Woman In The Mirror free porn video

Woman In The Mirror: By Nicole Braun Even if it does have some sex scenes in it, this is not a sex story. It is a story about life's regrets and about the transition from a young boy to a grown woman. This is a story about the price each of us has to pay, to be true to our inner selves, and become what we must be. Even though there are diminutive amounts of under-aged sexual behavior in chapters 2 and 3 of the story, you would have to be sick in the head, to find anything stimulating in their descriptions. I, the author of this story, do not condone the writing of, or respect the rights to, anyone who does write, to promote abnormal sexual behavior involving the under-aged. It is quite obvious, from the story, how violently I am against any and all such behavior. It is child abuse, and I for one, have seen enough of that in my life! Puberty is though, a time of sexual awakening. That is all that the sexual content that these two chapters expresses. They are there, only to portray the reasoning, for later behavior. They either involve, what can only be classified as normal adolescent behavior, or if not, they are a portal of the evils, and/or consequences, of childhood abuse. Chapters two and three are a stand-alone documentation of how evil, vile and destructive any and all forms of child abuse and neglect are. I wish I could subtract those two chapters out of this story, out of my mind, and my own personal memories. It can't be done. So live with it. This story remains my property, and may not be posted on any other website or published without my written consent. Chapter One: A Strange Meeting To say that I was nervous would have been an understatement. I think every hair on the nap of my neck was standing on end. I was in panic seeing her standing there in front of me. I could only stare in astonishment at her, unable to speak. I feared she knew everything. I thought she had found me out. Knew what I was doing, and why. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings, but I hadn't. I had already finished my brunch. I never eat a breakfast or a lunch, just a brunch. One cup of coffee when I wake up is all I can take. It takes me a few hours before I am able to eat anything. Dinner is the only meal that I take very seriously. Always visiting the very best restaurants available in the towns and cities that I'm in. My brunch and my dinner are all the meals I need nowadays. It's been that way since she left me and I finally stabilized in my new lifestyle. Having finished my brunch I stayed seated at my table at the open-air caf? in Miami Beach. I was taking pleasure in the cool mid-morning sea breeze flowing around my legs and through my hair. I was savoring the last remnants of a luscious cup of Cuban coffee. My laptop was open and I was answering emails to my stockbrokers, financial advisors and friends. I'd felt safe, secure and anonymous at the caf? and she was the last person I would have expected to see in Miami Beach. She should have been back in Denver, far away from me. Yet she was there at my table. It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion until she repeated her request, "Excuse me, I don't want to disturb you, but all the other tables are taken so I was wondering if I could sit here." Holding up shopping bags in both hands as a reason, "My feet are killing me." Wary and knowing that if she knew what was going on, that an unsightly clash could not be avoided, I shutdown and closed my laptop. I then pointed to the empty chair saying guardedly, "The Cuban coffee here is excellent." If I was the purpose she was around it was going to get very ugly and very rapidly. It was the look of delight, which than became visible on her face, as she sat down, that first hinted to me, that she not only didn't know what my plans were, or what I had already done, she did not even know who I was... her ex-husband. Even though it had been only a little over three years since our divorce, I should have realized, that after all the changes I had been through, she never could have placed the now me, with the man I'd been. To tell the truth, I seriously doubted that my own mother would have recognized me. It was during our conversation that I began to recall so much of how she really was, before she did to me, what she did. It was she, or better said, what she had done, that led me to my new lifestyle, and to the settling of scores I was planning... my final step in freeing myself from the anguish and distress she and others had heaped upon me. It was during that first conversation at that Cuban Coffee shop that I altered my plans. My new plan would ensure a far more lasting pain, almost equal to that I'd suffered at her hands. She would not only feel the pain of betrayal by someone she loved, she would feel as much of a loss of self-esteem, as I'd felt. Before I go on with on with this story though, I'm going to have to retrace and explain why I am who I am, and how it all came to be. Chapter Two: A Little Boy Not Wanted How can one fully describe the life of a child growing up neglected and abused to someone who has never endured such a life? I don't think it can be done. Every time I've tried to explain the whys and wherefores, there are always little pieces missing. The little pieces that made such a big difference. People always seemed to think of abuse and neglect in terms of the scars left behind, the brutal actions taken, but it's not so. It's the everyday subtle and constant hammering on the psyche of a child, which pushes them down so far into denial, that they see their abusers as their protectors, and their protectors as their abusers. It took me years to finally accept the facts. To acknowledge that I'd been abused and neglected, and to see their justifications... as nothing more than justifications. I began psychiatric counseling shortly after my divorce, and will remain in counseling for many more years. I recognize that there will always be imperceptible scars and festering wounds deep in my psyche. The very fact of "who and what I am" today, physically and mentally, is a stark reminder of this. My only sibling, Tom (4 years older than me) took after our father. My father Jack is of Austrian/ Italian decent and at 6'2" and 215 lbs (mainly muscle). He had a volume that could not be overlooked. His Italian heritage gave him that hairy and always with a 5 o'clock shadow look. His personality was imposing, aggressive and overbearing. He loved his beer, he loved his women, and he loved his football... and all of them too much. My mother Annette I took after in ways. She was of Norwegian and German decent of families that had immigrated to the homesteads of Oklahoma. She and the other women of her family were petite, slender and small breasted, sometimes to an extreme. She is somewhat middle-of- the-road amongst her kinfolk, weighing only 110 lbs at a height of 5'2". Her skin was what one would call alabaster. Even though she had raven black hair she could never tan, but only burn when in the sun. In her youth, her skin had been without blemish or freckles. She had been very beautiful and graceful. Her major problem, and the major reason for the abuse and neglect that I suffered, was that she was a hypochondriac, and because of that a drug addict. Her personality was what one would call weak and labile or unstable. She could seem loving and caring one moment and bitter, angry and brutal the next. You never knew in advance. During her lifetime, even in her teens, she had been in and out of trouble with the police for drug usage, more times than anyone could remember. So between, my mother being in jail or in a "mental ward" drying out, and my father (and brother) being in jail for drunkenness and fighting, you could say that my family was dysfunctional. I never had to live as "a ward of the state", but there were many times when that option had been considered by the authorities. The first justification to my being abused and neglected was that I was not a wanted member of the family. My brother was "the son", the strong manly son that they had always wanted. I was the other son, the son who had taken the place of the daughter that they should have had. Oh, I knew that part well! I had it hammered into me so often, far too often, so that even I accepted their form of reasoning as being the truth. It was told to me in so many words and shown in so many ways. Words spoken were sometimes very direct, "You may be a part of this family, but that doesn't mean we have to love or accept you", to having my mother point out some woman or girl and say, "She's just exactly like the daughter I should have had instead of you." Somehow in my mother's hypochondriac and drug-demented mind, she took this "fault of mine", to an extreme. In her fantasy world, her daughter would have always been there to take care of her. All the problems caused by being caught "doctors shopping", driving under the influence, all the pain that she suffered, and all the time in jail or in mental wards would never have happened. I was at fault for that and I needed to be punished. So punished I was... Some times I was beaten. Never was I viciously beaten, but nonetheless, many times I had black and blue marks all over my body Most frequently, punishment was enforced by other means. As a small child I spent many nights and days locked in closets, or slept nights in the cold basement. My bedroom consisted of the old and cast off mismatched furniture of others. My clothing was always hand-me-downs, or bought at the Salvation Army store. The first birthday party I ever had was during the first year of my own marriage. The only time I ever saw the insides of a doctor's office, was when I had an uncontrollable asthma attack and I never saw a dentist. I was not allowed a social life either in grade school, junior high or in highschool. Those few friends that I did have were those asocial geeks and nerds that no one else wanted to be friendly with. After school I was always required to come home directly and do the housework, cleaning, cooking and washing clothes. So even they had little to do with me, but only at school. My family purposely pushed me into the position of socially being the nerdiest of nerds, unwanted and undesired. Yet at the same time my brother always had the best that our parents could buy. When he was old enough he was given a car. His teen parties were wild bashes. Our parents always looked the other way when booze and sex with wild girls were brought into his parties. "That's how a real man should act." My first sexually related encounter was during one of these parties. Friends of his decided to use my bedroom, and my bed (I was sleeping in it at the time), to fuck their latest slut. It was a three-way, and they didn't even stop long enough to kick me out of my bed. I lay there flabbergasted, watching it the whole time. When it was over the girl left last, giving me a slobbery wet & salty cum tasting kiss. I was 11 when that happened. It wasn't the only, or last time, such things happened to me. My bed was used habitually for such escapades, and seldom did it matter if I was in the bed, or not. The other pretext (and perhaps the most significant) was how I looked. All through grade school and junior high I was the smallest in my class. Even the most petite girl was at least an inch or two taller than I was. As said, I took after my mother. That meant I had her fine raven black hair, her alabaster skin, and her fine and feminine facial features. To make matters worse, my torso was short and my legs were long. I had wide hips and a bubble butt, a small waist and thin shoulders. All the hand-me-down jeans of my brother were always too short in the legs, tight at the hips, and the belt needed to hold them up, bunched them at the waist. I was very asthmatic, and never could excel at any sports. In fact, most sports I was not allowed to participate in. The only physical exercise that I did was the 2-mile walks to and from grade school/ junior high, and later the 3-mile walks to and from highschool. All this seemed to do was emphasize my long slender legs and my bubble butt. My voice? When I squealed people plugged their ears. Even in highschool I had a high tenor voice. Singing and music were my only non-academics back than. One of my much-loved pastimes was to sing along with, and imitate, the female singers on the radio. Since getting my hair cut was an expenditure that didn't need to be done, most often my hair was of such a length, that many times I was addressed as Miss... as if I were a girl. (My mother in hearing this, took malicious pleasure, "rubbing my nose into" what had happened, or been said.) So in school I was the sissy that almost everyone picked on. At home I was the boy that should have been a girl. There were three shining lights in my childhood. The illuminations that kept me from wholly giving up, and mentally dying, were my great Aunt Madge, reading, and a neighbor lady named Janice. Aunt Madge was a spinster who during the summer months, I was sometimes allowed to visit. Those weeks and months living at her old farmhouse were the very first visions of a sane and peaceful world that I'd ever had. She was the one and only person that I truly felt gave me unquestioning love. She was a kind and gentle soul, who never spoke an angry word, or laid a hand on anyone, in her whole life. Until the day she died, and even after that, she always gave more to others, than she received. Once I'd learned how to read, reading opened up worlds & knowledge, I never could have dreamed existed. During the deepest darkest times, when I had lost all other hope, the visions created by these books kept me going. I became fanatical at reading any and every thing I could get my hands on. Knowledge was, and later became even more so, my sword and defense. Even though Aunt Madge and books changed my life unquestionably, Janice was the one influence in my life that created the inertial driving force that made me what I am today. Without her, there would be no me. As with so many things, it started out very simply, very innocently. My mother (when she wasn't bombed out of her mind) always took me with her to the neighborhood women's coffee klatches. She did this because many of the women were younger mothers with little babies or children. Since these babies and children were always a bother, I babysat for them. I actually enjoyed these coffee klatches. I liked tending babies, and the conversations were always interesting. Not the least, I always did get my fill of cookies, cake and soda pop. Some times a few of the mothers even gave me a few dollars for my efforts. At one such coffee klatch Janice misguidedly asked my mother, "Do you think your daughter would be able to babysit for us on Saturday?" The laughter at my mistaken gender sent me red-faced scurrying away to tend the babies. That evening my mother informed me that I had a job that Saturday night, a job that would actually earn me some money. Chapter Three: A Troubled Time of Change Part of the motivation, why my mother allowed that I take the babysitting job, was that Janice was one of those women (having a resemblance to the women in our family) that my mother had picked out. To show me how I should have looked if I'd been the daughter, I should have been. Janice was in fact, that very woman that my mother most often used, as an example, to prove my failings. Janice was good. I was bad. In my mother's mind, my being more around Janice, being in her house and seeing her life, would only rub the salt into my wounds deeper. What happened, my mother could never have foreseen. My mother's sole intentions were to punish me. She was not in the slightest bit interested, in changing me into the fantasy daughter, she had never had. I doubt, even today, that if she'd had that daughter, that she would have been pleased. Reality can never be, as good as fantasy. Yet, no other person changed, or formed, me more than Janice. Janice's home, her husband, her family and her life were everything my dysfunctional life and family were not. They were a kind, caring, loving young family, and Janice was an extremely intelligent, and beautiful woman. Her husband was caring without the machismos of my father, and brother. He was a man who took pride, and joy, in his family, and in his work. My first babysitting job went off without a hitch. My next babysitting job was already booked, before I left their house that night. As weeks, months and then years went by, I became a more and more, a constant figure at their house. I also became less and less, a figure at my own home. I was spending afternoons after school, and many weekends, helping Janice at their home, with her housework. I tended the babies, so that she could go out shopping alone, to have some free time, for herself. What was important for my development at that time was my infatuation for them, as a family and Janice became my role model. With them in my life, I finally saw the light shining at the end of the tunnel, and my mother could do nothing about it. Janice (her fantasy daughter) was my protector. Janice could do no wrong, and if Janice wanted me there, I had to be there. Their house became my haven against the cruelties, of my family, and the outside world. Ted became my image of what a real man should be like. I revolted slowly and totally against the image my father and brother presented. The mental image I have even today of a father... my father, is the image of Ted. I haven't seen him now in years, but many times during these last years, especially these last two, I wished I'd had his strong caring shoulders to cry on. What changed my life forever was Janice. In the beginning of our relationship Janice represented to me, the image of what a mother and a wife should be, but she was also my image, my role model, of what a person, and a feminine woman, should be. I would like to say that she took over (in my mind) the image of my mother, just as Ted became my father figure, but events happened that kept me from seeing her as such then. Only now, do I slowly understand my thoughts concerning her, and how she was essential in forming me, and who I am today. Puberty never hit me strongly. What I first noticed was of course getting horny and having hardons all the time. It didn't take me long to figure out how to masturbate, and it became (after reading) my most favorite past time. Janice had always fascinated me, but now she became even more for me. Where I idolized her before for her personality, I now idolized her as a sexual, sensual woman. I was seriously infatuated with her. I had loved her before as a close friend, but now I was "in love" with her. Yet as a teenager I had also put her on a pedestal high above me, only attainable in my deepest darkest fantasies. As a physical woman, she became untouchable, for me. Still, within me was such an overpowering desire to somehow unite, to bind myself, with her, my idol, my best friend, my role model, and heroine. My desire was sexual in nature, but more than just sexual. My desire was born of love, but more than love. My desire was born of adoration, but it was more than adoration. What happened, and brought about for me this unity, began with an act, not uncommon to happen, amongst teenage boys. Janice had a woman's feminine fetish for lingerie and clothing. This fetish went beyond the natural love women have for clothing. For Janice clothing was the essence of feminine sensuality and was an essential part of her sexuality. I have never since seen any woman, with so much and so many different kinds of feminine lingerie as Janice had. It was not unusual for me, at times to see some of Janice's feminine underwear. At home, I had for years been doing everyone's laundry. I thought nothing of helping Janice do their laundry. But with puberty raging in my loins, it didn't take long, for me, to bring her lingerie, into association, with contact to her, and with women in general. After that it was only a step-by-step evolution from caressing her lingerie and masturbating, to wearing her lingerie and masturbating for the simple reason of it being women's lingerie. It also didn't take me long to figure out, that Janice and I, were more or less, the same size. I was in most things, still smaller than her, but most of her clothes fit. With that knowledge, each and every babysitting night, alone at their house, became a sexual adventure into the pleasures of feminine lingerie. It had to come then as it did, a date with fate so powerful that it almost destroyed me. For some time I was no longer satisfied with only wearing a panty, a bra, a girdle, a slip or a nightgown and jerking off. I wanted to go all the way. I wanted to fully dress as a woman. Once born, this idea transcended desire and lust. This idea would not leave me, or let me forget, not in my waking moments, not in my dreams. It governed my thoughts, and even in part, my actions day and night. After they left that evening, and I had the babies soundly asleep in their cribs, I went into the master bedroom. My whole body was shaking with excitement. I was aroused as I had never been before in my whole life. The thought of dressing fully, not only just in lingerie, but also in a dress, in shoes, everything that a woman would wear on a night out, had me in an uncontrollable fever of anticipation. Savoring every moment, I chose carefully, each and every piece of clothing, that I was to wear. I picked a black lace bikini panty and pushup bra set, a black waist-controlling girdle/garter belt, to hold up my black silk stockings, a full length black slip with lace around the bottom, top, and wide lace straps, a black satin evening dress, and a set of 2" open toe black leather heels, to finish it off. Shaking as badly as I was, it took me longer than ever, to dress, even to the stage of wearing, only the lingerie. Each and every piece of clothing had to be slipped on, and then in the full-length closet mirror, admired, and modeled. I was in a fit of ever-increasing sexual anticipation, beyond knowing, or caring, that there was a world outside of that bedroom. Sliding the zipper up the back of the dress, with my shaking hands, became an almost impossible task, for me. After multiple attempts, I finally accomplished it, and slipped on the 2" black leather heels. I stepped then in front of the mirror, with an anticipation of having a slow and sensual masturbation session. It was that young woman staring back at me, who changed my life forever. Staring back at me was the young woman, I should have been... wasn't... and never could be. It was almost a younger image of my mother, an image of her, before drugs had taken their toll. Something in me snapped. I couldn't stand on my legs any more. They refused to hold me. The room was spinning. I don't know how long I lay there on the floor, in front of the mirror. Was it minutes? Was it an hour, or more? What I do remember is crying, crying tears that would not stop. I was, I had let myself go into a complete fit of hysteria, and had no way, no knowledge, of when or how it would, or could, stop. Every thing since I could remember, that had been laid so brutally upon me, raised its evil head now against me. Guilt and condemnation were evil demons screaming at me. I was bad. I was wrong. I was at fault. It was the young woman staring at me out of the mirror that was the truth. She was what should have been. I was a lie, a parse, a cruel joke played out by the hands of fate. I lay there sobbing, tears flooding down my cheeks, but she only stood there silently, showing me no mercy, no sympathy, only mocking me. After what seemed like hours, I ever so slowly gained control of myself, and rose to begin taking off the dress and lingerie. Fearfully, I refused to look again at that haunting image, of the young woman, in the mirror. I knew I could not take it. After they returned, I somehow left their house, and returned to my own bedroom, and my bed. I have no remembrance of waiting for them, but only of them returning. I have no remembrance of my walk home. My dreams that night were hateful, haunting, mocking dreams, leaving me restless, and weary the next morning. The next few days and nights were the same. For once in a long time I did not stop off at their house before going home. I could not bring myself to return to their house, knowing that she, that young woman in the mirror, was waiting for me. Even my mother, my father and brother seemed to have noticed that something was wrong, and shied away from me. At school, no one teased, or tormented me. I was living almost alone in my own world. Only my personal demons were there to torment me. Only time seemed to heal the wounds that had been inflicted. With time, what happened and my reaction, seemed to me, to have been taken out of proportion. I had over reacted. So when Janice called to ask why I had not been showing up, and then said that they needed me to babysit for them, I returned. And so began my first bout with insanity. Now, I was addicted to Janice's clothing, and that young woman, staring at me from the mirror. Alone, the sensual pleasure of possessing, and wearing those feminine items of lingerie, wasn't nearly enough. Each time, I rushed into dressing completely enfemme. Giving myself over, more and more, into the details of doing so, into the intricacies of dressing, walking, and sitting...being... thinking. At times, that image of the young woman in the mirror, silently mocked me, and I cried hysterically for hours. Other times, I masturbated to her in a frenzy of hate, and lust. Than there were times, we shared our moments of common existence, lovingly together and at peace. Still, no matter how the time was spent, those hours became my life, my existence. Every other moment of my life, every breath I took, everything I did, was only there to sustain those few hours each week. Be those few short hours heaven or hell, nothing else mattered. Yet, after months of existing so, I could not take it any more. Every encounter with that young woman in the mirror, taxed me too much. My life, outside of those moments, was falling apart. I told Janice that I could no longer babysit for them and they would have to find someone else. I put that time behind me as if it had never existed. No matter how hard it was for me to do, no matter how much it hurt, that young woman in the mirror... was no more. In retrospect, I now see that Janice knew some of what was going on, what I was going through, how I was inclined, and just let thing come as they came. Maybe, she should have stepped in, and talked to me about it. Maybe, things would have changed for the better. Maybe, they would have changed for the worse. I'll never know. In retrospect, I now understand that a major part of my first attraction to Janice's clothing was that she had, and I did not have. My clothing was always old, drab, mismatched, and used. Her clothing was always new, exciting and pretty. Her clothing was also the personification of her and of womanhood. In retrospect, I also understand that my mother, had only used, and magnified, my personality, and my physical features, against me. She abused and magnified only that, what was already present. If I had been anyone else, had looked any differently, she never would have, or could have wanted to, ridicule, and abuse me, as she did. Two years later, I graduated from high school, and Aunt Madge came to my rescue, and helped pay my way through college. Between her help, and some college loans, I was able to move completely away and have to this day, never gone back. The last time I saw my parents, was two weeks before my freshman year of college began. Holidays and summer vacations, I spent visiting Aunt Madge. Finally free from my parents, I begin to develop to my own advantage. I remained a small slight man, with most women still inches taller than me. But, my years of experiencing the hurt that people can inflict on one, left me very sensitive, and understanding, to the emotions of others. I still had very few male friends, but women seemed to be drawn to me. Not in a sexual sense, but I did have more women "good friends" than any other man on campus. That too, brought those men friends to me, that I did have. I always had good advice for both sexes, when they had problems, with their boy or girlfriends. I excelled in my classes, and was able to help many, who were lagging behind. I was liked by many, and always invited to parties, when my friends had them. I remember my college time, as one of the best times in my life. Chapter Four: Love, Romance and Marriage My relationship to Andrea never would have developed as it did, if it were not for her ex-boyfriends. For the most part, they had been "grade A number one" assholes. I was just what she, at that time in her life, was looking for. Around campus, she wasn't known as a slut, but she wasn't exactly virginal either. Her being a friend of one of my "good friends", and having had a few longer counseling sessions before with me, about her boyfriend problems, I knew that she wasn't exactly the type that I would be hitting on. Not that I, actually had a type, I would be hitting on. It's not as if I had much choice in the matter. What is a 5'3", 110 lbs (soaking wet) wispy wippy guy going to have as a type? He'll be lucky at getting any. Not that I had ever gotten any. I was a 21year old virgin, who had yet, to even get a handjob, out on a date. Andrea wasn't a sex bomb, but she definitely wasn't a gray mouse either. She had a pretty face, brownish blonde hair. She stood about an inch taller than me. Carried about a B or C cup, and had an hourglass figure on her. Her hips were fairly wide and her waist was very small. She didn't belong to the popular campus crowd, but she wasn't completely unknown by them either. What held me back, from flirting with her, when she started hitting on me, was that I knew more about her sex life, than any of the other men around campus, and more than what she thought I knew. Andrea, I knew, had a fairly high libido. She liked sex a lot. She was also fairly impulsive sexually, and had been involved in a couple of three-ways at a couple of parties, and also in a couple of zippless fucks. Not a real slut, but definitely not a virgin. Also the main reason I was skeptical about having anything to do with her was that she had a strong emotional dependency and attraction to alpha- male types. She had twice that I knew of, dumped steady boyfriends, for other men that were stronger, more powerful and more assertive. For me, sex had always been an expression of emotion with, and towards another person. Sex and relationships were not to be taken lightly. I did worry about Andrea's higher libido. For me, even though, DIY handjobs were still a part of my sex life, I didn't know if I was capable of keeping up with her. A relationship with her, for a guy like me, was just "a kick in the balls, waiting to happen". I wasn't going to go there. Been there, done that, and the T-shirt didn't fit. So for the next few weeks we played cat and mouse. She was always seeking me out, trying to flirt with me, and I was always avoiding her, but remaining friendly and cordial to her when we did meet. Than one day after our last class, she cornered me, "Why are you avoiding me? Do I have BO or something?" So being brutally honest I told her, "Listen, I know you're trying to start something up with me, but I don't know where you want this to go, and I don't know if I want to go there." She was taken back. I continued on, "You're a very beautiful hot chick, and I'm extremely attracted to you. I think you're as sexy as hell. But I'm me, and I know my value. So let's just let it be... and stay friends." With that I just turned, and walked away from her. That should have been enough, but it wasn't. Before I knew it, she was walking beside me, "You know you've disappointed me. I expected more from you. You're just like them. I seriously thought, at least you, would be different, and understand me." I had to stop at that and stare at her, "Who are them? Who am I just like?" Her eyes rolled for a moment into the back of her head as she let out a long sigh, "You, them, men, you're all the same. I really, really seriously thought, you were different. You all look at us, and see just tits and asses." Now she was getting to me, "Oh, so now I'm one of your cavemen? Well, gee thanks for the compliment. Maybe I should get a sign made up to wear around my neck, that says that? How about a T-shirt with giant letters across the front... Caveman? Don't think anyone would believe it, but we could try. Maybe it's you that doesn't get it..." I tried; I seriously tried to avoid any deepening of our friendship, towards a relationship. But, our conversation went on and on. We talked. We debated. We argued. It went on while we were walking through campus. It went on at the coffee shop on the way back to our dorms. It went on that evening when we went out together for a pizza. It continued on that whole weekend, until late Sunday night, when she kissed me goodnight, at the door to my dorm. By that time, I sure did feel like I was losing ground. For every argument that I thought of about why the two of us didn't fit together, she thought was a counter argument why we did fit together. But, that's how she always was, and a part of why I learned to love her. I guess what finally caused me to give in, was my thoughts that if "it" did happen; it wasn't going to be as if I wouldn't notice that it was coming. I do have a very strong intuitive talent at reading people's emotions. So, if she started to emotionally move away from me, became unhappy with me, I would notice it, even before she herself did. The other thing was, I had a lot of "good friends". Friends that knew everything that went on around campus. So, I had more than sufficient direct links, into the campus grapevine. Not much happened, to anyone on campus, without me hearing about it. In the end, I just decided that our relationship was going to be an adventure, that was just going to happen, and I might as well enjoy the ride, for as long as it lasted. I gave us three months; I figured that would be the longest our relationship could last. Strangely, I was proven wrong. It was that first conversation that set off the ground rules, for our behavior towards each other. No matter what the issue was, we talked, and talked some more. Nothing seemed to be off limits in our talks. Nothing was too trivial, or too secret. Our talks pushed us deeper, and deeper into intimacy, and dependency towards each other. When my three-month deadline finally hit, we were at a point, where we needed to see each other daily, sometimes even hourly. Mornings I would either wake up to my telephone ringing in my ear, or it was the first thing I reached for after getting up. At noon, in the cafeteria, we unconsciously gravitated to sitting together. Evenings and weekends found us again, no matter what we had to do, doing it as a couple. My three-month deadline found us also as a known couple on campus. People spoke of us as Andrea's boyfriend, or as Conner's girlfriend and it was known by all that our relationship wasn't just one of those relationships. It was something very serious. People spoke about us always in the plural tense. Friends started up conversations with me, exactly where they'd left them off, when talking to Andrea. It was obvious that even after such a short time, our friends could no longer see us as separate entities. The depth of Andrea and my conversations also set the field for us when we went sexual. Even from the beginning there was no hesitation. As diverse as we were with our talks, so diverse were we in bed. Our intimacy was, just as in our conversations, completely open, and naturally, secrets had no place. My fears that I would be insufficient proved to be absolutely wrong. Though size can make a difference, I found that I was in that aspect right in the middle. But as they say, 'Size doesn't matter, it's the motion of the ocean that counts' or 'it's the journey not the destination that matters.' Our journeys were sensuous, amorous, and very satisfying for both of us; it didn't matter if it was slow sensuous lovemaking, or hot monkey sex. What finally broke down my last barrier of doubt, happened one Saturday evening, after about six months into our relationship. We were at one of those parties. Not one of those parties we had with friends, but a larger social party, that type of a party. It was hosted at a house of one of the women's sororities and had a room for the smorgasbord with various small foods, wines and other drinks, a large room for dancing, and smaller rooms for just standing around and talking. It was an invitation only party. Dress was not formal, but it also wasn't casual. Invited were mainly students in their junior and senior years, but also professors, teachers and even a few non-academia from the town. Many couples, even married couples, had been invited, but the rule of behavior was "mingle". So mingle we did, sometimes together, sometimes individually. We chatted in various groups. We danced together, but I also danced with others, and so did Andrea. Nothing special, we were just mingling. The first that I noticed that something was wrong was the somewhat unusual attention that I was getting from one of the jocks from our football team. I knew about him. He wasn't anything big on the team. But he was a jock. He was an alpha-male type guy. The attention wasn't that he was following me around, or trying to get into conversations with me, it was more as if when he saw me, he was sizing me up. His whole behavior towards me was a bit standoffish, and snobbish. It was irritating me. I did know how to place it, but why here and why now? So now that he had brought himself to my attention, I was curious. I started to observe his behavior with others. It didn't take me long to see that his mingling always brought him around to Andrea. He was also dancing with her, more than with anyone else. He would leave her for shorter times, only to return. At first glance, Andrea didn't seem to be paying him any overtly great consideration. She seemed though friendly towards him, as if she were enjoying his company, and attention. It was in closer observation of their body language towards each other that I began to worry. They were showing attentiveness, and a form of being connected... a couple's thing. Was this 'it'? Was this now that what I had foreseen and tried to avoid, in avoiding Andrea at the start of our relationship? Though it hurt like hell, and my stomach was cramping into a knot, feeling like it had been punctured by hundreds of knives and daggers, I had to know. I had to know now, before I went any deeper into this relationship. Better to die the one death quickly, than the thousands of small slow deaths later. I decided to stay back, and see where this was going. If Andrea was going to do 'it', it might as well be now. I'd give her as much room as possible, to make her own choice. I would only know, and act accordingly. That evening was the first time in my life that I wished I was even smaller than I was. I wished I were so small that I could hide in Andrea's purse, and hear every word of their conversation. I was seemingly stuck, always trying to maintain them in sight, but hidden from them, therefore always out of hearing distance. What I did see, did not look so good, but it could have a completely different meaning. Their close contact during dancing, and the whispers between them, could be innocent... or not. There was nothing overtly sexual in the contact between them, or their mannerisms toward each other, so he could have easily been a close friend of hers, or even her brother, for that matter. But their mannerisms could also be of a more getting to know each other, romantic sexual nature. Without knowing what they were saying to each other, it was impossible to read out of their behavior, without first reading into their behavior. Than I lost them out of my sight, and after about 10 minutes of wandering from room to room, and not finding them, I was getting frantic. Just before I turned the corner, in an almost empty hallway, leading to the bathrooms, I heard Andrea's voice speaking to someone. I couldn't hear every word of what was being said, but the content was obvious. He was on the make, trying to get Andrea's phone number, and a promise for a date. Andrea wasn't conceding into doing it and there was some slight hesitation in her words. She stated her relationship to me, as a reason. That she was in a serious relationship, with me. It wasn't that she was saying 'maybe', it was only her choice of words that gave the nuance of a hesitation, of a maybe. Picking up on her mention of me, he saw his opportunity and pressed on. He questioned her about what she saw in me. How a person like me, could be of interest to her. The word 'wimp' and the words 'real man' were used. Their t?te-?-t?te was going just as I feared. With that though, Andrea's words became louder, and there was anger in her voice, "Wimp? Real man? Do you even know what you are talking about? Do you even have any idea what a real man is?" With a stop for a deep breath, she continued, "Do you even know that he is better in bed, pleases me more, than any lover I've ever had before? Do you even think that maybe he could be ten times better in bed than you could ever hope to be? No you don't, and that's why I've now had enough of this! Now leave me alone, and let me go to the bathroom." In that moment, I could have shaken the hand of every one of her asshole ex-boyfriends, in gratitude. Thanks to them, Andrea had had it with their kind. No matter how dashing, clever and verbose he could be, Andrea wasn't going to fall for him. Yes, she had had her moment of weakness. He had been exactly her type. But, she had stood the trial all alone, and on her own, she had come out with flying colors... my colors. She never told me about that part of the evening, but I guess she didn't have to. I'm sure he wasn't the first such episode, or the last. It was only that episode that I saw, and understood through seeing it, Andrea's love for me, and desire to be mine, and that she seriously preferred me over others. If, she would have told me about it, she could not have explained it, to the extent needed, and that would have only created, an undercurrent of insecurity, within me, towards her, and our relationship. With that, fell the last bastion of my uncertainties, towards our relationship. From that moment on, I fell completely, totally and without reservation, in love with her. In my mind, our relationship, which had existed only on a day-to-day basis, now had reason never to cease. All through my life, with the exceptions of Aunt Madge and Janice, I had always held in reserve, a certain depth of my emotional involvement, a protection against the pain and ridicule, I expected from others. Only those two, I allowed to emotionally enter into that inner most unprotected sanctum, of my being. Andrea became the third. Our last college summer, we spent traveling between her parents in Denver, and Aunt Madge in Oklahoma. Andrea took to Aunt Madge, like a duck to water; it was like a meeting of long-lost relatives. I also had little problems in meeting her parents, brother, and sister. Autumn of our senior year found us living together as a couple. Thanksgiving saw wedding bells. It was not an overly large wedding at that church in Denver, and only the aging and weakening Aunt Madge was present from my side of the family. But it was a happy wedding, just big enough to get loud, but small enough to enjoy everyone there. Even though, it was a very special moment for Andrea and I, it was also a very special moment for Aunt Madge and I... Christmas saw us in the early beginning stages of our planning to move to Denver and also our planning a family. Andrea's New Year's resolution was the throwing away of her birth control pills. There had always been a special part of my heart open to children. I had willingly adapted to babysitting. Even though I could not imagine my life without my own children, Andrea approached the issue of having children with fanaticism. The utmost goal in Andrea's life was having a child. She saw her fulfillment as a woman in giving birth. All other goals took second place. I did not think it was the best of ideas. Not that having children was a bad idea. Only the timing was bad. We would have to make do, and do without. We were young, and just starting out. Oddly, Andrea's greatest ally, in her desire to have a child, as soon as possible, was Aunt Madge. Aunt Madge's only statement to my financial worries was, "Oh pooh, don't forget that I'm here too. I sure would like to see a fourth generation born before I die." At that time, that perplexed me. First, was the question about seeing a fourth generation born. The image of a small, and frail, silver-gray haired spinster was the only image of Aunt Madge that I could remember. I knew that Aunt Madge and I were related, and I considered her to be my great aunt, but how old was Aunt Madge? She had never made mention of her age to me. The second question was about her being there for the baby and us. Aunt Madge had always lived in the old white farmhouse, out on the homestead, for as long as I could remember. That white house, with shaded porches front and back, I knew to have been built some time in the 30's, and other than having been repaired, it had never been remodeled. It also wondered me, how the homestead made enough money to support her. It wasn't large, and with her obvious age, and even with the help from a few old ranch-hands that she employed now and than, it could not be earning much. Her clothes were old. All her vehicles, that I ever saw, were always battered, beaten and at least 15 years old. I never saw her buy furniture. It had always been there, like it was now, ever since I was a small child. Only her TV, refrigerator, and her telephone were new. She had a new stove, but cooked on it only in the summer months. Other than that, she would rather use her old wood-burning stove. Madge never seemed to have, or need, money. I firmly believed, that that money, that helped pay my college, was about all she had. I couldn't see how Aunt Madge, could help us out financially. We both loved her dearly, and were both willing to take her in, if her health needed our care, but other than the money from the sale of the homestead, I didn't see any solution there. Chapter Five: A Mile High And A Mile Wrong Our move to Denver did not see Andrea pregnant as planned. Finding a job for me had been hard at first. But then, Aunt Madge had helped along again, with a phone number to an old acquaintance of hers. Even though he was retired within a few days, he made a few calls to people and set me up with my first job interview. It was with one of the many oil companies in the Denver area. It wasn't a top job, but the pay was quite a bit higher, than our pessimistic expectations had been. So financially, even with Andrea not looking for employment, we weren't off to a bad start. Now with a good job under my belt, and some more help with odds and ends from Andrea's family, we were able to get into an apartment, that was actually livable, and not your standard newlywed-just-out-of-college place. We got into a subdivision of multiplexes; where there were a lot of more progressive upscale families, and couples. The jump-start into a good neighborhood helped us get into the swing of things, and with my good paying job, money did have to be watched, but it wasn't a big issue. With a little budgeting, we were able to see a little bit of the nightlife of Denver, and even invited over at times friends, neighbors and some of my collages to dinner or for a small party. It seemed like in no time, we were celebrating our first anniversary. Andrea was still not pregnant and it wasn't as if we weren't trying. We were trying still, even after being married for a year, quite a bit, and than some. Not that it was intentional trying; it's just the way we were. We enjoyed our sex together, and being close together, as much as possible. It was then a few weeks after our first anniversary that I begin to notice a slight change in Andrea's behavior. I'm still not even sure that at that time, Andrea, herself knew why she changed. Maybe at that time, she only sub-conscientiously felt the frustration and disappointment. But, as time went by, it seemed to grow, and begin to eat at her, more and more. Seeing her frustrations, I offered, asked to talk, with her, time and time again. But, she always avoided speaking about what was eating at her, until one day she told me that she had made a doctor's appointment for me. It was to have a sperm sample taken. Even though Andrea jokingly offered to go with me... to give me a helping hand, I went to the appointment alone. With the sperm sample, they also took some blood and urine samples. When it came time to return to the doctor for the results, Andrea went with me. The results were devastating. For all it was worth, I was not sterile, but my sperm count was so low, that I might as well as have been. The doctor also stated that my testosterone level was too low, and my estrogen level was too high. There was a possibility of a Klinefelter syndrome (abnormal two X and one Y chromosome structure) or a congenital adrenal hyperplasia (which causes a too high production of estrogen, and a too low testosterone production, in males). Either of which, could cause a delayed or impaired development during puberty, and therefore also a permanent inability to produce sperm, in any sufficient quantity. He pointed out my mostly ambiguous body, facial features and my height, inquiring if my family doctor had not tested my testosterone and estrogen levels in my early teens. It was obvious, that my physical development had been impaired during puberty. He said that at that age, there were medical means available, but now the situation could no longer be corrected. He asked if I was having any sexual problems such as ED. This I negated, therefore he replied that if I had a comfortably active sex life, and had no other problems (I was as healthy as a horse), he would not (at that time) recommend therapy, to increase my testosterone level. There were definite and unwanted possible side effects to the therapy. Naturally, I was distraught, but during this time I did notice that Andrea had said nothing. After the initial statement about my sperm count from the doctor, she did nothing but stare directly ahead. At no time did she show any form of a changing facial expression. Her expression was neither of shock, anger or anything else I could surmise. It was almost expressionless. The drive home was in silence. At home nothing changed either. Andrea went about her business seemingly as if the doctors meeting had not happened. Only, the naturally fluid conversation between us was not there, and her facial expression still hadn't changed, from that in the doctor's office. I was having a hard enough time coming to grips with everything, and Andrea's behavior was not helping me any. If she would have cried or screamed. If she would have yelled at me, we could have fought or argued, but none of that was happening. She would answer me if I asked her something simple, but if I said anything about what had been spoken by the doctor, she only sternly answered, "Not yet." The rest of the week continued on along the same lines. I was barely functioning. So on Friday, I had to blow off some steam. For the first time in my life, I got stark raving fall-down drunk. It wasn't intentional on my part. After dinner, the silence in the house was getting on my nerves, so much that I took out a bottle of Jack Daniel's, left over from our last party, and made a coke and whiskey. One drink followed the other, and before I knew it, I was drinking shots pure, and the bottle had a serious dent in it. Andrea knew in generalities about my childhood. But there were many things, that even with the extreme intimacy that we had, I had not told her. I know, I babbled a lot that night. I'm still not sure of everything I did babble. I know I got screaming mad, thinking about how much my life could have been changed, how much ridicule and abuse I would not have had to suffer. If only my parents had been less dysfunctional, and had had the consideration enough, to at least taken me once to a doctor to be tested, everything would have been different. Some time in the early morning hours, I woke up with my head lying over the toilet bowl. My head felt like it had been hammered by a jackhammer. It felt like I could still hear that jackhammer somewhere out in the neighboring streets. I took a couple of aspirin and crawled into my side of the bed. Andrea was asleep on the other side, her back to me. The next morning I didn't get up until in the afternoon. Andrea wasn't there. She only came back much later wearing jeans, a jacket and hiking boots. She said she had been out hiking in the woods and thinking. She started to cry, and I held her to me. She kept saying over and over, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" and "I didn't know! I didn't know!" We spent the rest of that day and long into the night than crying, cuddling, holding each other and talking, lots of talking. We talked about our options, but in the clear light of reality, most were beyond our means, and the chances of even their success, were very slim. It did seem to help and calm us, so we talked about looking into all the options we could. Chapter Six: Closing Shop Our relationship had changed though, somehow intangibly. It never was the same again. Every time I tried to seek out that close intimacy we had before, it was like a fata morgana, always there, but always out of reach. A few weeks after the visit to doctor's office, Andrea enrolled in a class to train as a realtor. We hadn't discussed this, but we had discussed a few times, about her looking for work. It did come as a surprise that she'd decided to try real estate. But, if it made her happy, and she enjoyed it, it made me happy. It did seem unusual to come home and find her not there. She passed her exams easily, and found employment, almost without looking. Her hours always varied. Sometimes, she would have little to do, and other days she wouldn't get home until after seven in the evening. Saturdays were also no longer our time alone. At times, when her potential sales targets couldn't get off work during the week, she was forced into showing them houses, on Saturdays. Her business venture also pushed us into socializing more, with people we normally wouldn't be socializing with. This involved a lot more invitations to parties, and also dining out in the evenings. Andrea also spent a considerable amount more on her wardrobe than she'd had before. Her side of the closet was in months overflowing into the guestroom closet and dresser drawers. Slowly, and because of Andrea's newfound independence, our relationship was again and continually changing. At first, Andrea would tell me in detail every little bit of what was going on in her days. She met (naturally) quite a few people, and I found it interesting to hear about them, and what Andrea thought of them. This did not stay that way, and after Andrea had been working for around 3 months, I heard little of what was going on. It was getting to the point, where I had to finally express concern over not knowing her whereabouts one evening when she finally got home at ten o'clock. I told her that I was worried about something happening to her. I was beginning to feel that her odd hours were driving a wedge between us, and it didn't seem as though Andrea was concerned about this, or wanting to make amends for it. About four months after Andrea started working as a realtor, Aunt Madge moved into a senior community residence apartment in her home town. Since Andrea was new to her job, she could not take time off so I took a week off, and drove to see Aunt Madge. I was surprised at how much Aunt Madge seemed to have aged since the last time I'd seen her. There was a certain aura of transparency about her. As if she were there, but not there. Her mind seemed clear and she wasn't senile, but she seemed to be distant, as if her thoughts were in a distant time. She was very frail and was having a hard time walking. It was obvious, why her friends at her church had persuaded her into finally closing down the farm, and moving into town. There was no way that she could continue living out there in the country, and drive into town for her needs. While I was there, her lawyer filled me in on some of the details. The farmhouse had been shut down, and abandoned. It was so old and in such disrepair that it wasn't worth the time and trouble to fix up. All her furniture and her car had either been sold, or given away. She'd only taken what she needed along with her personal items. The land had been leased out to a neighboring ranch. So it was taken care of. He also told me not to worry, that no matter how Aunt Madge's health continued, she would be taken care of. Money was not a problem, and there were more than enough people willing to take care of her. Maybe it was my being away for a full week that I noticed so easily the changes in Andrea. It seemed to strike me as if her job had now reached a point where it entirely dominated her every waking minute. The next month saw her coming home later and later, more and more often. There were nights when I was asleep when she came home. She was gone so much, that by that time, I'd taken over all of the household chores. It seemed like only on Sundays that she was in the house for more than just sleeping, showering and changing her clothes. At the first Saturday that she came home from showing people houses, she showered and changed clothes than left. We had a big argument that lasted beyond the next Saturday. There she was also dressed obviously for another social dinner party, alone, without me. The atmosphere between us had now taken on a frosty tone. Our sex life during these months was still there, but it too was different. I naturally felt insecure about how the doctor's visit and Andrea's job had changed us. Yet our sex life had been wonderful before, and I was seemingly dependent on having sex with Andrea. It was an integral part of our shared intimacy. What caused me though considerable trepidation was the change in Andrea's attitude, towards sex with me. At times, she seemed to passively accept the sex. She enjoyed it, but did not take any active role in it. At other times, she became aggressive and dominating, almost masculine in her behavior, forcing me into a completely feminine and passive role. It was always one extreme or the other. Intimacy and shared lovemaking didn't seem to exist for her. Because of the lack of intimacy, and lack of tenderness involved, it was frustrating and demeaning for me. Even though I can't remember a strong decrease in the frequency, our sex life seemed minimal. It was there, but without emotion. My college estimate of three months had been wrong by about two years and three months. I'll never know the exact date of when she first disregarded her marriage vow of fidelity. All I'll ever know is how I found out. I'll always remember that day clearly. It was a Wednesday when I came home from work to find that Andrea, already come and gone again. She'd been in a hurry, showered and changed, than left in an obvious rush. Her clothes were left strewn around the bedroom floor. She must have also changed purses, because the one she normally used was sitting perched open on the dresser. As I was picked up the clothes that she'd left on the floor in her haste, I bumped into her purse and knocked it over. Everything fell out of it and when I went to pick up the stuff I found a packet of partially used birth control pills, and a package of condoms, four of which were missing. I stayed up that night until after 2am and Andrea had still not come home, so I left the packet of pills and the condoms on the kitchen table, where she had to see them when she came in. I slept, but I did not sleep well. The next morning when I got up they were gone and Andrea was in bed sleeping. I called in sick at work and I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Later I heard the shower run, and Andrea getting dressed. I still sat and waited. A few minutes later Andrea came rushing into the kitchen apparently in a hurry, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?" All I could say was, "Don't you think we need to talk?" She gave me an impatient and angry look, "I don't have time for that right now. I'm late for an appointment." She turned and walked to the front door. There she stopped for a moment, before turning back to me. Staring somewhere over my shoulder, and off into the distance, she sighed, "Anyway, I haven't decided yet what I want to do, so there's no need to talk." With that she walked out the door. Ever since I'd found the birth control pills, and the partially used package of condoms, I felt numb. I kept thinking that I should feel something more, maybe rage, anger or hurt, but I was only numb. I knew now that she was cheating on me so why wasn't I reacting? Maybe it was because I could not seem to conclude a thought. Whenever I tried to think about what I'd found, one thought seemed to lead to another and so on. I could never come to a conclusion. It was also like this was happening to me, and not to me, but rather to some other person. I sat there drinking coffee until my cup was finished. Then I got up and called my office to tell them I wouldn't be in on the Friday either. The only person that I was close enough to talk about something like this, was Aunt Madge. I packed some clothes in a bag and I left a note on the table saying where I was going. I never got to talk to Aunt Madge. On the way down, I started to think about how she would react and that I couldn't do this to her. Better I keep what I knew, what was going on, to myself. I stopped, and spent an almost sleepless night, at a motel, in a small town, just off highway 287. That Friday morning, after finally getting a couple of hours sleep, I decided to force Andrea into talking with me. Maybe we needed counseling. Maybe we needed to just talk, and clear the air. Maybe, it wasn't as bad, as I thought, it was. Maybe, she did love me, but had some reason why she was cheating on me. Maybe, there was something we could do, to get things back in line. I didn't want to lose Andrea. I loved her too deeply. I needed her. I depended on her. She was my one and only, the love of my life. Without her... I could not think. I spent my time traveling very slowly, and trying to think clearly. I stopped off a couple of times, to breathe some fresh air, or to get a cup of coffee. I arrived home at around six o'clock that evening, dropped my bag at the front door, and went looking for Andrea to find she wasn't around. I realized that I'd not eaten anything that day so thinking Andrea wouldn't be home early; I decided to go eat at a caf?, not far from us. When I returned at about half past nine there were lights on in the living room, and in the bedroom