All About Him...

How long did you date?

What is dating? We fucked the first nigbt we met and broke up 17 years later. I don't think we've ever been on a date.

How old is he? 36. We are 18 months apart.

Who eats more?
Him.

Who said “I love you” first?
That would be Me. I said it to him the second time we fucked; one week after I met him. I guess I knew it all.

Who is taller?
That would be Me. Again. Only by a centimetre or so.


Who sings better?
Me. Without question.

Who is smarter?
Me. Again. Without question.

Whose temper is worse?
His. I can only describe how volatile he can become. Maybe I'm just a pushover.

Who does the dishes?
Somebody Else does the dishes?

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
That would be Me.

Who pays the bills?
Share and share alike. If we are together. Otherwise; it's all Me and he pays no maintenace.

Who cooks dinner?
I get told he is the cook but I am the one who puts the ideas into action. I cook a greaty lasagna. And Pork spare ribs. Take your pick people.

Who drives when you are together?
He has never evenm held his Learners permit. I have held a Gold licence for the last ten years at least. I drove him to work for 12 years. Nuf said.

Who is more stubborn?
Him. I think.
Who asked who out first?
No one asked anybody out. We had a two year old child (together) before we were even a couple.

Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?
Me. Me. Me. It's all my fault.

Whose parents do you see the most?
Mine. I work with my Dad and my Mother visits or calls three times a day. Imagine That!

Who proposed?
Nobody. Even after 17 years together I am still a 'single' woman.

Who is more sensitive?
Umm;Me. Leave me alone now okay?

Who has more friends?
Me. Even He says all his friends like Me bettter than they do him.

Who has more siblings?
We both come from a family of six; he has two brothers and one sister and I have three sisters. We are both the 3rd child in the mix of things. Maybe that says something about us?

Who wears the pants in the family?
What family? We have broken up. I wonder the fuck why.

Tattoo...

No matter what you say about love
I keep coming back for more
Keep my head in the fire, sooner or later, I get what I’m asking for

No matter what you say about life
I learn every time I bleed
The truth is a stranger
Soul is in danger
I gotta let my spirit be free
To admit that I’m wrong
And then change my mind
Sorry but I have to move on and leave you behind

I can’t waste time so give it a moment
I realize nothing’s broken
No need to worry about everything I’ve done.
Live every second like it was my last one.
Don’t look back got a new direction.
I loved you once needed protection.
You’re still a part of everything I do.
You’re on my heart just like a tattoo. Just like a tattoo, I’ll always have you. (I’ll always have you.)

Sick of playing all of these games
It’s not about taking times
When I looked in the mirror, didn’t deliver
It hurt enough to think I could stop
Admit that I’m wrong and then change my mind
Sorry but I’ve gotta be strong and leave you behind

I can’t waste time so give it a moment
I realized nothing is broken

No need to worry about everything I’ve done
Live every second like it was my last one
Don’t look back at a new direction
I loved you once needed protection
You’re still a part of everything I do
You’re on my heart just like a tattoo, just like a tattoo
I’ll always have you (I’ll always have you).

If I live every moment,
It won’t change any moment,
It’s still a part of me and you
I will never regret you
Still the memory of you
Marks everything I do.

I can’t waste time so give it a moment
I realized nothing is broken (yeah)
No need to worry about everything I’ve done
Live every second like it was my last one
Don’t look back at a new direction (don’t look back)
I love you once needed protection (no no)
Still a part of everything I do
You’ll still in my heart just like a tattoo

Can’t waste time so give it a moment (I can’t waste time)
I realized nothing is broken
No need to worry about everything I’ve done (No need to worry)
Live every second like it was my last one
Don’t look back at a new direction (don’t you ever look back)
I love you once and I needed protection
You’re still a part of everything I do
You’ll still in my heart just like a tattoo, just like a tattoo
I’ll always have you

Lyrics by Jordin Sparks

Fifty Eight Messages...

Hubby: You're a total fuckup.

Hubby: Little Son's not eating he would have had a go at some McDonalds but you think getting pissed is more important than your son fucking idiot.

Hubby: Loser alco bitch.

Hubby: Hope you fucken choke.

Hubby: Fucken spaz.

Hubby: Hope you had a nice dinner fuckhead.

Hubby: No good loser of a mother.

Hubby: Little Son's still hungry u junky slag.

Hubby: Hope you sleep well knowing your sick child has gone hungry fucking scab.

Hubby: Shit for brains.

Hubby: Maggot.

Hubby: Go fuck yourself.

Hubby: It's not about some Random Fuck it's your attitude.

Hubby: I will always love you just can't live.

Hubby:I told you no pot.

Hubby: You asked for some I'm not plaing games get your act together.

Hubby: Fuck you then.

Hubby:I still love you and thinking of you please make me proud.

Hubby: Thanx.

Hubby:Soon.

Hubby:Don't worry I won't turn into a pumpkin.

Hubby:Just 69 will do.

Hubby: I've got wood now.

Hubby:Taxi.

Hubby:Sort your shit out you fucking spastic.

Hubby: Get help.

Hubby: Get out of my house or I'll be calling DOCS.

Hubby: I told you the party's over now the wheels are in motion Little Son deserves better.

Hubby: 2 Late.

Hubby:Keep blaming other people for your misery.

Hubby: Just fuck off junky whore.

Hubby: You're nothing to me stop txt I'm talking to a hotty now fuck off.

Hubby:Don't worry I only got her number she is having diner with her olds I'll have to wait til Saturdau Oh well I have heaps of time to get to know the locals made two friends already pub boss is max his side kick is Tim fuck you told I'm no joke.

Hubby: Too late going fishing and fucking hot young chicks bye dickhead.

Hubby:I will fuck who I want you do.

Hubby:Fuck you I have already found better only took two hours.

Hubby:You have three months get out of my house I will be buying it your not in the picture if Little So nis neglected I will take him too I hate you your pissweak.

Hubby:Get out of my house you lying cheating stealing junky whore.

Hubby: Get out of my house you fucking mole.

Hubby: Go get fisted in a spa you slut.

Hubby: Start saving your pennies and pay your debts or the sherrif will take all your stuff and DOCS will take your kids you alco junky fuck for grubby old men.

Hubby: No get get all your lying and cheating you have done in the past is coming back to bite you get ready to know what misery is like you fucking brain dead slag.

Hubby: Work hard and save your money or you coyuld just get a job with Wemmaly take druga and have losers fuck you all day sounds right up your alley.

Hubby:I have gone now you can suffer you used by date flogged out magician sleeved cunt piece of baggage.

Hubby: You raggedy old bit of mutton.

Hubby: Hope your on your knees choking on bleach.

Hubby: Fuck petrols expensive you might have to walk to the Pub from now on or get a pushbike with a baby seat on the back that should tone up your flabby old lady thighs.

Hubby: Oh I forgot you won't be able to afford the Pub looks like casks of wine and sucking cock for cones from now on and smoking rollies like a gutted out old hag.

Hubby: You suck wrinkly old blue cocks you spastic head fuck go home and look after Little Son you child neglecting no hope.

Hubby:Buy some new pants for work instead of beer you look like a hobo old scrag.

Hubby: You scabby old crow.

Hubby: Fucking hag.

Hubby: Fuck you slut.

Hubby: You pissweak monkey face bitch.

Hubby: Sloppy smelly cunt droopy titted cow.

Hubby: I will be coming over at four o'clock to get more of my stuff if you don't want m mouth full of abuse fuck for half an hour you skanky lying sack of shit.

Hubby: I've gone now.

Hubby: The bills are piling up on the fridge looks like you have a big month of partying in front of you don't forget the tyres so much fun to be had.


These are the fifty eight messages I've received since Easter. It's over. At Last.

Irrevocably.

He can leave me alone now.

I get the fucking message.

(Oh How I Wish That I Was) Jessie's Girl...

The first time that I met Jessie was on board the HMAS Parramatta where he cooked me the worst bacon and eggs I've ever eaten in my life...

I forgave him for it; eventually- about ten years later if my memory serves Me correctly.

The second time I met him was at a party when I was still sixteen; I think it was his twenty-first birthday. Stan and Yobbo took Me and Dano; I suppose anyone who didn't know any better might have imagined that I was there with Stan- but I wasn't. The feelings he felt for Me were never mutual I'm afraid. I liked Jessie straight away; though that's not his real name of course. I've never called him by his real name either, though- so I suppose what name You know him by doesn't matter in the slightest. Stan told me that the reason behind Jessie's nickname was that it had been the name of an athlete from the Berlin Olympics; so if you want to go digging and delving into History then you can be my guest- try and work out his identity for yourselves.

But you'll never hear it from me; because to this day he is the only other man I think I could have loved and been happy with- aside from my Hubby of course...

If I have one Sexual Regret in my life then it's that Jessie and I didn't get to have sex on the one and only night when we both had the freedom to do so. If we had chosen to. It was a few months after I had turned seventeen when I ran into Jessie and his cousin Johnny at a night club. They both bought me drinks all night; but I stupidly chose to go home with Johnny instead of Jessie- thinking that Jess was only interested in me as a mate because of Stan- and also because he was five years older than me- and only went out with women; not little girls like Me.

And so I ended up back at the house- but with the wrong family member...

Johnny was alright; except that he was a terrible snorer. I had sex with him twice more before we got bored with each other. But because I never slept with Jessie I suppose I always have secretly wished that I did. The few times he Did kiss me he had the softest lips and the wildest tongue imaginable; though I worried he would never be able to kiss me slowly- as he would've if he had really been 'into' me.

He could make me feel dizzy just by looking at me with his intense black eyes; eyes that seemed to find me desirable and hot. By the time I realised that I wanted to fuck him-badly- it was too late; and I had already reunited with my Hubby. But I have seen Jessie since. There was a time when we even drank together regularly- but only ever as friends...

The last time I saw him he looked at me, his lust only thinly disguised, and told me that I was still as 'fine' as I ever was. It made my Year that he thought I was still rootable. We reminisced about That Time down at the beach when we were younger - and the Other Time at the bowling alley- which I think he had totally forgotten about until I reminded him- and then he left; before I could think about ruining the relationship I already have.

It's the closest I've ever come to cheating on my Hubby; and not because anything happened- but because I really would have liked it to. That's why I knew that I had to move away- needed to- even if it was only a few suburbs away; because it would get the Thought of Him out of my mind once and for all. And when I didn't see him every day I got over it. Really.

Jessie didn't want the kind of relationship that I had with my Hubby and Son and I would never give that up- having a family with them. It wouldn't feel right. I know that I've long missed the proverbial boat when it comes to being with Jessie- but it still made me smile when I was talking to one of our long-ago mutual friends, not all that long ago- and he told me that back then Jess had told him that he was really keen on a gorgeous girl with long black hair.

Me.

rn-buffoon...

I suppose that's why I've found Myself thinking of Jessie again recently, because he used to look at me in a way my Hubby never has- like everything I had to say was funny or sexy or interesting or whatever. Jesse listened to me when I raved on with my craziness and laughed when I spoke it out loud.

I know he thought I was rootable, too...

I just wish I had done something different about it when I first had the chance- when I was seventeen and not with my Hubby- things would have turned out very differently if I had- that's for sure.

It's long gone now- any chance of being with Jessie. I don't regret staying faithful to my Hubby, either, even though he never even knew until Just Now that I had ever considered being anything else but faithful to him.

Oh well. I was. And that's the most important thing isn't it?

Just thought I'd point that part out, though.

Twice...

Confessions Of A Blogger...

1. My biggest sexual turn on is __________?

I've gone all shy since adding my face to this blog!

Had it Not been there I might've been tempted to tell you that what turns me on, sexually speaking, is watching other people doing It while I'm at It too. I've been in a foursome with my Hubby and another couple- and two threesomes (one of each 'persuasion' MFM/FMF) and can honestly say from experience that there is nothing quite like watching someone get Done at close range...

Of course, failing that- there's always porn.

Oh...hang on. I wasn't going to tell you all that- was I?

2. On a scale of 1-10, how jealous do you get (have you gotten)?

I didn't think I was an overly jealous person until my Hubby's brother and his wife won quite a large amount on the Lotto- one point six million to be precise. When my Hubby and I got their great news we laid down on our bed and bitched and groaned for two hours straight why couldn't it have been us. Even after they gave us ten grand I was still pissed off that they had won it. And I still am. They only won this money six years ago and have wasted the lot! Goneski! It still makes me sick with jealousy. Ten!

3. Have you ever had sex with someone you work(ed) with? Any negative consequences?

My Bastard Ex worked at the same racetrack as I did; but we didn't work for the same Trainer and it wasn't until After we had both left our jobs there that we even got together- so No.

I haven't had many jobs. Four. And none in fourteen years except that of Housewife and Mother. So Technically, I suppose, I sleep with the Boss...

4. Wash up, cuddle or fall asleep?

Is this a trick? All three.

I like to wash up as I'm cooking dinner- and the pans, plates and forks are done straight after we eat.

Then it's nice to have a cuddle. And if I'm lucky (and so is he!) then we have a different kind of cuddle. The type of cuddle that elicit such questions as "What are you doing to Mummy?"

This isn't an easy question to answer a four year old.

And no they are Not sugar packets on the floor...

Then a quick Post-Coital ciggie and it's off to sleep. Night!


5. Which is more important of the two in "chemistry," physical attractiveness or sexual performance?

Physical attractiveness. If you aren't attracted to them physically you're hardly likely to jump into the sack with them are you? And if you're not in the sack with them- their sexual performance skills, or lack of them, don't make an iota of difference!

However- had the question been Which is more important of the two in "chemistry", physical attractiveness or mental attractiveness (hope y'all get at what I'm driving at here) then I don't think there is much of a dispute that with real 'chemistry' there is a spark between two individuals that often has little if nothing to do with physical attraction- but is more a meeting of the minds.

Doesn't hurt if they Are hot though, does it?

Bonus (as in optional): What kind of birth control do you use?

Frangas. And after two kids if it's Not On then it's Not On. Besides I go mental on the Pill. And I like having a natural cycle; my moods are my own; for Better or Worse! Hubby kept telling me he'd have the snip on his 30th birthday- but that was four years ago and I'm still waiting...

A Letter From My Three Sisters...

Hello Sister

We're all writing because you don't really talk to us anymore - I mean, just talk like a sister, it's only if something really bad has happened you bother with one of us, and even then usually you're off your face anyway, and you don't want to listen unless its something you want to hear. We figure if we write it down, you'll at least read this, even if you don't agree with one single thing we say.

We have been watching you go down, with both Hubby and the kids. We have been worried for years about you, but now we are more worried about Eldest Son and Little Son especially. We've all heard how you're happy with your life now and you have these great friends and all that, but whether that's true or not, we are unhappy with what you are doing to yourself and the kids. personally I don't believe you are really happy with your life, or you wouldn't still be so hysterical overtime something happens with Hubby that makes you have to go off and get drunk or stoned. People don't have to do shit like that unless they're unhappy - or addicts - so which are you?

I heard what happened last week because Mum asked me if any of us love her, since you had told her we all had crap childhood's and to ask us if she didn't believe us. Do I think there were some issues when we were growing up, sure, but nothing that's not too weird compared to anyone else ever. Even Prince Williams and Harry didn't have a perfect childhood. Do I think you are a better mother to the boys than our mother was to us? No, I actually don't. Our mother wasn't always particularly interested or very supportive in what we did, but our mother at least turned up when she had too. I've been to more of Eldest Son's concerts than you have, for god sake. Are they heaps of fun, no. Thats not the point though. I don't get how YOU can still be so angry at MUM for being disinterested in your stuff 18 years ago, but think it's fair enough that you don't go to anything of Eldest Son's on the basis that it's not your type of music, or you dont have anything in common with his friends mothers. Well, duh. What makes you think eldest Son won't be still whinging about how you neglected him 18 years from now for the same - but heaps WORSE - reasons. I don't remember you ever being put in a position of having to throw a chair between Mum and Dad to stop them fighting, and then running off into the night. Or watching Dad piss on Mum and Mum punch him out, and then getting dumped at Grammas so Mum can go off and get stoned, while you went without medicine. Nice touch that when you did turn up again last weekend, it was with your vodka and not little Son's medicine?

You want to blame Hubby for all that, fine, do it. But you're their MOTHER, you have the responsibility to decide what's best for them, and to take care of them first. Even if taking care of them first means you have to get over your obsession about Hubby and move out, or hey, actually spend time with them rather than going as as many nights as possible and leaving them for someone else to take care of. When was the last time you took them out anywhere special? Or spent time with them on a weekend? Dont insult anyone by saying you don't have the money for it, you clearly have enough to get drunk and stoned, you just would rather spend your money on yourself. If that's how it is, be their mother one last time, and make a decision about who they are better off with full time. If you dont want them and all that goes with it, then give them to someone who'll take real care of them.

My son died last year and I would give anything to have him back. Actually HAVE him, and spend time with him, and be there when he grows up. Watching how you are with the boys, especially little Son, makes me angry and sad. I wish you would think about what you have and think about how you'd feel if something happened to one of them, and you didn't have them anymore. And imagine what they'll look back in their childhood's were like, and how they'll think about you. If you're still this angry at Mum, how do you think they'll be with you later on?

Last thing. Aside from what sort of mother and daughter you have become I wonder if you think much about what sort of sister and friend you are these days. You made a big point to Mum asking if she knew the names of your high school friends. Well, me and Sister and Sister all still SEE our highschool friends. Where are yours? Driven off because they're all fucked or too boring or whatever. Is is it just a coincidence, or could you consider you're the common denominator in the problems you think everyone ELSE has. The only thing i got out of you last time we talked was that we all need to remember you're going through a "divorce"... me and little Sister have already been divorced and that didn't end up in us neglecting our families. Middle Sister is so pregnant she needs her Partner's mum to move there from Adelaide to help her out - while you're just down the road - and she was the one helping you get ready for little Son. Little Sister's dealing with 3 little kids and her Oldest being left by his Dad. I'm in therapy. Where are you in all this for us?

If you want help, we'll help you, we miss you. But we can't watch this anymore

Oldest Sister

Sister,
Oldest Sister sent me an email briefly outlining your weekend which ended in mum in tears asking whether or not any of us loved her. Look at what YOU actually did yourself that weekend regarding your behaviour and the impact of that on little Son in particular and eldest Son. Well, listen here, you have NO RIGHT to speak to Mum on anyone's behalf, especially considering that mum has done more for your kids than any others. You really are out of line in speaking at all. Without her support where would your kids be? What figment of your imagination has your childhood painted as such a nightmare that it is so much worse than the childhood you have provided for your kids? You are such a fucking hypocrite if you think your childhood was worse than the reality of what your kid's has been. How many times did you see our parents fight, hit each other, put holes in the walls, piss on each other or even swear at each other????? How many times did our parents dump us at Grandma's for the weekend so they could go to parties and get drunk and full of drugs???? I can't seem to remember any such weekends. My bet is that Sister and Sister can't either so where do you get these ideas that your childhood was so fucked??
Sure mum and dad weren't into Pony Club but what sports do you take your kids to on the weekend, even as spectators? How dare you judge them when your weekends are just filled with drugs and alcohol, week after week? Family, well you don't have a fucking clue what that means you are so drug fucked, a junkie (you don't need heroin be be a junkie you know). Wakeup you need to realise how far your life has spiralled downwards and you are dragging your kids with you. Mum is trying to stop their lives from being fucked up by you. It's been devastating to watch you do this to yourself and your kids. Mum has enabled a lot of your behaviour simply by having them so you can go out, but she has been in a catch 22 with it, because what would you have done if you had no one to mind the kids all weekend, gone out anyway??? That is what mum fears would be the case, or that you would take them with you and they would be exposed to more of your sick behaviour.
Personally if she hadn't had to spend so much time doing your job raising your kids, she might have had more time for the other grandkids. You have been so selfish for the last 16 years. Do you really think you had it so bad? For fuck sake compare your childhood with your kid's and then answer the question.
And DO NOT EVER speak to mum on my behalf again.

Middle Sister



Sister, you are my sister and I love you....but stuff has to be said before you destroy yourself ! Where do I begin! This isn't exactly the easiest letter I've ever had to write.
We've watched you for the past couple of years and have all been worried for you. You say you're happy with your life but nothing could be further from the truth.You and I have had conversation and I've told you what I think about your relationship with Hubby and what you should do not only for yourself but for your kids. Is it that hard for you to see just how toxic this is to to your life! You are in a chronically vicous cycle which is spinning out of control and my concern is how much worse are you going to make this for yourself .....and the people you profess to love? (HOW MUCH FURTHER CAN YOU GO BEFORE YOU HIT BOTTOM?!!!!!)
I want you to remember yourself at 18 and you used to party hard even back then but in all honesty you are out of control! You party far harder than most people I know (and they don't have kids , or bills to pay!)
What worries me most is the effect this has on your kids. Eldest Son has the ability of getting away from all of this to some degree but little Son can't escape from it!Do you think he's going to be unscathed from watching yourself and Hubby getting wasted and then beating the crap out of each other? FOR FUCKS SAKE HE THINKS IT'S NORMAL!!!!
Now I'm thinking that you're thinking I'm a hypocrite, yeah I smoke weed and drink, but I'm not out every weekend dumping my kids on their grandparents just so I can do this.I can't even remember the last time I had a night off,or wanted to! Everything I do is for my family and I constantly put myself last not out of duty but for shear neccessity I cannot possibly smoke weed and get drunk every night and manage to pay a mortgage and my bills and then put food on the table.
Our parents might not have been their emotionally for us every time we needed them but they always came through for us when we really needed them ! And although they themselves had their issues they never laid a hand on us or each other!
Why would you want something worse for yourself?
I don't appreciate you telling mum that none of us love her! Now that's just a plain and horrible lie ! How could you even say that to our mother? SHE'S OUR MOTHER!!!!!!! Would you like your kids to say that to you!
Stuff might have happened to me but I don't blame mum and dad for the crap that's gone on! They worked bloody hard to get us through school and give us oppurtunities that they themselves never had .Our lives we're far better than theirs! They did their job! Now it's our turn to do the same!
Mum might not have made me lunch every day but I can make my son's
Mum might not have taken interest in me playing nettball, but I CAN take an interest in my kids activities
Mum and Dad might not have had the ideal peachy relationship but I can have relationship that is better than theirs could have been! Do you get what I'm saying to you?
MUM MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN THEIR FOR YOU WHEN MCGEE DID HORRIBLE THINGS TO YOU BUT IF YOU'D TOLD HER AND GIVEN HER THE CHANCE TO DEFEND YOU SHE WOULD HAVE!
WE ARE THE MASTER OF OUR HAPPINESS OR OUR MISERY!
WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOURSELF?
DO YOU WANT HAPPINESS OR DO YOU WANT MISERY Sister?
ONLY YOU CAN DIG YOURSELF OUT OF THE HOLE YOU'VE DUG FOR YOURSELF

Original Shit...

My eldest Son's middle name is Peter; named after his Great Uncle that nobody ever got to know.

He turned thirteen today...

I had to ring up to say Happy Birthday to him because he slept over at my Parent's house. Again. I can't remember the last time he slept here on a Wednesday night. He's never here on Thursday mornings. That's the day he has his Clarinet lessons that my Mother provides him. He stays Friday and Saturday nights too, so he can go to his Musicianship class and Piano lesson- and so he can use the 'faster computer'.

He's always been a bit of a freak on the computer- in a good way of course. I can remember when he had only just turned two we were filming a video of him while he was using the computer; typing in passwords and playing a game about a little green alien called Cosmo. I wish we still had the video, even though he would consider it embarrassing today- especially the part when he informs us that his just done a poo in his nappy. That was the amazing part of it, though, that here was a baby- still in nappies- using the computer better than I could.

Not that this surprised us at the time; he could practically read by then as well. He knew the alphabet by twelve months and was reading Harry Potter 'in his head' before he started Kindergarten. No one really taught him; he just soaked up information like a sponge. When he was three he went on his first train ride with his Grandfather- my dad read out all the names of the stations to him and on the reverse trip read them out back to him perfectly. But I'm just bragging now- and moving past the point that I wanted to make...

Then there are the other nights he stays at Grandma's; because of an extra music lesson when it's coming up to Exam time (incidentally he just received a B in his 6th Grade Piano Exam), or just so he can practice his scales because the only piano is at my Mother's house. It seems he's there more than he is at home. He probably only sleeps here three or four nights a week.

My Mother treats him better than she would have her own Son; if she had one. It's not to be unexpected; I did live at home with my parents until my Son was almost three- they and my Sisters helped me to raise him. What's ironic was that when I was in labour with him thirteen years ago my Mother told me to make sure that I didn't have a baby boy; because a boy was to go straight into the bucket. She said it jokingly I suppose but I know there was an element of seriousness to her suggestion. As a Kindergarten teacher it was her general opinion that most boys were naughty little shits that ate dirt- especially all of the ones that were called names like Matthew or Joshua- for some reason their names were what made them into naughty children. I'm sure it was a relief to her when I named my Son a name that had no bad teaching experiences associated with it.

Deep down my Mother is a card-carrying Feminist. My Sisters and I grew up on the slogan that Girls Can Do Anything. That was the reason my eldest Sister took Woodwork in high school instead of home economics; and probably why I took Technical Drawing myself, even though I have no aptitude for drawing; not even with a set square and compass...

I would love it if my Mother understood me. She seems to hold my feelings against against me when I show them to her, so I tend Not to very much. My Hubby needs to learn the truth about me too; though I know he would never dream of working his way through this story- not even out of curiosity. He probably doesn't even realise that he's one of the main characters. If he Did read it- apart from dying of shock or falling out of his chair- I think he would get the basic message that I love him with every fibre of my being but that he constantly frustrates me every day. There is always something that he does- or doesn't do- that shits me.

And I know I have to deal with that and can't expect him to change and suddenly become a Yes Dear kind of guy. I know that's what I want on some level; someone who doesn't have to be asked or cajoled into doing even the simplest of tasks. I guess having me twisted around his little finger those first few years were what undid Me. He knew the lengths and the depths that I would go (sink) to be with him. And even though I haven't been that person for a long time now, that was the foundation of our relationship- Me doing all the chasing, all the stalking and worrying and burning and hurting myself; it gave him the message that I didn't think I was worth any better- so why should he?

It's our own perspective of ourselves that we give off to the rest of the World; and feeling helpless or ugly or bitter has to be reflected somewhere- usually in the eyes of whom we wake up next to. And That's when you believe it. That's when you convince yourself it's the truth.

So what do I learn from this? That I have no self-esteem? Sure. I know that. But how do you move on and away from that realisation? How do you look in the mirror and like what you see? By saying you are a good person, good mother, good wife? By saying that you'll only have positive thoughts and only do positive things?

How do you get to that actual belief?

When is it that you wake up, look in the mirror and hear only positive thoughts- and not feel stupid at the same time if you actually try and reinforce those beliefs? I don't pretend to know the answer but I don't like to stop looking; pessimistic though I am I wouldn't quite call myself a Fatalist. Yet.

Things can get better; but it's been my experience that things only get worse- especially by delving into shit that worries you -you eventually dig up more shit that's even more concerning than was the Original shit that worried you in the first place...

You know, in all seriousness, I often think I have a brilliant mind- until I come up with shit like that.

Not that I'm not insightful. I'm full of insight. Especially when it concerns other people. It's only when it's me that I falter and don't have all the answers. Only me who seems wrong in oh-so many ways. People tell me that I'm a good listener who gives great advice- yet I ignore all my own advice like I'm some defiant teenager and the parent dishing it out all in one body.

Yeah; so I know the sort of thing I should be doing with my life- but I don't want to; so I tell Myself I can't long enough til even I believe it. It's like my future's mapped out and what I'm doing now is what I'll be doing in ten years time simply because that's how I've done it for the last ten. Taking shit. Thinking shit. Drinking shit. Feeling like shit. Maybe I'm afraid to grow up. Maybe That's why I've never called myself a 'woman'.

Maybe I want the childhood I denied myself from age thirteen- that was irrevocably lost at eighteen when I had my eldest Son. I just don't know.

I wish I were more insightful. I wish I wasn't afraid to be me- the me who everyone loves and admires and doesn't think she is ugly and needy. Cos that's how I want to feel.

And everything my Mother ever taught me just goes flying out the window; because deep down she raised us to be these creatures- for all her strong words of encouragement.

Yes; Girls Can Do Anything- but it's still a Man's World. And you've got to be afraid of him.

Snippets...

When I place my hand over half of her face I can see the resemblance; She has the bottom half of my face. My lips and chin. I remove my hand from the photo of Shirley and the likeness is instantly gone. She's much prettier for a start; she's wearing a fashionable dress and her hair and make-up are flawless. It's the only picture of her I've ever seen...

My Grandmother- who abandoned my Father when he was aged only five.

She's aged sixteen in the photo; the baby she's holding is wrapped up in a hand-knitted shawl. You can only just see the top of his head and a tuft of black hair but I know it is my Father. Shirley looks happy; she's smiling at whoever was holding the camera- her lips pursed in heavy red lipstick.

I don't know much about her life; despite our curiosity no one ever dares ask my Father the details- who in all reality probably wouldn't have known much to tell us anyway- so what information we Have is based on the snippets my Sisters and I have gathered over the years; from being nosy and keeping our ears open.

What we have gathered is that she married Jack when she was so young because they got pregnant; and nineteen forty four was no place for single mothers, after all. The marriage broke down after the death of baby Peter; who had been born prematurely and sent home in a shoe-box- wrapped up in cotton wool- only to die three days later. Rumour has it that my Father, aged five, had been left at home alone with the baby when he died. My Mother once told my Sister that she suspected that Peter was born early due to a botched abortion attempt at the seven month mark- but I guess we'll never know the truth of that...

When his parent's divorced my Father went to live with his father's parents; who promptly sent him off to boarding school when he was still only five. I know his Father was a truck driver and worked away interstate a lot; but I don't know why Shirley didn't keep him with her. That's what I would have done- regardless of what year it was.

He called his grandparents Mum and Dad; after all they were the ones who raised him. He saw Shirley a few times over the years; but after his twenty-first they lost all contact for a reason that nobody remembered to tell Me; and haven't seen each other since; in just over forty years. She might still be alive; we've never heard any differently. There's no reason to think she's dead- if she was just sixteen when she had Dad then she'd only be about seventy seven years old now.

There were rumours of a subsequent marriage and two half-sisters that my Father has never met- if indeed they do exist. My Sisters and I have had the fantasy for years that we could find Shirley again for our Father and that would make him happy and at peace with his hurtful childhood. That's how We perceive it. He doesn't. He says he enjoyed living with his Grandparents in the holidays and staying at school during the term- but I think he just doesn't know how to admit that he felt hurt by his parents deserting him when he was only five. That's how I would feel if it were Me...

The problem is that we are too scared to look for her in case he gets really angry at us if we Did find her; and I can understand this because I wouldn't necessarily want to see someone again who had hurt me so badly either. When I asked him if we could search for our Grandmother he said that was up to us- but he didn't want to know anything about it or see her if we found her. He's told me a few times that he doesn't care if he ever sees her again or not- and I believed him.

So that's enough for Me to let the Hunt for Grandma Shirley to die once and for all. I wouldn't run the risk of loving my Father's love- of which I'm never one hundred percent sure of at the best of times- to bring her back into his life when I have no feelings for her. I don't know her. She means nothing to me. She's missed out on my Dad and now she misses out on Us. She won't get to meet her four Fantastic granddaughters or their seven children.

Anyway- it's not like she couldn't have found us on her own if she had wanted...

My Mother somehow, apparently, got word to her after the birth of all of my Sisters and me; so she knows of our existence- at least as far as we are aware. And if she had kept the letter with our photographs in it that my mother sent her then she would Still have their address because my parents haven't moved house in all that time.

My Father has a small wooden cross with Peter's name- and dates of his birth and death on it; it used to sit on the mantel-piece above the fireplace in the lounge room until the Earthquake knocked it off.

I wonder if Shirley has anything to remember them by?

Harmless Drunks...

Six months later I was sitting on the lounge; knitting a bootie. I guess I thought that's what pregnant people did while they waited for the baby to come out...

It was a Friday night; my Father was at the Bowling Club. He hadn't been talking to me much for the last few weeks but it's only when he comes in and gets really angry and upset with me that I realise why; because my Mother hasn't told my Father about my pregnancy at all.

He's had a few drinks down at the Raffles and now sadly yells at me 'You didn't even tell me yourself you little Bitch' and then goes on to tell me that he has only known I'm pregnant for as long as my gently swelling stomach has been apparent. And now I'm only rubbing it in further by knitting in front of him.

I told him that I thought he knew; that my Mother had promised to tell him. I'm not angry even though I'm yelling; I'm crying my eyes out right alongside him. He says he didn't even know I had a boyfriend; and I tell him I don't which only makes him cry some more. He tells me that out of all his children that I'm just like him; that I remind him of himself- and I instinctively knew he meant that I was a failure. Because that is what he thinks of himself; that He is the one who has let everyone down and somehow failed us. I don't know why he even thinks that...

At least he got to be a Soldier when he grew up; I never got to be a Vet. He's worked every day of his life since he left school at fourteen; and that's the same amount of years that I currently haven't had employment for. He got married and bought a house before he thought about having children while I, on the other hand, lived at home thanks to my Parent's good charity. There's the Third Strike against me. And that's why I'm the failure and he's not.

He's the main reason I went to university and got that stupid degree. I couldn't quit- even when I really wanted to; because I had already let him down enough.

He's told me how he thinks we've all failed. Me and my three Sisters and Him. It's an issue that comes up every now and then when I go to the Raffles for a drink with him. I'm the one who always brings the topic up- because I'm drunk and want to try and be Philosophical about Life. It's only those times when we stay until closing time that the trouble seems to start...

When I've drunk two or three carafes of head-ache inducing crap I'm most in the mood for a chat- but I honestly don't intend for them to become the tearful arguments they do. Before my little Son was born I would go nearly every Friday night to have a drink with my Father. He'd usually go home long before I did because I would promise him that I was only staying until I finished the drink I had in front of me; if he knew that I was actually planning on staying until they no longer served me then he wouldn't have left me there. A few times we even walked out together only for me to return five minutes later so I could continue getting drunk with all the others who also stay until Closing.

There's Old Jack and Bowie for a start. I don't sit with them until after Dad goes home because he thinks they are a pack of roosters; but they are just harmless Drunks like Me. Not one of them has ever tried to hit on me; they've walked me home plenty of times when I was drunk and stumbling and been perfect gentlemen every step of the way. Another friend, Harry, used to call me his 'bud-dae' and we'd sing hits by the B-52's at Karaoke nights, while Bowie and I would often wobble back to my house to have a session and continue drinking further on into the night; usually waking my grumpy Hubby in the process.

He doesn't get that angry at me for bringing them back to our house; I think in some ways he's grateful to them for getting me home in one piece. The last time I was escorted home by Bowie was only a few months ago actually; though Harry's 'grown up' a bit in the last few years and I haven't run into him for a while...

While the Raffle is being drawn I sit with my Father and Pete, and Big Al and Little Al- the guy who looks a bit like little Lou Richards the AFL legend. I know everyone's wives names, the names and ages of their grandchildren; even what they paid at the petrol pump this morning and who's suffering from Gout and various other ailments. Years ago, when I went every Friday night without fail- Dad even used to save me a chair until I got there; where I'd sit on the left of him.

I was the youngest, as well as the only girl, who sat at the Table. I know that most people might think it odd that a girl who was only in her mid-twenties would choose to sit around a bowling club every Friday night with a bunch of old men in their sixties who have retired- but I learnt a lot about my Father that I never would have known if I hadn't.

Besides- the Club is the closest watering hole to my house; I get looked after; it costs nothing to get there and the drinks are cheap and plentiful.

Why would I need to go anywhere else?

STBADRA...

I've been trying to teach Gnome the words for about two hours I reckon; Grandma's going to get sick of us singing the same song over and over again. And Finally, just before we get there, we manage to make it through an entire rendition of Five Miles from Gundagai without her stuffing up the ending.

Hoo-fucking-ray.

We are lying flat in the dog-box of Grandma's little yellow Suzuki- flat, so that the Coppers don't catch us. We call the car 'Elle Dee Eye' because that's what the number plate is; and we're on the way to the Farm- just for the weekend. I can't remember why I got to go instead of one of my other Sisters. Everyone knows that they are better friends with Gnome than I am; even though we are cousins we rarely spent much time alone just the two of us. My Sisters are always with me when we visit Grandma's house; and because I'm younger than them they think I'm a pain in the arse, so I get left out all the time. Or locked out. Or just teased and harassed. I was the lucky one who got held down in the hallway that time- by the four of them- and had a hundred clothes pegs attached all over my face and ears...

I was also the recipient of that foul drink they concocted for Me once at the Farm; which I cautiously sipped at- blindfolded- until I got a taste of the coffee and pepper. They told me that if I don't drink it all down within the next three seconds that I'm not allowed to play Old Maid with them anymore- so I drank it down in two quick gulps until I copped a mouthful of the oven-fat that they had meticulously scraped from the oven tray- a tray that hadn't been cleaned in probably twenty years or more.

But back to the story...

I'm about ten years old, I suppose; which makes Gnome about twelve. She's Grandma and Grandpa's favourite because she lives with them at the big house on the Hill- but I never really noticed or worried that she was. It always seemed to me that she was the one who was perhaps a little jealous of me and my Sisters- and I don't mean that in a bad way; if only for the fact that we knew our father and she didn't know hers.

All she really knew about him was that his name was Peter and that he was married; but not to her mother. She named a rabbit in his honour.

I remember one day sitting on my bed playing a game of Scramble; we were writing rude words and the other had to unscramble it; and for my puzzle to her I wrote STBADRA. It was taking her a long time to figure it out so she asked me for a clue. I told her it should be easy for her to figure it out because she was one. I didn't understand- back then- why she got so offended. I thought it was just the term everyone used to describe children from one-parent families; I remember I was even pleased that I knew the 'definition' of who she was.

She called me a 'fucking little bitch' and ran out of the room, upset; and even though I really hadn't meant to offend her I don't think she ever really believed me when I told her that back then I didn't know that people used words as deliberate insults. I've since learned differently, of course...

But we had a really good weekend at the Farm- it was one of the few times we spent together as children one-on-one. We caught Peter and took turns galloping him bareback up the hill; Gnome wasn't as afraid as I was to ask the old Farmer up the road if she could have a ride on him. We went to the old dairy and watched as Wally de-horned the cows; and then he showed us around the milking shed and gave us both a warm mug of the sweet stuff to warm our hands in the cold dawn. I remember begging Grandpa to let us stay for just one more night because we were having so much fun...

I've never really worked out why my Sister's fell out with Gnome when they were all in their twenties. It couldn't have Just been about money; you don't pretend to stop loving someone over a few hundred dollars.

It was after Gnome divorced the Soldier who she'd married in the Park- when I welcomed him to the Family on their wedding day I shook his hand and awkwardly wished him luck; then told him that he'd probably need it (good luck) if he was to survive our somewhat bizarre family. My eldest Sister overheard my innocent comment and still laughs about it even Today. Well; she didn't laugh about it Today- but you get what I mean, I'm sure.

The funny thing was that I Wasn't trying to be funny. I wasn't in the mood for joking. Because I wasn't relaxed and I wasn't calm or happy. What I was was drunk and having a panic attack because I had just confided to Gnome's bridesmaid that I was six weeks pregnant- but that no one in the family knew about it yet. The only person I had told was my 'boyfriend'- and now I was worried that Gnome's friend would slip up and announce everything during one of the speeches. I worry about the look my Father's going to give me when he finds out that I'm just a stupid little bitch. My Mother will come around eventually; after she tries to dissuade me from having It.

My eldest Sister had moved out when she'd found herself pregnant at nineteen; and here I was at eighteen- facing the same lonely choice. At the time of Gnome's wedding I'd just quit working for the Crazy Swedish Bitch- I was getting too worried that I'd damage the baby I was carrying with all the horse-riding I had to do each day- but I'd given my Parents the excuse that I was just overly homesick for my friends and family and couldn't stand living in a cramped caravan miles from civilisation without a vehicle.

Gnome's friend didn't dob me in, though...

My Mother didn't learn the truth about my pregnancy until the day she read about it in my diary. Then she made the excuse that Dano had phoned her and told her about it; which I knew Instantly was a lie. Dano would never have betrayed Me, her Blood Sister- especially to my Mother; of all people.

She should have just told me the truth; that she was a diary perve. It's obviously genetic...

Just as I predicted my Mother spent the next five minutes trying to persuade me to have an abortion and then left; asking me to at least consider adoption- and promising to tell my Father for Me that I was up the Duff. She thought it might soften the blow.

And it just might have...

If she had told him.

Schmidt Roover Island...

My young Cousin was only about three years old when he found what was left of our Uncle's segmented tape worm floating in the outside toilet. I can see him now- his little face all grubby; excitedly running around the veranda at our Grandfather's Farm to tell everyone about what he had just seen. That Boofy had worms in the toilet.

We've all been joking for days that this was bound to happen- since the Tick Poison Incident actually; because on closer inspection we discovered that the drench we gave him to drink apparently kills Intestinal Worms as well as providing 'lasting protection' to your cattle against bush ticks...

None of this would have happened, probably- if Grandpa had till been well; I wouldn't have wanted to disappoint him so badly as to try and poison somebody in front of him. But Grandpa had been slowly dying in the nursing home for about two years by this stage of the story; and my Aunt, her husband and their two young kids now lived in the same run-down weekender where my little Super Grover once spent the entire school term sleeping amongst the rafters.

My Aunt eventually buried most of Grandpa under a Mango tree that she planted in the front yard of the Farm; then scattered what was left of him on the Lake- just like he would have wanted...

My Bad Uncle lives over in the large Farmhouse- all alone- in the pig-sty he's created for himself; he lays around for most of the day, drinking, on a pissy old mattress that shows its springs through the thin material it's covered in. He often reads war novels, that he folds in half upon themselves, so that he can manage holding it in only one hand; leaving the other free for his long neck of VB- or glass of Goon- that are his constant bedside companions, regardless of the time of day.

His stained clothes reek of booze and sweat and he probably hasn't washed in a month- not unless he's fallen out of the boat drunk again. His distorted and distended belly on his almost skeletal frame practically gives away the fact that he has Cirrhosis of the Liver. He lives here because he's an alcoholic Bum; all his life he has squatted at one or other of my Grandmother's properties. She didn't get rid of him entirely until he was almost fifty actually; she locked him out of her house on the Hill plenty of times but he somehow always managed to shinny up the tall drainpipe onto the upstairs veranda where 'his' room was and make his way in. Like it was his Right to do so even though he was Never even given a house-key...

We all presume that his being able to climb a forty-foot tall drain pipe when he's blind drunk is a legacy from him being at Vietnam; just as he always managed to silently sneak up behind Robyn the Cleaning Lady- without being detected- to scare the shit out of her while she was quietly dusting Grandma's antiques. She wasn't the only person he scared though. He did that to all of us; especially when we were little- as I've explained earlier.

I remember another time he told us how you could stop someone from swallowing their own tongue by pinning it to the inside of their own cheek with a large Safety pin. I've never had the need for that piece of information.

Anyway; this next story happened in the same year that my Father gave my Aunt and her husband his old Morris Minor- the year that my Aunt's mother-in-law died from cancer. That's as complicated as it gets...

I had only met her twice but I inherited two of her birds- a Peach-Face Parrot that I named Poe and I quail I called Quailey. Not very imaginative I know. I wish that I had a larger aviary at the time so that I could have been given Cunty, also- an angry twenty-five year old Sulpher-Crested Cockatoo that used to bite my fingers through the wire of his too-small cage when I was stupid enough to stick them through the bars. Unsurprisingly, his name was the only word he knew- but I always thought I could have taught him some newer, perhaps nicer, words if he were mine.

My Aunt and her husband dropped Poe and Quailey off in a home-made birdcage- the same one that went on to become the 'starting point' of my Sister's rabbit hutch a few months later- and when they returned to the Farm they took me with them to stay for the week so I could see my beloved Star. My Parents preferred going to the Beach rather than the Farm for their holidays these days- since they had become Nudists I rarely saw my horse anymore- and so I jumped at the chance whenever it was offered- even if it meant spending time with this side of the Family...


All of my Cousins were there; even the Twins- who are actually unrelated to Me but who I have always regarded as cousins seeing as we spent so much time together as kids. My Aunt's drinking Peach Cooler on the veranda and chain smoking Whinny Reds; her husband's drunkenly singing along to Goanna's song 'Solid Rock' as it plays on the small portable radio that's beside him. And even though it's way past his bed time my little Cousin is still riding the old rocking horse; his baby sister asleep in the bassinette at my Aunt's feet. Everyone's off their guts except for me and one of the Twins; my Uncle's starting a fire on the lawn with too much kerosene. He does that a lot...

Me and the sober Twin have decided that in the morning we're going rowing out on the Lake over to the nearest of the small islands- if the old Farmer up the road will lend us his row-boat that is. We want to find the fabled Watermelon and Pumpkin Patch that Grandpa grew; if it actually exists there would probably be a million watermelons there by now.

We set off early the next morning; the Lake as flat and still as a sheet of glass. The boat's heavy- and has a slow leak- so that while one of us is rowing the other uses the bilge pump so that we don't eventually sink somewhere out int he middle. We reach the closest island; and by using a piece of metal from the pump we carve the name we've given Our island- Schmidt Roover- into a Mangrove tree on the bank; alongside the date.

We take a walk around but this island has no secret grove of watermelons; so we dubiously set off for the next one; it doesn't seem all that far away really- though the wind has picked up a fair bit now that we're not in the shelter of the horse-shoe-shaped Bay. But we're really getting into a rhythm now, with the rowing that is- so we decide to give it a go despite the blisters that are filling with fluid as we speak...

About two hours later we reach land- but this island is covered in thick Lantana; so that even though there might once have been a gigantic watermelon patch it is now long gone. We row slowly back to the Boatshed; my fingers eventually so blistered and raw that when I finally managed to get around to catching Star to go for a ride that afternoon I found that my hands were so sore that I couldn't even hold the reins.

Blood Is Thicker...

My Uncle Boof used to scare the shit out of me when I was little...

He'd regale me, and my Sisters and Cousin with the many awful tales from his two voluntary tours of Vietnam where he was a Scout; the person who foraged ahead of the rest of the soldiers in search of enemy snipers and booby traps and hidden mines. He thoroughly enjoyed telling us stories of how they shot people dead and then stabbed their bodies with bayonets to make sure they weren't bluffing; how they burned down the villages while their poor babies screamed.

It always seemed to me, even then, that he got this job as Scout because nobody in his Battalion would have cared if he had fallen into a pit full of sharpened bamboo spikes. By all accounts Nobody has ever liked him much; if at all. The nicest thing I ever heard about him was that he once won a Most Beautiful Baby competition in nineteen-forty-six; and that's a long time ago now. Vietnam wasn't what ruined him, though; he was rotten to the core from a very young age.

He used to lynch my Mother's pet kittens- Ned Kelly-style- on the clothes line, and stab her goldfish with forks. He even shot her in the leg with his BB gun. Nobody could control him as he got older, either; it was all my Grandfather could do to keep him out of jail, though that was where he often belonged- and he only managed to do that because Grandpa used to play football with all of the Coppers and kept guaranteeing them he would Sort It Out.

He didn't.

I've heard many stories about my Uncle over the years...

Like the time he shot that lady in the mouth with a handgun and the only thing that saved her was that she had a missing tooth and the bullet didn't ricochet up into her brain. Or when his own 'best mate' shot him in the head on the first leg of their Around Australia Hunting Trip. It was a real shame it didn't kill him, really. They only made it as far as Orange when his mate took some LSD and thought my Uncle was a wild boar charging at him. Or maybe it was an elephant. I don't know; it wasn't my hallucination. Apparently my Uncle nearly died and everyone was upset; even my Mother cried and was worried- and she doesn't even like him. He made a full recovery though- and continued being the same arsehole that he always was.

He's always drunk and smells like the Flagon of Port that's permanently within his reach. In the mornings after a big night on the grog, just having a glass of water is enough to make him drunk again; it releases the alcohol back into his bloodstream somehow. I never used to believe it were possible until it happened to me for the first time. He's almost always nasty, and gross. He takes out his false teeth and eats moths in front of us; showing us the furry remnants on his already grey tongue. And he delights in being cruel to things; once he snapped a rabbit's back in front of us by slapping it on the side of Grandpa's Ute; another time he told us how he'd dismembered a dead calf while it was still coming out of it's mother's birth canal. He thought it was funny upsetting us...

For a long time he lived up at my Grandfather's Farm, fishing the Lake with his ill-kept nets and sharing the cattle duties with the old Farmer who lived further down the road. He used to let my Uncle ride his horse, Peter, and was nasty to him also; he liked to use my Grandfather's stock whip a little too liberally on him. That's why when I put my little horse Star up at the Farm I was always worried that he would be cruel to her as well. I used to hope that he would get too drunk every day to bother riding out to check on the cows- or that the old guy up the road would have to do it on Peter instead.

Later on, when I was older, I told him not to ride Star anymore- after I watched him fall off her three times in five minutes. He was ridiculously drunk and had no concept of balance- even though he was still adamant that he could 'control the bitch'. That was the same Easter that my eldest Sister and I tried to poison our Uncle...

We told him what it was first- so no one could have accused us of murder if he had died- only an assisted suicide if he had wanted a way out. We figure he's got nothing much to want to live for anyway. We told him it was a cup of Tick Poison. He's been drinking all day- he's been at it since dawn; if he even went to sleep that is; and had been bragging that he could drink anything- so my Sister and I suggested this for a beverage.

I think I was aged about fourteen or fifteen at the time- so I'm pretty sure he didn't get away with any magical pouring out of the poison- there was no sleight of hand. I watched him drink a cup of it. Then he wiped his mouth clean and had a long swig of his Longneck of VB- and slurred something like 'Is that all you've got for me- you little pair of bitches' -and continued calmly drinking his beer and port for the rest of the afternoon- without so much as a hiccup...

We couldn't believe it either; and I was actually quite concerned for a while that he was going to have a delayed reaction- that he would die and that we would end up being charged with his murder after all. I can't explain how he had no ill-effects when it clearly said on the warning label that it was, indeed, a POISON- and that if I had placed a patch any larger than a twenty cent piece on the back of a cow it would have made it really sick and it could possibly die. But there you go; he must have had guts of steel or something.

He's in his early sixties these days- though I haven't seen him in almost twelve years. The last rumour that was circulating had him impregnating a drug-addicted hooker who he had met in the gutter out the front of the pub. I'm still anxiously waiting to meet my new Aunty- if she indeed exists. She may or may not; but I hope there is no baby. You'd be afraid for it every day of It's life.

There's only the one reason that I'd like to see him ever again; I believe he might still have my Grandfather's stock saddle- and my Sister and I would like it back. It means more to us than it ever did to him. And as there's not much chance he'd give it away even if he has it still- as far as seeing him again ever goes, my guess is that it won't be any time soon; and that's just fine with Me.

Apparently blood is thicker than water.

But not in this case...

A Hard Nut To Crack...

For my eighteenth birthday my Grandmother gave me seven pairs of cotton undies; one for each day of the week, presuming I shower that often- and a card; on which she had written in barely legible English a warning not to go flashing them around the Town.

I guess that sums up her general opinion of Me.

I remember that my eldest Sister got a real string of pearls for her eighteenth. And my other Sister had gotten that really expensive quilt cover that she had asked for when she turned twenty-one. I don't care that their presents were worth more money than mine was; even if that's the way it might seem. I'm just stunned that this is what she thinks of me- that I'm some sort of tart with a different bloke every night of the week.

Apparently I remind her of her own daughter at the same age- my Aunt. Great. This means I can eventually look forward to living in near-poverty and squalor. This also means that she doesn't believe I am capable of ever finding work and providing for Myself; She thinks I'll be reliant on my Mother for the rest of my life- like my Aunt still relies on her.

So far so good...

Grandma.

What can I tel you about her? She's shrewd, blunt and to the point. She never says Goodbye at the end of a phone conversation- she just hangs up in your ear. It's so annoying. I've given up ringing her on her birthday; she never remembers any of ours so why should we? It's not because her mind's gone soft. Currently, she's having a Yurt built on what's left of my Grandfather's Farm. This is going to be her holiday house with her 'toy-boy'. His name is Charlie. He's a cheerful bloke who's around seventy at a guess- and I suppose I like him well enough; though I only see him once a year at Christmas time- so I guess I don't really know him at all...

I don't even know how they met- but I presume it was at one or other of my Grandmother's quirky interests. She goes to a Spiritualist's Church and partakes in all sorts of seminars and demonstrations- if it's not African drumming or something similar then it's attending readings with clairvoyants or bank-rolling some fake Medium who claims to be channeling an ancient spirit called Mafu.

To Me, it seemed she started to acquire her her interest in the Spiritual World when my Grandfather was dying in Pleasant Valley, or whatever the nursing home he died at was called. I could be wrong; She might have been interested in the supernatural her entire life. I don't know that much about her life; I think she was the eldest of eleven children kids. Not all of them survived infancy; only my Grandmother, her brother Bryce and baby Pauly. Mabel didn't survive. I don't know how she died but she was only four years old when she did. I remember seeing a picture of them together- my Grandmother has curly ringlets in her hair and a scowl on her face. She looks like she is about eight years old and was sitting on what looked like a piano stool; little Mabel standing beside her...

There aren't many photos to provide the memories- although my Mother does have a picture of Grandma in Kindergarten. The scrawl on the the slate in front of the children's small knees says that the year is nineteen-thirty-one. All of the children look depressed in their heavy woolen coats- not one of them is smiling. None of them look like they are only five or six years old; their eyes all look too old. They look like they had it hard; half the front row isn't even wearing any shoes...

That's why, I suppose, my Grandmother's such a hard nut to crack. She's been thrifty her whole life. She worked three jobs at once for over thirty years; one at the Ballet shop she owned, as a secretary at the real estate agents and she also took care of all the paperwork for my Grandfather's Panel Beating shop.

From what I can gather, and what I've since been told, they didn't have the happiest of marriages. There were rumours of infidelities and affairs on my Grandfather's part even when I was still a child. My Sisters and Cousin and I grew up on tales of alchoholism and boiling pots of water being thrown at each other. Their kids obviously didn't grow up very happily either...

Then there was the legendary story of how Grandma left Grandpa- throwing her wedding ring off the Carrington Bridge long before Little Richard ever did- and moved into the big house on The Hill- but I'll let my Mother tell you all about that in Her autobiography.

She knows more about it than I do.

A Running Joke...

My Mother tells me to go and see if my little Sister is ready for school yet. She is; she got ready ages ago. She likes waking at the crack of dawn to watch Cartoon Connection...

At the moment, though, she's out on the front verandah; standing on a stool waving a flag that she's made all by herself- it's an old paint brush with a blue streamer attached- and she's singing a song that she's also made up. We don't get on very well; She's only five and very silly.

I go inside to finish getting ready for school myself- pulling on the hated blue and white checked tunic and stiff leather shoes. I'm always the last one ready. And if I'm not ready soon I'll miss getting a lift to school this morning and then I'll have to walk. My Mother is yelling a warning that's she's walking out the front door Now so Everybody had better be outside in the car within the next five seconds or else she's leaving without us.

But that doesn't happen.

Instead my little Sister slips off the stool she was standing on and falls off the verandah; landing awkwardly in the garden. Our Mother helps her up- lecturing Me for making her run late in the mornings as usual- and bundles us into the car; ignoring the fact that my little Sister is sniffling, rubbing her arm and complaining that it really hurts...

My Mother reminds me to collect her from the Kindergaren room at home time because we have to walk home together- She's still too young to cross the road by herself, you see. She's such a dreamy child that she'll forget to look both ways. I'm sick of my Mother reminding me. I only ever forgot that One time.

When school was over for the day I went into Missus Wright's classroom. She's scary looking; with curly black hair- I'm glad that she was never my teacher. My little Sister is asleep on the floor and Missus Wright tells me that's where she has been since the After Lunch Nap. I wake her up; she's feeling hot and feverish and her legs are shaking as she tries to stand up. She tells me that her arm is really hurting so I carry her bag home for her- I think it was really nice of Me actually; considering I usually hated her with a passion.

The walk home takes us ages; and I'm getting a bit worried that I'll miss the start of My Friend Flicka. When we get there- finally- She falls asleep on the floor again; in front of the television- and stays this way until our Parents got home from work. I can't remember which one of them took her to the hospital to find out that her arm was broken. I was in trouble and had been sent, sulking, to my room...

You see, it had been generally concluded that it was My fault that my Mother had sent her youngest daughter to school with a broken arm because I had made her run late for her Staff Meeting that morning- and if she hadn't been cranky at me for not being ready on time then she would have paid more attention to the one crying in the garden. I still get blamed for it to this day- it's a running joke that comes up every now and then.

This gives me the shits- but what can you do?

I've never felt guilty about my actions that day and my little Sister never blamed me for what happened either; in fact I'd even go as far to say that she was just grateful that there was someone there to help her get home from school that day.

I know I would've been if I was her.

Confessions Of Somebody Else...

And now- just because I can; I'm going to do a TMI Tuesday on a Wednesday...

1. Without looking it up, do you know what polyamorous means?

Polyamorous? Now that would be loving many objects or things at the same time wouldn't it be?
Google here I come...

2. Now that you have looked it up, do you believe polyamory is possible?

Well I wasn't far off!

And Yes- I do believe it is possible to have such a relationship but they are often rife with problems. My Sister began a relationship and then lived with a married man and his wife(she was talked into it by the husband) and their three young children for about two years. Her eldest Son is a result of her relationship with the married man. It nearly split my Family in two when it all happened; I was about the only one still speaking to my Sister- the others all condemning their lifestyle.

The Wife was bi-curious and happy to bring another woman into the relationship at first-but my Sister was only in love with the man and the three didn't share the same bed. At first they all were in agreeance- three nights a week were spent with my sister, four with the wife.Then the jealousies began and continued on- until the wife finally made him choose between them; he chose the wife - probably because she had more children than my Sister and he would have had to supply more child support to the wife- and my Sister and her two month old son moved back home; and has barely received a red cent from in almost 12 years.

Of course there was a lot of fallout from all this- the wife divorced the husband eventually but lost custody of their children and my nephew (who also has autism) has had no contact with his father or other siblings since he was a small baby .

Anyway I could tell you more; but I'll let you read all about it in Her autobigraphy one day...

3. Do you regret any past sexual partner, sexual liaison or missed opportunity for one?

Yes; I've actually got a post coming soon- concerning just this topic.

His name was Jesse...

4. Have you had sex with a virgin after you lost your viginity?

See the post below....

5. What is your favorite sexual position? If different, which one do you enjoy the most? [edit: You don't know the name? Do you want to? NWS animations and name]

Can't go past a good old 69'er for starters- then doggy- then finish it up on top; riding high...

Bonus (as in optional): Where did you most public "sexual" act take place and what was it?

Mmmm...Public as in 'outside' ; or Public as in 'near other people'?

Public Outside...New Year's Eve 2005. My Hubby and I had been fighting since Boxing day- we even broke up which is a first for us- we've never said those words to each other before. It's Over. It was the scariest few days of my life.

Our friends Twinkle Toes and Macca persuaded me not to go out of town but to stay and go to the New Year party like we had planned; and I knew in my heart I had to stick around or else we weren't going to work it out- and things were pretty tense for most of the night as it was.

Anyway; we ended up 'making up' in the Rotunda in the Park. We were both starkers so it was lucky no one came along and stole our clothes. And I had bruises from the picnic table...

Public Near Other People...Hehehe. I"m so bad. My friend Missy would be mortified if she knew...but on the night me and my Hubby shared a twin hotel-room(two queen beds in same room) with our friends Missy and Daz; despite my promises to her to the contrary that we wouldn't fuck while they were in the room( I keep telling her it's only a rumour that we are swingers!) I let Hubby slip me one in; I couldn't help it I was uber-horny. Tried to be quiet.

Confession time...

This was only last Saturday night after we went see U2 in concert. We were smashed, but...

Position...Position...Position...

I once went out with a guy who had one very skinny leg...

His other leg was the right fatness. I asked him once why it was so skinny and he told me he didn't know what I was talking about- but I think he must have had Polio or something when he was little and just didn't want to tell me about it.

It didn't bother Me that be had a gammy leg; he always wore jeans to hide it anyway- but I have always wondered why he was in denial over it. That- and the huge scar on his back that he also wouldn't tell me about, but was obviously the result of some very major surgery- it looked like someone had star-picketed him...

The first night that I met him was at a nightclub- where we were introduced by a mutual friend. He'd only just finished Year Twelve, and I'd turned nineteen a few months earlier- my eldest Son was about seven months old from memory. He offers me a lift home in his parent's Volvo and sweetly kisses me goodnight when he drops me off, and we arrange to meet tomorrow- after he finishes swimming training.

The next night I decide to surprise him by showing up unannounced- but I was the one who ended up being surprised. He's angry that I've turned up and asks me to leave because the Squad is in training for the National Titles- and it is only Then that I notice that all of the swimmers are disabled in some form; some are amputees and others have Down-Syndrome and Cerebral Palsy. I figure he's uncomfortable so I leave. We never discussed why.

A week or so later he takes me to a birthday party of a girl who he went to school with. He introduces me to all of his friends; all of them are fresh out of high school with no children or responsibilities. He leaves me to chat with the girls because all of the boys have congregated on the other side of the garage. The girls are sipping their Twist Tops cautiously; like they've never tasted beer before. Their conversation is childish still; and not one of them can handle their grog and all get drunk fairly quickly. One of them starts crying about a boy and is giving me a headache- so I ask if we can leave soon; I don't really care where we go as long as it's a pub.

He decides to go home first- to change into his night-clubbing clothes or something. I'm pretty drunk by this stage, too; and I haven't had sex for months- the last time had been with my Hubby when our baby was about four months old and I hadn't seen him since. So I was a Free-Agent. See?

I roll around on the floor with him for a while; we're just kissing and stuff. And then he Positions me...

I'm trying to get into it- I really was- but he tells me to lay still. Obviously my movements below him are putting him off his 'stride'; so to speak. I start to whistle under my breath; trying to communicate my boredom- this is by far the most boring fuck I've ever had- but he still continues poking into me; like I am a hole in the floor that he's doing push-ups on.

His face is deadly serious; he's concentrating like mad while I'm starting to think I've picked Myself up a virgin. I start to laugh a bit; and he goes 'What?' and I say 'Nothing; it's really just Nothing'- meaning that I was getting Nothing out of this experience. But he takes it to mean that nothing is wrong- and continues plugging away at it until he shudders and collapses in a sweaty heap.

After we got dressed I pleaded a migraine and he drove me home- and I never saw him again after that. I ignored his phone-calls until he got the hint.

And it had nothing to do with his skinny leg whatsoever; he was just a really lousy Lay and I never wanted to repeat the performance.

That's all.

Bud...

Merley's the Shark, my Sister's the Guppy and I'm known as The Fish Tank; but we're all valuable members of the pub's Pool Comp Team...

Tonight we are playing at Home; meaning it's our pub's turn to host a rival pub's team. It's supper-time- tonight the kitchen ladies have kindly prepared us plates of Curried Egg and Devon and Cheese sandwiches cut up into little triangles- though they're not all mixed-in together, of course.

There's a gorgeous guy on the other team; he's got jet-black hair and a fantastic smile. We haven't seen him before and my Sister and I both fancy him straight away. She's nineteen and I'm seventeen; but not for much longer. It's my birthday tomorrow. Most of the regulars know my real age but Gary- the Publican- thinks I'll be turning nineteen at midnight. My Sister has to play the first game of pool; and she beats the good-looking guy by three balls.

Afterwards, he joins us at our table where he tells us his real name; though I've decided that I'll call him Bud for the purpose of this story- it's close enough. I'm drunk and flirty and he buys us both a drink- one because it's my birthday tomorrow and one for losing the game to my Sister. You can tell he feels quite put out being beaten by a girl- but he needn't have. My Sister played Snooker against Edward Charlton (Eddie's son) in a State comp once- and beat him in two out of the three games that they played...

After the Pool Comp has finished up for the night we head off to the next pub- I'm asked for ID but they decide to let me in anyway- it's only ten minutes now before I'm legal. Bud buys us a round of drinks and tells us that he's just moved here from Orange, where he was, aptly, the Manager of a Fruit Co-Op. He's twenty-five and gorgeous; he looks Mediterranean in appearance but he tells Me he's an eighth generation Australian when I quiz him about his exotic looks. My Sister wants to go home by now- and Bud tells he he will give me a lift home later.

Much later, as we are sitting in his car kissing, he asks me what I am doing tomorrow night- and I tell him I'm going back to my local pub for the first time in six weeks after being banned for being under-age; and it finally dawns on him that I have only just turned eighteen tonight; and wasn't nineteen like he thought I was. He's acting like I had told him a lie but I didn't really see what the fuss was about- if I had lied, it was only to the Publican.

We see quite a lot of each other over the next six weeks; until the 'relationship' ends. I remember the first time we had sex was after we had been to the beach one day- and he kissed me in the surf and told me how hot I looked in the swimmers I was wearing; though I didn't have the heart to tell him that they belonged to my Sister...

We only had sex about ten times before he said he didn't really want to keep seeing me anymore. Sex with Bud never really 'worked' for me; it was always over before I was even 'warmed up' and I Never would have thought to finish the job by myself in front of him- I didn't do those sorts of things in front of anyone back then. But as usual- I cried and lost the plot and needed to know why we had to break up; but the only reasons that he could give me were that his mother didn't like the fact that I had twelve piercings in my ears and that She thought that, at eighteen, I was too young for him.

The same night we broke up Bud came over to my house to see Me; to check I was okay I suppose. I don't know why the house was empty except for us and the cat; I can't remember now where my Parents and Sisters were. I could tell he's been drinking; he's acting a lot different than usual. He finds the battered copy of The Hite Report that I have beside my bed; and as he starts to read it becomes increasingly agitated that I am reading this 'pornography' as he calls it. I tell him it's hardly porn and that I've been reading it since I was five years old; which only incenses him further. He starts ripping out the pages by the handful; telling me what filth it is.

He grabs the small paring knife that was beside my bed, the one that I had been using to cut the apple I had been slicing earlier into slices. Jokingly- or so I hoped- he pins me down on my bed with the small knife at my throat and tells Me not to read that 'sort of stuff' anymore; and I agree- to keep the peace. Anyway, I can't- it's all ripped up on the floor now...

I can tell he's enjoying holding me at knife point; he starts undoing his pants with his free hand but is having trouble with the belt. I can tell he's going to fuck me like this- it's his intention to do it to me with the small knife pointed to my throat- so I slyly tell him to put the knife down on the floor so he can use his fingers on me. Thinking that I'm just really horny Bud does as I ask, and while he is fucking me I reach down from the bed to the floor- my hand searching out the small weapon fingertip by fingertip- even while he's kissing me hard.

I don't like this game Bud's playing- it doesn't feel like a joke to Me anymore. When my grasp finally settles on the knife I flick it, backwards- further under my bed, so that he can't find it- amongst all the other rubbish that lives under there. He doesn't ask me where I put it; he just finishes up and leaves, acting normally again- as if nothing had happened. And I suppose it hadn't. I hadn't asked him to stop. I wasn't even that scared once the knife had been taken out of the equation. There just really wasn't that much to say; after all- we had already broken up...

The next time I saw him was a few months later at the pub. No surprises there. We got on the piss together and he apologised for the whole 'knife thing'- admitting that he hadn't even thought about the fact that it might have scared me to be fucked with a knife pointed in my neck.

Then we walked across the road to the Tattoo Parlour and I watched as he got a Black Panther with intense jade eyes drawn on his shoulder blade. It looked like it was jumping from his skin. Afterwards, he told me that every time he looked at that tattoo he would remember that I was there with him when he got it.

I wonder, sometimes, if He ever does...

Stolen Kisses...

Stan the Man was in the Navy...

The first night I met him we got drunk together at Horseshoe Beach- drinking OP Bundy straight out of the bottle; then chasing it down with a big swig of Coke. I can tell straight away that he likes me; we are bouncing insults off each other. He's joking that I'm just a little girl who can't handle my piss; and even though he's more correct than he knows I keep up well enough with all the boys.

The bottle isn't long empty; Stan's been trying to kiss me for a while but I'm not really that interested even though I'm flirting pretty hard. I'm just having fun being pissed and sixteen. After a bit I really start to feel the effects of the booze, so I decide to lie down in the back of Mong's Torana because I realise I'll be sick if I don't. Stan comes over and tells me to sit up and I warn him to leave me where I am, and that if he tries to move me I'll more than likely vomit- but he ignores my warning and tries to sit me up anyway; like a little dead rag-doll...

He realises, too late, that I was being deadly serious when I spew all over his brand new white Levi Jeans and ,somehow, through my own hair and the backseat of the car; but I'm too sick to apologise or even care that much, for that matter. I had tried to warn him after all; he just thought he knew Me better than I knew Myself.

I'm driven by Someone to Numbnut's house- while Stan goes home to change; but those white jeans of his are ruined- never to be seen again. Numbnut's Dad is nowhere to be seen, either, thankfully- and I have a two hour shower; sitting slumped naked on the tiles with the tepid water washing over me from above. Apparently I went through a whole bottle of shampoo And conditioner. And I can't remember how I got Myself home- but that's not unusual either. Mong probably drove me...

Surprisingly- the next time I meet up with Stan he was still talking to me- and even apologised for helping me to get so drunk; but he does say that he will Never drink Bundaberg Rum with me anymore. Ever again. And that's just fine with me, because to this day I still can't stomach the smell of it- even if it is only on someone's breath. That's probably The main reason why I wouldn't have considered having a relationship with him; that- and the fact that he wasn't my type and I didn't find him attractive- sexually at least.

Early on in the piece I drunkenly kissed him a few times- but I always made it clear that I was only actually interested in having a friendship with him. He'd get really jealous when I was 'on' with other guys, too; which was why I tried really hard to hide the fact from him that who I really liked was his best friend; Ed.

One weekend they were both on leave from their ships- and so he bought home one of his mates for a visit. Ed was also in the Navy; they had met when they were doing basic training at Cerberus a few years before. I liked him immediately- he's boyishly cute with a cheeky smile that shows off his slightly crooked teeth. And he's outgoing and friendly- the whole group instantly takes to him- in fact we liked Ed better than we liked Stan most of the time...

At first nothing happens between us- I was still a virgin and we'd only just met after all; and then he was suddenly shipped off to the Persian Gulf on board The Supply. While he was away at the First Gulf War we only heard of him through Stan- who was quite miffed that he had missed out on Active Duty; so it was a huge relief to see Ed in the flesh when he finally returned from his Tour about ten months later.

While he had been away at sea I had met my Hubby and had been casually seeing him for a few months; but as I've told you before he wasn't all that interested in Me. He still wasn't my boyfriend yet, though; don't forget. I know- it's confusing for Everyone I tell- but that's exactly the way it happened, I promise.

I really like Ed, though, so I figured if my one-day-to-be-Hubby wasn't interested in being my boyfriend then I would have been next happiest with Ed. At least he was interested in me back.

Our relationship was unreal- even if it were only short; full of fun times and good laughs- we tried to hide our obvious attraction from Stan and I think we did a reasonable job at it- because he never found out that we had ever been together until I drunkenly rubbed it in a few years later...

But every week- for six weeks- Ed sent me a letter with a postmark from Woolloomooloo, and we looked forward to the weekends when he and Stan were off duty and the times we could secretly be together again. I know it sounds really conceited- but Stan really did like me that much- so much so that we both knew he would have felt betrayed by both of us if he had guessed the extent of our relationship; which had by now gone beyond stolen kisses on the veranda when we knew Stan wouldn't catch us.

I can still see the look in Ed's eyes as he first noticed me as I was walking towards him- on the first and only 'night' that we ever had together. I'm wearing a cute black and white dress that is showing off my long tanned legs. I've borrowed it off my friend, and she's curled and teased the shit out my hair because she's a hairdresser and can do those sorts of things. Ed and Mong are drinking in the car park outside the pub. They're expecting us but I can tell that he's still surprised to see me. I notice that Stan's not with them- and Ed explains that he had to work at the last minute and wouldn't be coming out at all that night. We had a great time drinking and dancing and sneaking around in public, finally, away from Stan's jealous eyes. Not that we were technically doing anything wrong. Neither Stan nor my Hubby were my boyfriend; I wasn't interested in Stan and my Hubby wasn't interested in me until almost three years after all of this happened. See; so I was a Free Agent...


I can remember at one point falling over on the dance floor; I'd asked Rusky the DJ to play I Touch Myself by The Divinals and it's just begun playing when I leap up and realise too late that my foot has fallen asleep in it's too-small shoe; and it collapses under my weight- and though I fell arse over tit I didn't even spill a drop from my drink. Ed grabs me by the hand and tries to help me up and as we are laughingly falling about we kiss then and there- out on the dance floor. All of our friends have noticed and are elbowing each other- it's been obvious to everyone but Stan that we've been itching to be together and were only waiting for the chance when it's not throwing it in Stan's face.

I quickly become shit-faced- but we stay until the band has finished and the pub has closed- Ed's been the one going up to the bar and buying our drinks- and this time, when he comes back, he tells me that he's just paid for a room upstairs; and asks me if I'd care to put into practice all the suggestions I'd been whispering into his ear all night.

I'm so glad I did.

Not that the sex that night was as great as I'd been promising him; I even managed to fall asleep while we were at it- though I know I made up for that, twice, in the morning. Later- in the cramped hotel shower he shows me the beautiful tattoo of a tiger that he has on his chest that he got in a stop over in Malaysia- the detail is amazing; I can even see the capillaries in it's eyes.

That was the last time I saw him...

After he dropped me home in a cab that morning he went back to ship and sailed away to Tasmania where he met- and now lives- with his wife. He wrote and told me about her when they first met- it wasn't even that serious then. But I wrote him a letter back, saying never to write to me again, and I told him that I never wanted to see him ever again, either. And I never have.

I know. I'm a jealous little person...

But that's why I'm so glad that we at least had sex those few precious times- because to this day Ed's the only guy who I ever had a one-night-stand with who was still interested enough to have sex with me again in the morning; without feeling the need to chew his arm off or run away. He's the only one who still wanted to be with me again when he was sober. So even though that's a sad little truth right there, I had to tell You about Ed for that fact alone. Because it made him different from everyone else I've ever slept with- my Hubby included.

When Stan found out- a few years later- that me and Ed had been bed-buddies in a hotel room that night he got quite jealous and drove off in a huff- with his tyres squealing rubber. I don't know why; I was never His...

I was glad Ed hadn't said anything, though; it made him even more special to me.

Me and Stan remained friends for more than twelve years anyway; until only a few years ago, actually. I don't even know what happened there; but I guess he finally gave up on the idea of being with me. At last.

Yay.