Nancy s summer diary july
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The Visitor / Skyla's Diary: Saturday, July 8 free porn video
The Visitor / Skyla's Diary: Saturday, July 8
What a sucky day!!!! It's Saturday. Do we get to kick back and relax? Go
to a movie? Watch TV? Play some video games? Hang out in the mall? No!!!!
We've got chores to do. Chores!!! I mean who talks like that? Just people
who don't have the sense God gave a door knob. And these are those
people: no TV, no computer, no Wi-Fi; no nothing but work.
That Hannah tried to teach me how to milk a goat today, like she thought
I was going to be doing it. Her mom had us go out to this shed they call
a barn, where they keep these animals, and Hannah demonstrated how to do
it. It was disgusting. She actually put her hands on that animal's
whatever-they-call-them and started jerking. It was gross; I mean nasty
gross. And get this; the milk--when it comes out of the goat--isn't even
cold! I found that out when she handed me the pail. No wonder I threw up
my breakfast the day Rachel came to visit. I'm used to real milk that
comes cold from the factory and doesn't have to be artificially
refrigerated. I guess they do it this way cause it's cheap, like they
are.
Anyway, I told her then and there that no way I was going to put my hands
on some goat's raunchy body parts. I didn't care if they sent me back to
the boy's ranch or to jail. I suppose I thought she would run and tell
her mom, who would tell her old man, who would do who knows what to me.
Instead, she cocked her head sideways at me. I've seen her do this many
times when she talks to people. It really makes her look cute. I'll have
to learn how to do it too. So, she did this and said that the Bible says
that "if any would not work, neither should he eat." She said milking the
goats was one of the easiest jobs and that if I didn't do that, there
were other chores I would have to do like feeding the goats and chickens,
cleaning out their stalls and coops, and working in the garden or--and get
this--I would be making my time in Hell worse than it was already going to
be. I mean how do you argue with crazy people?
Then she shows me how to do other stuff. When cleaning out the stalls--I
think she called it mucking--I have to be sure and wear shoes because of
goat droppings and mice. She said the mice would run right over bare feet
and sometimes try to crawl up your ankle.
Did you know you have to be nice to chickens? I didn't either. She was
showing me how to gather eggs. We go into this stinky little shed, even
smaller than the one they keep their goats in, and there they all are
each with their own little nest in a box thing. When we come to the first
one, she talks to it like baby talk or something and then pets it a
little. Then she reaches under it and takes an egg. She has me do it, and
the stupid thing bit me! It drew blood! I was getting ready to slap it
off its nest, but Hannah got between me and it and took my hand. She
pulled some Kleenex out of her skirt pocket and stopped the bleeding.
While she was doing that, I noticed she has really soft hands. I hope my
hands get that soft when I start taking hormones. Anyway, she says I have
to be nice to the chickens, and they won't mind me taking their eggs.
After this it's the garden, but Hannah says I have to wear boots because
of snakes and scorpions and sometimes tarantulas. Turns out they've got
rattlesnakes around here, and all I have are these flipflops. She asked
what size shoes I wore, and I told her eight. I thought she would laugh
at my big feet, but instead she said that was pretty small for a guy and
she was sure I could fit into a pair of her dad's old boots. I didn't
like it, but she said under a long skirt no one could tell the difference
and for sure I didn't want to get bit or stung.
The next thing I know, I'm clomping out to the garden in her dad's old
cowboy boots and the drugstore hat her mother got me. For some reason
when Hannah said garden, I thought about the flower beds my mom had at
home, but the Henson garden was as big as my house was back in Austin and
the lot it sat on. We were out there for hours sweating, pulling weeds,
sprinkling water, inspecting for bugs and some kind of diseases that she
called blight or rot or whatever, and every so often picking fruit or
vegetables. Mostly though, we were sweating. At least I was. Hannah
always looks like, I don't know, perfect.
And that's our whole Saturday, until Mrs. Henson rings this school bell.
Then everybody comes in from whatever they have been doing, washes up for
supper, and gathers around the table. I sat down, but only until I
noticed that everyone else was standing. I got up and at some signal I
never saw, everyone joined hands. Mr. Henson prayed over the food, and
then everyone joined in some little song I'd never heard of. Again, I sat
down, and again I was the only one, so I got back up again. Mr. Henson
walks around the table to his wife and seats her like in some old movie.
Then he goes to Hannah, Elizabeth, and Sarah and seats them to. I mean he
pulls the chair out for each of them and scoots them up to the table
after they've sat down. He returns to his chair and says, "Gentlemen, you
may take your seats."
I sit down, think about it for about a second, and then jump to my feet
again. "Hey, what about me?" I asked.
"Sorry, Sky," he said. "Forgot. Mark, would you do the honors." Mark and
Josiah punched each other and grinned, but Mark got up and came over to
me.
"You got to help me now, Stinks, I can't push you all the way under the
table." So, I did, and everybody talked.
After supper, meaning after Mrs. Henson put up the leftovers and the
sisters and I washed, dried, and put away the dishes and swept the floor,
we gathered in the living room where Mr. Henson read something out of the
Bible and went on and on about how it was time to begin the Lord's Day by
preparing our hearts to worship Him tomorrow. He made a big deal about
how sin was not just what we did or didn't do, but the things we said or
didn't say and especially the thoughts and attitudes that we generated.
He gave us a long time of nothing but silence, so we could confess our
sins.
Then it was shower time. Like I said before, we are scheduled and timed.
After everyone in the family is finished, it's lights out and we go to
bed--and it's not even completely dark yet. Anyway, before and after my
shower, I had plenty of time to think about what a downer today was
compared to yesterday.
Of course, yesterday didn't start off all that great either. The first
lady I saw--I think her name was Kylie--made me sit and listen to what
everyone else in the room thought of me, and it wasn't much. Mark and
Josiah think I'm just like them, and my only problem is I'm sad--like duh.
The two little gigglers, Liz and Sarah, think I'm some kind of toy to
play with. And Hannah just cries; she won't even say what she thinks
about me. I can only imagine the picture Mrs. Henson painted of me to
Kylie, since their talk was totally private.
Anyway, when I get my chance to talk, it's like I have to prove myself or
something. Kylie doesn't just believe me, like the police, or Liv, or
Rachel. No, I have to tell her all my feelings and thoughts from as far
back as I can remember. The problem was that no matter what I told
her--whether it was the story of the English lady being kissed; the way my
dad treated me; my feelings about him; or even the relationship I had
with Garrett--she would say that such thoughts and feelings were not
uncommon among most boys my age and that more likely than not, I would
grow out of them.
Well that made me real mad, and she could see it too. That's when she
tried to scare me. She said she'd seen hundreds of young men just like me
during the course of her schooling and practice. She said she knew a
bunch that had gone all the way through to surgery. Most turned back
before surgery, and most of those that went through with the surgery
turned back as well or killed themselves. She said that maybe I was
transgender to some degree; maybe I was gay; or maybe I was just a
miserable male. She could see that last part really made me mad and she
tried to make me feel better by saying that the misery I felt was what
most adolescent males go through.
"You have a mind of your own and demand recognition of your
individuality," I remember her saying. "Yet you are not equipped to
sustain your independence, so you brood and seethe with anger against the
symbol of your dependence, your father. One of the surest ways of getting
back at your father is to bite the hand that feeds you. Some young men
turn to fast cars or athletics to assert their independence, others to
drugs or crime or sexual activity. Still others, like you, are too afraid
to rebel directly against their fathers, instead they seek only to escape
from their father's world. Some escape by becoming 'A' students and
leading lives of successful sophistication, others by flunking out and
dropping out of society altogether. You are probably the prisoner of a
child's decision."
"What? What child?" I remember asking.
She could probably tell by the expression on my face that I had no idea
what this last part meant. I was ready to be mad if she was thinking I
was still a child.
"As a very little boy, you probably noticed that your father treated your
mother much differently than he treated you. Child that you were, you may
very well have thought that if you could just be like mommy, daddy would
love you better. I'm not saying that's what you think now, but that that
may have been the first step on the path you have followed up to this
point. You are going to have to decide if you wish to continue in the
direction you are headed, or if you wish now to chart a new course and
live your life based not upon a child's decision but upon a young man's."
You can see why I felt bad. I thought I had made my decision and that I
was on my way. According to Kylie, my life was still up for grabs, and I
might yet end up living the dull, drab existence of a man.
Because of that, I didn't expect much out of the next woman I saw. Her
name was Roberta something, but everyone calls her Bobbye. It was like
night and day between her and Kylie. She didn't care what the Hensons
thought about me. When all of them but Mrs. Henson ran out when my new
friends came, she didn't bat an eye. She made me realize that it just
didn't matter what they thought or why they thought it.
Even better than that, Bobbye could see me. From the beginning she knew
exactly who I was, and so did the friends. Rod was really something, so
kind and gentle, but he looked to be as strong as my dad, even though he
wasn't as tall. Pat wasn't transgender, but he was gay. He's a beautician
after all, and from what everyone says, he's the best in Amarillo. Mary
Lou was a real character. She acts and sounds just like a real southern
belle. I think she must have got started late in life, which is sad,
which is why I don't want to wait till I'm 37 years old and my life is
over, and I've got nothing left to live for.
Bailey was the best of all, and she's only a few years older than me.
Just like me, she knew she was a girl from way back when she was little.
Kids would pick on her, and her old man would beat her until he got so
tired of what she was that he just left her and her mom and sisters when
she was about two or three. From then on nothing stopped her; not the
boys in her class; not the teachers; not even the principal. It didn't
matter what the dress code at her school was, she could accessorize and
glam it up so much that nobody could mistake her for a boy.
One day Bailey decided she didn't have to put up with anything else from
anybody else and dropped out of school and began living her own life her
own way. She supports herself as a woman and lives completely as a woman
all the time and doesn't have to answer to anybody. And she is drop-dead
gorgeous. Best of all, she wants to be my very best friend. She said she
would let me have some real clothes instead of these Henson rags and even
get me some makeup.
That's when Mary Lou said I could use one of her wigs--imagine me with
long blonde hair--until my own grew back. Pat said it wouldn't have to be
a long time, because he could do miracles with short hair. He even
described how he would do it. Rod asked me what shampoo and conditioner I
was using, and when I said I didn't know, just whatever the Hensons had
bought for cheap, he said he would bring samples next week and that I
should settle for nothing less.
It went on and on like that. I felt like I had been holding my breath
under water like forever, and now suddenly, finally I could breathe real
air. It felt so good. I felt so alive, like I have a real future.
But tomorrow is church. Then there is a week of study, study, study, and
chores, chores, chores. I just hope I can hold my breath that long.
Cayleigh
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