Story of Patience

Under My Covers


January 01
On the surface I'm a well put together, successful mother and wife, but under the cover of perfection and smiles lay the story of child abuse, domestic violence, life in the adult entertainment industry, coping with understanding society rules, roles, religion, honesty and crime against humanity. I'm lost under the covers of life, trying to shuffle through all this mess, trying for have it all make sense. * Disclaimer: The people, location and events have been changed to protect the innocent, any similarities to actual persons, either living or dead, are merely coincidental. Thank you for reading


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MARCH 19, 2012 3:23PM

7th Grade Slut

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“You are a slut!”

Her hand smacked me across my teary cheek in the small bathroom of the motel room that my father bought for us at the beach. He sent us there several times a year. I was sitting on the toilet. The lid was down so I could feel the cold porcelain against my uncovered legs as I was wearing shorts. My mother was crouched down in front of me. I could see my face in the mirror above the sink behind her. My hazel eyes took on a new shade of green when I cried. My red eyes and cheek made them appear the color of ivy. My mind wandered and took me to a safe place where beautiful ivy crept, growing against stone walls with butterflies and wedding cakes. She was looking hard at me once again because I had tuned her out. I tried to avoid the frantic dart of her black wide eyes, but she pulled me in again to tell me how ashamed I should be because I was a slut.

It was the last day of 7th grade. My best friend Deena was having a boy/girl party at her house. I helped her plan, decorate and invite our friends. I got ready at her house directly from school. I wore a teal Izod shirt, new shorts that I had gotten from The Limited, big purple earrings, Keds with slouchy oversized white socks and of course lots of pink lip gloss. I was only allowed to wear lip gloss, clear mascara and eye shadow.  

Our friends began to arrive and we drank cokes with bendy straws under streamers listening to Huey Lewis and The News and played hide and go seek in the dark, the boys finding the girls. When our hiding places in the barn, shed, behind the tree, under the trampoline would be discovered; we would squeal and flirtatiously hit the boy that found us in the arm, but really we all wanted to be found. Abe found me and John found my friend Deena hiding in the large metal building on her property used for storing an old car and the family ski boat. Deena and John started making out. I had not had as much experience as Deena. She had been in kissing contests with other couples to see who kissed the longest and had played Chicken at the Jr. High dance. Chicken was a game of see how far one can go before they are too chicken to go any further. Deena had let a boy touch her boob, under her shirt but over her bra. She was experienced and I admired her for it.

I had been kissed once in 7th grade by Jason. He had come to my English class and asked to see me. He brought a friend with him and she stood in front of us in the hall with her jean jacket open so no one could see us. Jason leaned in to kiss me, but I began to giggle. He said “I’m going to kiss you”, so I puckered up, but he opened his mouth and I felt wetness and moved away, kind of grossed out. Jason broke up with me the next day.

After the harrowing affair, Deena instructed me on how to open mouth kiss by using a pillow and sometimes a mirror when I spent the night at her house. She had an older sister Patty who would also give us lots of beauty secrets like shaving our legs when you had chilly bumps to make sure you got all the hair and how to apply eye shadow like eyeliner only underneath the eye, never above to make us look more mature.

This was my chance in this old metal shed. I was going to kiss Abe. We had known each other since the Christian School in 1st grade and our parents had pulled us out at the same time to put us in public school. I figured he would be a good candidate to practice on and he was quite willing to oblige. We kissed, both our tongues moving madly about dodging braces and tonsils, not knowing where to put our hands, noses bumping awkwardly, tasting of cola and salty chips. It was amazing. I immediately fell in love with Abe and knew we would be together forever. It was the best 4 minutes of my life. For the rest of the party we sat together and held hands, not really looking at each other, with weird “we just made out grins on our faces”. I had reached a new level of maturity that night. I was now a woman and kissing was awesome.

My dad picked me up and drove me home after the party. I was giddy, but sad that I had to leave for a week. Each year my father sent my mother, brother, sister and myself to Myrtle Beach for a week in June and then for 3 weeks in the month of August, just like the husbands do in the movie “The Seven Year Itch”. We felt bad that he couldn’t go, but his mistresses enjoyed the unrestricted time I’m sure. I was going to miss Abe. I wasn’t sure how I could have lived this long without him.

We packed up our bags and my hermit crabs that I took with me on each vacation, said our good-byes to my father with instructions to feed the cat and dog and off we were to make the 4 hour journey. When we got to the small motel, the one my father owned, it was raining. It rained nearly all week and we were stuck with a small kitchenette, 2 queen size beds, tiny bathroom and T.V. without cable. We were all getting bored and I was about to burst because I hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of my friends about my kiss, not even Deena who was there, but was busy herself making out with John. So I grabbed my 7 yr old little brother. I told him in confidence, I had kissed a boy! My brother wasn’t as thrilled about the news as I was, but I was so happy to tell someone, even if it was just my little brother.

I don’t think he meant any harm. He was really a sweet kid, but he told my mother accidentally about my kiss. I now think my mother must have been going stir crazy in the little motel with her 3 children and nothing to do, angry that her husband was having multiple affairs, angry that she was overweight, upset that she had put her dream of being an actress on hold to raise a slut, but at the time, I didn’t understand about displaced anger. All I understood was that I had caused her to be angry, just me. She grabbed me by the elbow pushed me into the bathroom and sat me on the toilet. When she hit me and called me a slut, I was confused. I didn’t know what I had done wrong. Was I wrong to kiss a boy or to tell my brother? What was a slut anyway? I of course didn’t ask these questions and took my punishment. After all this was Abe and if loving him made me a slut, then so be it.

“Yes, I’m sorry. Yes, I am a slut.”

When we returned home a week later, I went to the membership swimming pool. I saw John and asked him excitedly where Abe was? Had he missed me as much as I had missed him? I had had a lot of time to think about him while in the motel room during the rainy days, I had nearly decided on the color scheme of our wedding. John rested his hand upon my shoulder and said,

“Abe said he didn’t want to be your boyfriend because you kiss like a cow chewing cud.”



Disclaimer: You the reader are reading this blog at your own risk. At no time has the writer contacted the reader without their permission in reference to this blog site. If you find the content of this blog offensive you have the right to never visit this site again. The people, location and events have been changed to protect the innocent; any similarities to any persons either living or dead are purely coincidental.

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How would Abe know that, hah~~I did much the same things, except I did the male part!
Ahhhh Scanner....Abe went on to find another girl who was a less cow chewing cud kisser. I was so horrified I didn't kiss another boy until 10th grade.
"this was Abe and if loving him made me a slut, then so be it...'

well yeah.
he was a dirty goddamn liar, by the way.
no man or manchild kisses that long with a , uh, cow.
doesnt happen.

so someone was lying...john? abe? who cares anymore,
but then again there are young gals doing a hell
of alot more than kissing these days.

this is from some other era, this piece.
or maybe not.
mother was
a tight ball of anger indeed, and you got "transferred"on
as they say in the ancient science of psychology...

i am sorry, is the best answer to give these freaks
always. i know this from vivid experience
from people who
believe in a 'conscience',
to think With.

blah to moralilsts. may they all reach the hell they wanna get to.
just leave me (& you) out of their shenanigans.
James M. E rated you. I recalled a guy who was nasty named John MacKenzie.
He always gave his dates a Big Red 'Passion Mark" Hick-Mark on young girls necks.
He may be a editor.
He disgusted me.
He was a big flop.
I 'd not call `"slut"
I met a woman named ( I forget - Her names sounds like a Greek Goddess) I'll recall.
Minds get weary.
The book Title was:
The Women Who Slept
With Men To Take The
War Out of Them.
It's stored in a box.
It's in the woodshop.
It's a wonder we alive.
I love to watch moo-cows.
I smile to see moo-cows.
I watch them chew cud.
I'll go watch cows chew.
No kiss with Red Mule.

That's Chew Tobacco.
Never Chew or Date
Women Who Do Chew.
James, Love This:
"blah to moralilsts. may they all reach the hell they wanna get to.
just leave me (& you) out of their shenanigans."

Art, Even though some of your thoughts are lost on's cool when one of your little ditties pop up in my comments, quite entertaining they are.
Took me back to Jr. High. Oh the thrill, oh the pain.