, and be happy to. We stopped walking for a bit when Becky bent over to pick up some wildflowers off to the side of the path, and as I bent down to have a look at the flowers with her I took a chance and did actually put a hand on her buttocks, though not lewdly just gently and lightly. Testing the waters... so to speak. The material of her romper, was very soft, and her butt felt nice beneath that and the panties she had on underneath it. She did not so much as say a word about it, and I took that to mean she was okay with me doing that. “Those are very pretty flowers you found there, Becky!” I exclaimed... and she gave me one to hold unto, telling me that one was just for me. We got back to walking after that, and the very same hand I had just had upon her rump was now once more holding hers. “You act exactly like my last boyfriend.” she told me, mentioning what I had done at last, and then adding: “I actually asked him why once, and he told me I've got a nice ass that's good for feeling. He'd often embarrass me in public as he constantly would grab my ass even when it definitely not appropriate to be doing so. So Jerry, is that the reason you felt my ass... do you think it's nice?” Very clearly, she was hitting on me even as I had to be honest with myself and admit that she did indeed have a quite spectacular ass. “Yes, I'll own up to that, and admit it... that was definitely the reason why I did it! I'm guilty as charged, and ready for any sort of sentencing you've got in mind. But, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, if I did.” And, much to my surprise she told me: “You can do that again... if you want to. Glad you enjoyed it!” So delicious.
As we walked along some of the older trails... passing over this small footbridge that was made of old wooden boards and planks, before heading up an equally small hilly area before delving deeper into the woods, I was leading us specifically towards the area of the woods where I used to practice the mystical arts of the ancient Druids back when I was a teenager. It was the darkest place in the whole park, and it felt secluded and comfortable to me. I wanted to share that very special, magical place with Becky, and share that feeling of comfort with her that I always felt when I ventured there. My hand was well upon her butt for most of the way, and there were a couple of times when I gave her rump a bit of a squeeze... which elicited from her a slight gasp but never once did she tell me to stop. I had her convinced it was a gesture of affection on my part, but there was a deep animal lust in my heart for her that I found hard to deny. It was growing more and more the further we went into those woods, the more I realized she and I were alone together with no prying eyes to see whatever we might get up to. “I'd used to practice magic in this part of the woods we're coming up on soon.” I told her, adding: “When I was years younger than you are right now. Did you know this part of the woods has real magic within it?” And she looked very amazed to hear me say all of this, replying innocently: “No! Can you teach me to do magic too?” and I told her: “I could, but it isn't like in the movies and stories. You can't actually fly, or throw fireballs, or turn into animals or turn invisible, or anything like that. Real magic is actually more like the Force from Star Wars... you just tap into the life force of the universe, and it then empowers you and enables you to affect the world around you, and by extension the universe as well. You can't do mind tricks, at least not like the Jedi in Star Wars can, and you can't push people or things without touching them... believe me, I wish it was possible to do exactly that to some people, the ones who get me mad. But it's more subtle, more personal, though still very powerful. You don't even need to have great concentration to make it so things happen, you just need to have a strong will, an open mind, and a good heart.” Becky chuckled a bit, and admitted to me: “I'm not that good a girl most times! Dad always said I'm bad, and Mom was quick to say I got it from him. Can I still learn magic anyway even if I'm a bad girl?” I confessed to her in response to her question: “Yes, Becky! Even bad girls can learn magic. When I say a good heart, all I meant was a heart that is good by how you define good. Not, how other people define it. Your dad could consider you bad, while you yourself never actually felt like you are. For instance, the world would say it's bad for a teacher to walk out and just ditch her teaching duties and her students, but I think that is all good because it allowed you to get out of having to teach sports today and let us be able to spend a bit of time together. So sometimes very good things can come from doing things that others might consider to be bad, and so these 'bad' things are occasionally not actually bad at all.” She seemed to understand this, and I realized she was well on the path to comprehending the gray and flexible nature of morality in the world. If I did teach her magic, she could become very powerful indeed, with a mind already well geared in the direction of indulging one's own deepest desires rather than what society wants or expects from us. Thus, in her, I discovered a kindred spirit! As we entered the dark part of the woods officially, with the sound of the insects and birds resounding all around us in between the gentle sighing of the wind, it felt as if we had crossed the border of one world and entered into another one entirely different from it. I do not know what was on Becky's mind at that moment, but she asked me inquisitively: “So, this is like a lot of those movies where there's an enchanted forest or sometimes a haunted one, and then weird stuff starts to happen. Do weird things happen in this part of the woods, Jerry?” I answered her by telling her, in a truthful and honest manner, the literal fact when I said: “Sometimes. Not always! And I think today we will not experience anything too strange here since we're here together. It only gets truly scary or crazy here if you are alone, and that can be dangerous. But with me at your side, there is not a thing to fear from this place.” I took my hand off of her rear and grasped her hand in my own a little bit tighter than I had before, to reassure her that she was safe, and Becky smiled contentedly as we kept on walking along. I asked if her previous boyfriend took her for such walks, and she told me he never did.
“I love going for walks, but it's always by myself mostly... my one friend is always too busy or doesn't feel like it. She's such a jerk sometimes!” she confessed to me. Then, she said: “I wish I had a boyfriend like you, who could take me for walks and teach me magic.” I chuckled and reminded her: “And, touch your very cute butt because it's so nice.” She blushed, then admitted: “Yes! That too, that too. Hey... I'd walked in on my parents kissing when I was little, and like everything I was told not to do that with any boy because I wasn't old enough to. I already knew kissing is something people who love each other do, though. It's in all the movies and practically everything! In school... everyone always said your first kiss should be real special, with someone you like whether it's a boy, or a girl. I lost out, with my ex! Would you like to kiss me, Jerry?” Then... she stopped in her tracks, and stood there, looking up at me almost pleadingly, puckering her lips to show she meant she wanted a kiss right there and right now. “I'd love to kiss you, Becky!” I admitted, and I leaned in so I could give her a very passionate kiss. She stood on her toes and reached up to caress my face, as my lips touched hers. She was very short for a woman of eighteen years... and I myself am roughly five foot and eight inches in height. I used to think that I was five foot and nine inches tall... but recently, a doctor measured my height and I found out what my real height actually is. I probably thought it was that other height, because I had been five foot nine in a lot of different past lives and previous incarnations. But this time around, it seems I was born just a tad bit shorter than usual for me. Our tongues entwined, and I could tell that indeed Becky had seen moments like this in movies and was trying to make this as romantic as in those movies. She pressed her body up against mine, and I found the beginnings of passionate arousal for her stirring in me strongly. My hands were upon her hips, caressing her, and then my hands were upon her buttocks squeezing the plumpness of her splendid rear. All of her was splendid... and as she made a slight “Mm!” sound during the course of our lover's kiss, I pulled her as close to me as she was tightly pressing herself already. I thirsted for a moment like this, and I hungered for more carnal delights even than this. As our kiss ended, she said to me in a breathier voice than her usual whilst breathing heavily: “Oh wow... that was amazing! My first ever kiss with a guy. Yeah, I wish!” And I said to her: “A guy who loves you.” And she nodded her head in the affirmative, expressing her approval by jumping up to kiss me on the lips one more time... briefer than the passionate embrace we shared a moment ago. “Does this mean you're my boyfriend now?” she asked me, and I told her that yes, it did. And that I was indeed her boyfriend now. She clapped both her hands together very childishly and jumped up and down going: “Yes! Yes! Yes! I have a new boyfriend. Fuck you, stupid ass ex of mine!” And I whistled and asked her: “Becky, did you and your ex ever make love? As your new boyfriend, I'm just curious is all.” And she told me: “Well, that's an awkward sort of question! But no, we didn't do that. Oh, I gave him blowjobs and hand jobs, and we made out a lot, but when it came to sex he just wasn't into me like that I guess. That's part of why we broke up in the end. He wouldn't do it with me, but I ended up catching him cheating on me and fucking some other woman. The asshole pretended he believed sex was only for making babies, but it turned out he was lying just to avoid intimacy like that with me. Last I heard, he's still single! Big surprise there. No woman wants to be with a liar and a cheat. Actually, to tell the truth I'm still a virgin in that respect. To be fully and just a bit brutally honest with you, I'm really crazy curious about what it feels like! Would you teach me what it feels like, would you like to be my first? I'd absolutely hate the be the only teacher in town to remain a virgin into my twenties. Besides! We're all alone here, it's real romantic, and I think you're cute... and kind of cool, too.” She had up until now exuded an almost innocent way about her, and partly she still had that illusion of innocence intact. Her boyfriend's foolish loss would just happen to be my gain, it so seemed. “Sure, why not!” I exclaimed happy, grinning. I picked a spot in the dark woods by a large tree in an area that I used to regard as a sacred grove. There, we sat down, and I decided to begin educating Becky about sex, teaching that pretty little teacher something new and exciting. I have a mind for a lot more hands on style of approach when it comes to teaching people certain things... and this called for it.
I put a hand on Becky's thigh, and began to caress it while telling her in the most romantic and highly appealing way possible, how fun and enjoyable sexual intercourse can be. The way I explained, it only served to make her more excited for engaging in the act itself. I kissed her passionately once again, this time running my hands all over her body, caressing her thighs, arms, and breasts. She only got more and more excited as this went on, and she then whispered to me at one point: “Teach me... lots more! If you want to be this naughty teacher's pet.” I then touched and felt her up, between her legs, and as I did so I whispered to her: “I can do better than that! I'll show you.” And I put her hand on my cock, for the shaft of my manhood was stiffening. I told her to rub it and give it a squeeze every once in a while... and she reminded me that she already knew how to give a hand job thanks to her ex boyfriend. But she wanted to show me what she used to do for him, and was keen on getting me as hard as possible before we got to the main course of this delicious banquet. I told her the truth about me, that I was born with the sort of intersex condition whereby I could have chosen to pass as either a male or a female despite the fully functioning male genitalia between my legs. I spared her the revelation of how I was born and all that... all that was important to me at the time was the moment I was living in, and how Becky defined it for me. I said, after all that was out of the way, that I was content to be a man for her, the man she desired.
The pants I was wearing were of a very light and very airy material, so this felt very good to have Becky arousing my cock with her hand through that material. Even as I felt her and fondled her and kept with running my hands all over her body. I leaned forward and kissed her all about her face, and I asked her if she was ready to have sex for the first time. “You won't be a virgin anymore after this, though.” I told her, and she said something deeply troubling to me. “I'll tell you a secret, Jerry. I'm not a virgin anyway, my mom told me once, when she first explained to me what sex was... and I haven't been, not since Dad did something to me when I was ten years old. He... he took off all of my clothes and put his dick up in me, up between my legs and inside my hole... and it hurt, it felt like something was just tearing when he was moving up and down on me, and I bled for a while after that happened. I cried a lot, but aside from the pain it felt good in some ways too. But really, really dirty because of the sticky stuff. I had asked my mom what he'd done to me and she told me I wasn't ready to learn about it at all yet. She let it go, she just let it go and only threatened Dad with something she whispered to him that had made him never do that to me again. Both of them made me promise never to tell anyone about it, but I thought it was time and that I could tell you at least. I just tell people I'm a virgin because to me rape doesn't count as being a proper first time. That wasn't about love like it should be.” I promised her that I would be very gentle, unlike her father had been with her. I then said to her: “We'll do it together, you and me, and we'll make this your real first time, Becky. So that you can remember it being with someone who actually does love you, rather than it having been with a father who'd only wanted to hurt you. Since he didn't do that with you out of love... whereas me, I love you and want to show it to you by doing this right with you.” She thought deeply about it for a bit, then she told me: “Yeah... my father, when he did what he did to me... he never touched me like you're doing. There wasn't foreplay or forewarning. He pulled off my clothes, did it to me, and that was it. For years, I imagined it was something that older men like to do with little girls. That was what Dad told me, but I didn't know it was sex exactly because I didn't understand any of it. I'd heard Mom tell him that it was wrong of him to do, but she never explained to me why it was wrong for him to do what he did to me. When I got older and Mom finally got some guts and told me everything, I understood it wasn't sex that was wrong, but that it was wrong my father forced it on me like he did. But this... what we're doing.. this isn't wrong! Nothing in my whole life has ever felt more right.” And I told her that it wasn't wrong at all, the things we were doing together. I made it sound truly as if her having sex with me would alleviate everything that was messed up about her childhood trauma and what her father had done to her. It was probably a little selfish of me, but at the time it did not feel that way. I felt that I loved her. And she clearly wanted me to be her first... to erase the pain of her past.
“Yes, let me see what it feels like having sex with you!” she pleaded, with her lovely eyes practically all aglow with excited delight. We were already sitting in a patch of soft grass and soil beneath that tree I mentioned, so it would be plenty comfortable enough to do it here. I would have preferred to bring her back home with me and make love to her on my soft, comfortable bed... but we were both in the mood right then, there, and in that moment and I knew that if I brought her home with me I might never want to have her go back to her own home again. And that would have been selfish indeed! I began to undo the drawstring on my pants, and I told Becky to lay down on the ground on her back. Once I had taken off my pants and set them aside, I slid the woman's romper off of her lovely young body and I tossed it over with my pants. I pulled her panties off next, and her breasts looked magnificent. She was not, I so noticed, wearing a bra... so after her panties were removed she was naked except for her shoes and her socks which were still on her feet. We didn't concern ourselves about those, though! I took off my own underwear next, and then told Becky to spread her legs as I inserted my erect penis into her sweet cunt. I went slowly and gently at first, and only went in so far with my cock, not wanting to hurt her after all. But I explained to her that because she was a bit small and I was so big down there, that there might be some pain, and she understood. “It can't be worse than with Dad!” she said, chuckling... and I began to move in and out of her, with the speed of my thrusting increasing a little at a time until Becky began to moan from the experience. It was not a moan of pain though, she was genuinely enjoying what it was I was doing with her. Naturally, I did not put my full weight upon her body and the way I fucked her was careful yet passionate, and soon we were both sweating and savoring this golden moment. She was wet for me, and only got wetter the more I fucked her. There was no blood, and if there had been any tearing it had to have been minimal since she never once acted like she felt any pain whatsoever. Or if she did, she kept it to herself. We continued like this for a long while, until I felt myself nearing to my climax. I was raining kisses down upon her gorgeous face, licking her cheeks with my tongue and telling her that I loved her with all my heart. I meant every word of that too! Soon, I felt my seed shoot up into her, and my sticky cum filled her eager cunt. I kept at it even after that, until she was able to orgasm from it, her lovely body shuddering from the experience. Only after that... did I kiss her passionately again and as I did so, I withdrew from her my manhood. As I did that, at the very last... a rather fair amount, of both of our fluids, flowed forth to make a slick and sticky mess of the short lady's meaty young thighs. She had been calling out my name, saying “Oh God! Oh, God! Oh... yes! Oh, Jerry!” in between letting out loud cries, shrieks and moans of all sorts leading up to her moment of supreme ecstasy. She was a screamer, it seemed, and truthfully when it comes to sex I do not mind that in the least. Actually, I typically prefer girls of this sort who let me know when they are enjoying themselves. Those are the ones who, during a good bout of intercourse, excite me, arouse me, and please me the most of all. She was now breathing in a very heavy and breathy manner after our combined exertions, and I laid down on the ground next to her, whilst I ran my hand through the curls of her raven black hair. I normally prefer blondes and just as much redheads, but I also have a genuine weakness for girls with black hair. They have an allure that is all their own, and a way about them that never fails to touch my heart deeply. “I truly do love you, with all my heart and soul, Becky.” I told her, and she said to me in between trying to catch her breath: “Oh, wow... Jerry, I love you too. Oh Jerry, I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you.” and she seemed a bit on the verge of some sort of ecstatic madness. A madness we both shared in that moment. She then turned over and wrapped her arms around me, and she told me: “I don't want to have to go home, Jerry. I want to stay with you, forever! But I know I have to go home. I can't run away with you, to wherever it is you live, I can't quit my job and do whatever I want. But part me wants to run off, wants to just say to my colleagues 'fuck off!' and for all I care they can literally all fuck one another in Hell. I'd truly love to watch the world burn sometimes! And my stupid family with them. You ever feel like that?” and I told her that I felt like that pretty much all the time. I had no great love for society... or, the world in general.
We both got dressed shortly after that... and we walked through the deeper woods until the forest gave way to a sports field near to the road that winds in a large circle all through the park. This place held for me so many memories over the years, and with Becky I had one more to add to them. I thought about a lot of things, about Becky's ruined childhood, her dislike of her fellow teachers and her job in general... and her general dissatisfaction with the world. Often, in the middle school years, girls do end up losing their virginity to the older boys... and nobody ever thinks ill or wrongly about that. Fathers will pat their boys on the back, to the tune of “boys will be boys” and it's a notch in the boy's belt if he got laid with the prettiest girl in his class or in the school, or at least the prettiest one in his eyes. But how many of the fathers who do so reflect upon the kind of men those boys might one day grow up to be? What kind of boy had Becky's father been, I wondered, that he so took his own daughter's virginity before any boy had the chance to even think about it... had he been a good boy, a bad boy, a religious child or a godless one, I wondered. I thought back on some of the relationships I myself had with young girls in the past, some around middle school age, and I realized that the only difference between Becky's father and I was that I'd never touched my own child in such a way. And the only difference between myself and some of those middle school age boys was my age. That, and the fact that I wasn't ever after notches on a belt of any kind in life. Lust and love were more, for me, the primary things upon my mind when Becky and I made love. And though she was well of legal age, being eighteen at the time, she reminded me with her personality of a girl far younger. There is a prejudice in society and a bias when it comes to things of a certain sort though, and it is as unjust as it is cruel because it often is a cause of great tragedies for all so concerned. At least with Becky, we didn't have to keep our relationship a dirty secret. But still, we kept it only between us in the end. And, never in the whole of her life after that did she ever tell a soul what we had shared up at the park on that beautiful and golden spring day. I suppose... she wasn't the type to kiss and tell is all it was. “I don't regret a thing, though.” she confessed to me, and admitted: “I'll think about you over the years, even if we never see each other again. But maybe, this town being so small... we can get together again sometime! I'd love that.” and I admitted to her that I would love that also. I'll never know why, but at the time we did not share phone numbers or addresses... it seemed as if we had agreed that if fate decreed we should meet again then we would. I never got to teach her about magic... but the lesson in love, passion, and in pleasure that I gave her was far more meaningful and a lot more firmly grounded in this world, than any mystical arts could ever be. I had not learned her last name, and she never learned I had any name aside from “Jerry”. She was one of those special women who seemed to appear in my life at precisely the right time, when I needed her the most. Something about her I knew would always be beautiful and perfect, at least as I define such things... and wonderful as the years went on. There was something unique about her I longed to revisit. We walked around the long and winding circular road, the towering trees to both sides of the road feeling like the pillars of a majestic holy place. This natural cathedral was where I oft felt a divine presence, more so than in any church or synagogue, temple or mosque that I have ever been in throughout my life. And yes, just in this one single life... my present, current one in which I am writing this... I have been in all of those houses of worship, religion, and spirituality. I had called many religions my own prior to the time in my life when I merged them all to form my own mystical and spiritual way. I knew that Becky... or someone like her at least... would understand my way if I ever had the time and chance to teach it to her. But when my eyes went from the trees and the greenery all around us to gazing upon her face and bodily form... I knew that my greatest act of idolatry was my worship of such as she. To me if there was a living manifestation of true absolute divinity, it would be in the shape of a girl of such unsurpassed wonderfulness as Becky so possessed. I could hear the waters past the fishing landings lapping against the ground there as my young paramour and I walked past them... we held each other's hand, walking hand in hand. She was short and sweet, a lot like the lovemaking we had indulged in, the casual sex that for me meant so very, very much more.
As we walked along, I recited poetry to Becky several times... and she was delighted to hear me do so. She seemed to have a deep and abiding interest in poetry, and I told her that I often posted my poetry on various sites online, along with my various other written works... and I told her precisely which internet sites it was that I was frequenting for that purpose. On doing that, I also let her know what names I was going by on those sites so that if she ever wanted to do so... she could just go on them, find my written works, and read them to get to know and understand me better. There was still so much about myself I had yet to reveal either to her or to the world through my writings, and yet even back then there was an amount decent enough to give people a general idea of my deeper aspects. I thought that someday, when I felt bold enough to do so, I might write about Becky and about what we shared together. I asked her if she would like that, and she said maybe someday it might be a good idea but not at that time. I agreed... since time would grant her freedom from her past, and once she was free to determine her own fate and course in life then that would be the time to write about what she had meant to me. As of today... she, is thirty two years old and will turn thirty three this year... and we have kept in touch ever since it was that she got a hold of me, quite out of the blue really, as soon as she turned twenty five back in 2016. One of the last messages I ever received from someone on a poetry site that is now closed down. We oft spend time with each other over our webcams when we get the chance to and catch up on what is new in both of our lives. She prefers to be called Beck now, rather than Becky, but at heart she is still the same lady I fell in love with back when we first met. I never did get around to teaching her magic, but I have fully taught her all the intricacies of my mystical way and she has become a loyal convert to my spirituality. I hesitate to call it a religion, but one could classify it as such if they wished to. Faith proved better to be teaching her about rather than magic, and long before I had the sort of online following I do today... she embraced my teachings without hesitation, proving herself to be as brave and strong as ever. She is still the beautiful woman I imagined she would ever be, and to say she is devoted to me would be a definite understatement. She no longer lives in the city we both grew up in, and neither do I, and like myself her family is a distant and sometimes troublesome memory to contend with. Like attracts like, and time will always do strange things if you pay attention to the changes attentively enough to notice. People oft say that you never forget your first, and Beck still sees me as having been her first... the one who delivered her from her virginity and taught her what true love really is... having long since excised her father from her mind and memories in order to be able to fully forget that the awful man had ever existed at all. In a way, our most passionate moments that we now share together using video call services such as Skype have become for Beck the very best sort of therapy for dealing with the most horribly traumatic aspects of her childhood. Sex may not cure everything, but combined with love and passion it can do wonders for any wounded soul if they are open minded enough to accept what it has to offer them. It works hand in hand with a variety of spiritual alchemy wherein the baser aspects of oneself and one's life can be, as miraculously as one might imagine, transmuted into something golden and pure. What is rotten may be made fresh again, and what is is dead or dying within us may live once more. In a way, perhaps it is a kind of sexual healing magic, and if that is the case then it seems I have taught Beck a variety of magic after all and kept my old promise to her thereby. She asked me a funny question once, she asked me if I was actually human. And I asked her what made her think I was not, and she replied: “Nothing! It's just that your writings, and the things you talk about and reveal in them, they aren't like the kind of things a normal human being ever even thinks about at all. A lot of it seems to be more on a higher level, and it just feels a lot like something a higher being might delve into more than a regular person.” I chuckled a bit, and this was over Skype on video when we had this conversation... and I said to her: “Who said I'm not a higher being? But seriously! For a moment... I thought, you were going to say you thought I was an android, a robot, or an alien of some kind.” She then grinned almost mischievously as she asked me: “So... are you?” and, she giggled a bit after that. I smiled, and replied in answer to this: “And if I am?”
It is not always good form to answer a question with a question, but sometimes it can fun to just be a bit silly and tease somebody whom you love dearly. Beck always responded to my teasing in a way that was pleasant, she would sometimes blush, sometimes smile a big crazy looking smile before laughing or giggling at what she took to be a joke. Some of it was intended humorously, though sometimes we'd talk about things of a more serious and less philosophical nature than the exchange I just mentioned. I loved her sense of humor, which developed more and more as she got older into something truly special that never failed to make me smile whenever she would delve into it. I never tell her that I have a rather serious and somewhat uncontrollable paranoid schizophrenic dissociative identity disorder, and she just never asks me about my mental health to a big enough degree that I would need to bring up the subject, which is a type of subject we simply never bring up for discussion at all, that kind of serious condition. It has only been very, very recently that I have been able to accept this about myself at all, although I've been able to look back into my life and see and understand that it was always present even if I tried not to see it, not to accept it, not to realize it or think about it. Beck is the occasional sense of normalcy that slips into my life from time to time in order to remind me of good memories from years gone by. But, for the past couple of weeks I haven't heard from her. We normally meet up on Facebook and then see what we might get up from there, but she's been offline more than she's been online of late and I guess that is what prompted me to write about her, resulting in this work you are reading now. Though, I am certain Beck and I will be in contact again sooner or later... she reminds me of some of my other loved ones and good friends, and I suppose Beck counts as both of those things to a large degree. I know how it is when life gets in the way of things, and keeps a person from doing what they'd like to do. And upon that subject... sometimes, I think about my former therapist Sybil and my old flame Camilla Flores, and how they covered for me about my split personality's identity of Chloe. The version of me that I become when I dissociate to so large of a degree that I have no memory of what I am doing at all whenever that happens. They were kind and good to do that for me, I suppose, since I was at the time not even aware of being Chloe and the truth has not hit me well, to say the least. If anything, it has broken me further, but made me more able to understand certain things about myself than I perhaps would be able to, had I never known about this at all and remained ignorant of the truth. I have been talking a lot to my latest therapist, Megan, about this ever since the truth about Chloe became known to me and the seriousness of just how schizophrenic I am when I am Chloe became evident. Chloe believes she has a whole life that she has lived independent of the rest of me, complete with family and a whole history that since she is indeed a part of me is all in truth a delusion. And I can see that, and understand that, and realize it. But I know the next time I become Chloe again, I won't be aware that it is a delusion and I will once more be in the grip of believing the things that Chloe believes. But there is no cure for schizophrenia, nor is there a cure for dissociative identity disorder. Just like there is no cure for being a romantic. I've had to accept some pretty terrible truths about myself, and Megan has been helping me to realize I am not evil because I am psychologically troubled. I do not believe I have ever mentioned this, but Megan's full name is Megan Avise-Rouse, and she has her own tiny private office downtown in a neighboring city just up a nearby highway from the small, sleepy town I am at the moment living in. The city is at the edge of the Mississippi River, and the drive is a bit of a drive to get there so to speak, but it isn't ridiculously far. Megan is beautiful! She has dark hair, lovely eyes, and looks gorgeous in her glasses. She is a big woman, very voluptuous and not overweight. She wears clothing that flatters her figure to a nice degree, and I believe I have mentioned before in other writings that I find her attractive. I actually told her that my former therapist Sybil... whom I was seeing before I saw Gloria, the therapist I had to see prior to my first session with Megan... was a bit crazy, and that Sybil and I ended up in an intimate, sexual relationship that crossed too many professional boundaries. At least Gloria simply retired. Sybil lost her practice, and I cannot say the woman did not deserve to lose it for doing some of what she did.
Between pursuing a sexual relationship with me and revealing quite a few of Chloe's delusions right in public on the poetry site Sybil and I are both members of, it was honestly only a matter of time, with the writing being on the wall, before Sybil lost her practice for good. I don't miss Sybil, honestly, now that I realize and understand the extent of the damage she was doing to me as her patient. As for Gloria, she at least simply retired in good standing, and it was Gloria who recommended Megan to me saying she would be a good fit. And honestly, Megan truly is! We hit it off remarkably, and whilst Gloria was able to determine that I was having serious dissociative moments, it was Megan who finally was able to get to me realize what those dissociative moments entailed. I find Megan incredibly attractive, as I have said before in other writings of mine... I would definitely have sex with her in a heartbeat. But sadly, I know she is very “by the book” about things, although like Gloria she did cry during one of the sessions in which I was telling her about some of the traumas and tragedies I have lived through in the past. She feels for me deeply, as every therapist I see ends up doing, but unlike Sybil I do not believe Megan to be the type of woman who would risk her job to become intimate with me. To be honest though, if we did anything together I would tell nobody because I would not want to jeopardize her job. But... she has a husband and a family and I believe she is happy enough with him that she would not have an affair on him behind his back. Sybil, she had nobody but herself to concern herself with, and was of a far more selfish bent than Megan. As for Gloria, she was too old and too much like a mother for me to think of in any way except as a motherly figure. But all that having been said, I am finally beginning to speak with Megan openly and freely about Chloe being a part of me and what that is like. She told me that from now on, she is going to ask me at the start of each sessions which personality is present, either Kara or Chloe, and we'll go from there. Since the sessions before my latest one, during that one Chloe was present and I barely remember anything about that session at all, though when I am Chloe I can fully recall all the details of it. I do not need to trouble Beck with all of this, but I would wager that in time the subject will come up and doubtless she will understand. She tends to take a very broad view on those sort of things, so it is a case of never say never. These are mad truths, mad confessions, and even madder revelations, and yet these are things that I have had to write about because I can only bottle up certain things for so long before I have to let them out. It is the only way to not go even crazier from it all than I clearly already am. I think back to the year 2009, and then I jump ahead to now and it feels like my life has become a tree with countless branches that back then I could never have envisioned in the form in which they exist currently. Back then, I was still seeing only the trunk of the tree, whereas now I am beginning to see the entirety of it for what it truly, actually, is. I suppose I am fortunate, since many people go their whole lives and only ever see the trunk... or, if they see the branches, it is only at a distance, removed from getting close enough to make out the fine details of each and every leaf. I see a lot of the details now, and I can only hope that in time I will come to feel more at peace with what I am learning and having to understand. I believe I have come a long way in life! There was a time when I'd never have written some of the things that I have felt the courage to write in recent years. I used to just bottle up my pain, my memories, and the truths of my life whilst I contented myself to focus on other things. But if you bottle a thing up, it will not go away... it will still be there, and so it is best to face a thing head on and bring it out from the darkness when it is needful to do so. I sometimes ask myself if I am a good person or a wicked person. The truth is... I am both, good and wicked. Because we are, all of us, carrying some degree of wickedness within ourselves along with any goodness that we possess. The trick is to find a way to accept it and understand how to better oneself from the moment of that singular acceptance onward. It is not about how pure you are, but about how pure your heart is at the core of you and in the very center of your being. Because that is where the real you lies! And, as fractured and split as the real me may be... there is a purity at the core of it all, and people like Beck and others I've loved over the years have glimpsed that purity with their own eyes and not been able to turn their gaze away.
Published 9th Dec 2024
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