The Life of a Little Girl … She Never Wanted to BE…

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As many of you know, I’ve been working on a second edition of my book, “Secrets of the Velvet Closet; A Memoir” that’s been re-edited and redone so it read more smoothly and made more sense. Well my wonderful readers…. it’s finally here! I will be posting a generous sample here so that you can see how interesting it is for yourself. I hope to gather all the views that I can to show the world people do care about those who’s voices haven’t been heard. Whether it be abuse sexually, abuse verbally, black sheep for personality, black sheep for sexuality, sibling rivalry, or whatever it may be. I believe this book has it all and will open your eyes to what’s real in life and how it hides in the darkest corners in the world that no one sees with their eyes, but would with their heart if they were to open up and allow the feelings to come through. It’s hard to go back into your world whenever whatever happened and relive what they did or said to you. I know I’ve been working on it for the last two years. I’ve gone from tears of sadness to tears of joy to shame to pride all in the same 300 pages. It has been the single most eye opening experience I have had in my whole life. The really hard part is knowing anyone in the world including my family have the ability to read what I’ve been keeping locked up for so long. Why I am the way that I am and what it was that kept me locked up in that closet for so long. It’s been a real roller coaster ride with more emotions that I’ve known to deal with. I believe when you read this book, it will change your life and it will open your heart and mind more than you’ve ever known how. . . with out further ado….

Boise, Oh Boise

I hope I will someday understand

I hope I will someday see

I hope I will someday stop

This tear that wants to be…

We moved to a bright and shiny place called

Boise, Idaho. I was elated at the fact that we no longer

lived in a tin can, and I was feeling safer. Our new

home was actually a

block home and so were the

houses around it. Our house felt upscale, especially

considering where I had come from.

We occupied a standard home, three bedrooms

and a carport, situated on a cul-de-sac. Kids played in

the streets and there were cars, actual real life cars,

which would drive down the busy streets that actually

looked nice. The neighborhood wasn’t all trashy, like

the trailer park, with a bunch of drunks or nasty

broken-down vehicles all over the place. The houses

were maintained and painted nicely. The yards were

immaculate, the roads were paved, not gravel, and we

had

actual sidewalks. And the people were fully

dressed and even wore shoes when they were outside.

Our neighborhood looked really nice.

I lived here from the ages of ten and a half to

fourteen and a lot happened while here. At first, it felt

surreal, like a dream, but living in Boise had its own

share of problems.

I was allowed to walk to school now, and there

were a lot of other children. If an ambulance went by I

could

see it, and not just hear sirens all of the time, as I

did at the trailer park. At the beginning, I was

enthralled because when I waved to people, they

would wave back. This was crazy cool. I loved it here

—until the problems ensued at school.

Mom was still working hard cleaning houses,

and she worked even more now that we lived in a little

suburban-type neighborhood. The kids wore regular

clothes

and shoes. They didn’t walk around halfdressed

and barefooted. This was like a whole other

realm. It was like a brand new world. There were more

people but less partiers. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

After the initial shock, however, things started to go

downhill quite a bit.

Before long, Mom and Norman weren’t doing

well. One day they were together and the next day they

were off again. So what did my mom do? She decided

to date other people while still occupying the same

household as my stepdad. A man named Tyler ended

up sweeping Mom off her feet when I was eleven.

They were very sexual—and not discrete whatsoever.

Since both were very large people, when they had sex

it was like two killer whales going at it. Once again, a

man was taking my mom away from me. All I wanted

was her time. This man didn’t like me—he pretended

to—but it was a whole other story when Mom turned

her head.

Tyler was a construction worker, and he was all

construction—down to his hat, scruffy hair, and had

big

-time money…Mom was good at finding guys with

money. The big boat, as it was referred to at the time,

was the

Thunderbird he had purchased for her. Thank

God, they only lasted about nine months, which was

nine months too long in my humble opinion.

At one point, I actually met a new friend. This

little boy would come over and play while his grandma

ran errands. This boy’s grandma would pay me by the

hour, and I

loved when this kid came over. I felt super

important by this point. I not only considered him a

friend, but also more like a son. I was watching him

three or four hours daily. This meant that I was able to

buy my very own six-pack of soda pop. I got to pay

with

my money, and I was mondo about it! His

grandma was a drinking buddy of my mother’s, so I

got to watch him often. I was also watching Simon and

other kids as well. This is probably why I’m so great

with kids today.

Although I only liked him as a friend, we

became really close and had fun together. But

unfortunately, I ended up losing another friend.

Evidently, the state came in and grandma didn’t have

custody—his mom did. When his mom was picked up

for prostitution, his grandma tried to fight for custody,

but didn’t win the battle. Once again, I lost

my friend.

It was tragic for me.

I had suffered through quite a bit of loss and

abuse at a very young age. What I had witnessed, I

would never wish on another. I tried to look at things

as positively as possible—to see the lesson in

everything—despite the circumstances.

At this time in my life, if Mom was home then

so were her drinking buddies. They never actually did

anything or tried anything physically with me…until I

was much older. Between the ages of nine to fourteen,

my mom noticed the guys were starting to look at me

differently, and as soon as someone did, she would get

rid of the guy friend. Although her choices were poor

at times, she did try to protect me. She always tried.

I attended three different schools in five years,

not because of choice but because of necessity. I was

having so many issues in school. The first school I

attended was Garfield Elementary, and I only lasted

one year at this horrible place. Who would have ever

thought fourth graders could be so cruel. The kids

constantly tormented and made fun of me. It wasn’t

just words that hurt me this time, but also actions.

There had been several occasions, as I sat in class and

minded my own business that kids would come up and

cut my hair or set it on fire. These occurrences

happened during free work time. You see, during free

work time, the teacher would sit at her desk while the

kids had the option of doing an assignment or hanging

out quietly in the classroom. My choice was always to

put my head down on the desk and ignore my

surroundings. The ultimate goal at this time was to

make it through the day and get home.

Outside of school, I was still taking care of my

brother and learning the ABCs, and no, I didn’t mean

the alphabet. My mom would call the school or leave a

note, which simply said “ABC,” and I would know she

would be at one of three bars—A=Alibi, B=Broadway,

and C=Cricket. If I absolutely needed to get a hold of

Mom, I used our code word…ABC. In retrospect, this

ABC code gave a

whole new meaning to elementary

education.

The next school was so bad that I had forgotten

the name of it. I was about twelve and a half and didn’t

even finish the school year. I was surrounded by a buttload

of Mexican children who spoke Spanish at me,

laughed, and made derogatory or sexual comments,

which, at the time, I didn’t even know what these

foreign words meant. The only thing I knew was they

taunted me and their energy was menacing. I was of

Native American decent and was referred to as a

wannabe because of my long hair. I mean, what did

they want me to do, chop it all off? Yes, that must have

been it. So, one day I approached these kids and told

them to just

cut it!

“Cut it all off!” I told them.

The response I got from one of the boys was,

“Huh?”

I repeated, “CUT! IT! OFF!”

I asked them to follow me to the field behind

the school, handed them a pair of scissors, and one of

the children did as I asked. He chopped off my hair to

just above my ears. I looked ridiculous and I was

distraught, but I thought if that was the only way to get

them to stop torturing me, then so be it.

After seeing how the other children butchered

my hair, my teacher, for safety reasons, decided to

drive me home. I explained that

I told them to do it,

but that didn’t matter. She feared for my well-being.

Of all days, Mom happened to be home. My teacher

brought me inside of our humble abode.

“Your daughter cut her hair. She asked the

other children on the playground to do it for her,” my

teacher said.

I could see the anger building in my mom’s

eyes, but she put on a good front while my teacher was

there. I was actually terrified of my teacher leaving,

but eventually she did. After flipping out at me and

giving me a punishment for my own good (like I

hadn’t been punished enough), Mom had a stylist

come over and try to fix it. I tried to explain to her how

serious the situation at school was.

“You should be able to handle your own

problems,” my mom replied.

After much debate and arguing, I finally got it

through her thick skull that I could not handle a horde

of kids coming at me. I had no one to back me, and she

finally understood.

The only thing that kept me sane during this

whole time at this school, which shall not be named,

was my friend Sally. She was quite larger, had long

black hair, and wore clothes that were two sizes too

small. Sally was a really quiet person and very artistic.

I just loved how artistic she was, and that was what

drew me to her. Prior to this, she was picked on a lot,

which in turn made her shut down. It took Sally some

time to figure out that I wanted to be friends with her,

as she didn’t have any. At school she was super weird,

but outside of school, she was

sick. This girl was so

cool. She didn’t allow me to really talk to her at

school, but after school I could. Sally didn’t want me

talking to her, as this would draw attention to her, and I

understood. When I saw her art, I wasn’t initially

attracted to her, but rather awed by her talent. After

some time passed, our friendship continued, and we

were inseparable. My attraction toward Sally started to

grow and no one knew this secret that I held.

It seemed that I kept liking the weird ones, the

unavailable ones, or the straight ones. I swear, either

my gaydar had gone wrong, or it was just completely

broken. I knew Sally was not in any way, shape, or

form interested in me, but I, once again, pursued a

friendship with this girl. Sally was big time into

tattooed, gothic-types guys who were

much older than

she was. And when I say older, I mean like twenty

years older. Men in their thirties. I wasn’t even thirteen

at the time, and I knew better. This was disgusting and

just wrong.

Sally took care of herself, as her mother was a

bit cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. This made me very angry,

and I became a control freak. At one point, I blurted

out that we could become girlfriends, which ended up

pushing Sally away. I almost completely lost her as a

friend. Whenever I went over to Sally’s house, we

would watch bad movies, and although wrong, it was

exciting, and I felt grown-up. Her mom paid us no

mind since she was busy talking to imaginary pygmies,

midgets, and children—and tried to introduce Sally

and me to them. You didn’t want to get her upset, and

trust me…she would get upset if you didn’t believe

her.

Sally’s mom had a humungous bubble-butt and

would always have her shirt situated over her

badonkadonk. If she was agitated about something, she

would run fast, which in turn, got her big old bubblebutt

bouncing up and down as she raced down the

hallway. Sally would get upset with her lies and

knocked her mom down like crazy. Sally would then

taunt her by chasing her down the hallway and poking

her mother’s humungous ass. She tried to get me to

join in on the “fun” but I couldn’t bring myself to

touch someone’s butt in which I wasn’t even attracted

to, let alone, be that mean. But, I had to admit that it

was a hilarious sight to see as a child…

bounce bounce,

bounce…poke.

 

In watching Sally tease her hallucinating and

oh-so-strange mom, I learned that she was ticklish and

thought maybe Sally was, too. I attempted to tickle

Sally and much to my surprise was asked, “Whatcha

doing, you freak?” Sally had her own space, and I

learned this very quickly.

She wasn’t much to look at, to be honest, but

damn was she ever talented. She created creatures,

vampires, princesses, and designed clothes. Sally also

had a dangerous side to her. In addition to her risqué

sexual behavior and the guys she dated, she would

oftentimes play with a Ouija Board and set out black

candles, but it seemed like she had no clue what she

was doing. Instead of calling on her late, great-

grandma, she was always focused on the dark, and it

was way creepy.

At one point, we decided that we would open a

clothing design place together and tried to find people

to buy the clothes, but Sally opted out and said that she

would not be a part of our plans if she wasn’t getting

any money. I couldn’t blame her. Sally was, indeed, a

strange friend. As I mentioned earlier, at school we

couldn’t have conversations about our drawings or

plans we made together,

ever.

One day, after watching movies at Sally’s

house, I was cold and Sally was passed out on the

couch. I searched everywhere for a blanket but

couldn’t find one. I sure as hell wasn’t going to go ask

her mom or one of her imaginary friends for one, so I

decided to push the coffee table next to the couch. I lay

on the hard coffee table—as close to her as possible—

trying to use our body heat for warmth and to share the

blanket she was wrapped in. I reached and grasped at

the corners of the blanket…I was freezing to death. All

of a sudden, I was blindsided with a rude awakening as

the coffee table was pulled out from under me.

And the last words she ever said to me were,

“Nasty bitch, you freak. Get out!”

We never spoke again.

I did attempt to call and talk to her mom, in

which she replied, “Sally doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Another friend lost and another lesson gained.

Don’t try and snuggle up with the straight, angry,

weird girl, even if you are just cold.

***

Back at the home front, and as my hair grew

back, Mom decided it would be a fabulous idea to

perm it. Needless to say, I ended up with curly hair,

which only made my hair worse and hid my Native

American ancestry. The only thing prideful about our

heritage was my mom’s best friends, Terry and

Barbara. Barbara’s daughter, Casey, was a girl that I

ended up having my first

true sexual relationship with.

I had befriended Terry’s daughter, Lisa, as well, but it

was strictly platonic. We were like buddies and had

attended Pow Wows and Indian dances for a few years.

This was the one time that I could actually be proud of

my Native American traditions. I would wear a jingle

dress, although I wanted to wear a fancy one, but Mom

refused my request. It was fantastic having Indians

around, and I thoroughly enjoyed this aspect of my

childhood.

I spent a lot of time with Casey. She was very

mature, thicker around the waist, had blond hair, and

wore makeup. Casey was the girl who showed me

attention that I wasn’t getting anywhere else. We

became very close very quickly. She treated me

absolutely

awesome, and I soaked it up. My mom and

Barbara would go out and drink quite often, and during

this time, Casey and I practically got away with

murder.

Casey was two years older than I was and

would babysit whenever they went out to party. She

tried to teach me how to do my hair…Aqua Net was

huge at the time…and we had a really cool bond

going. When I was with Casey I was free…free as a

bird. We would get an allowance and go to the store to

buy cigarettes, which I thought were nasty, but it was

the cool thing to do and well, Casey smoked. I was

having the time of my life, and I was able to escape

from the things that were happening at school.

After some time, Casey became overtly

affectionate to me. She gave me clothes and would hug

me quite often, which later led to her putting her hands

on my legs, playing with my hair, braiding it, and

caressing my neck. After a short while, she finally

broke down and said she wanted to try something new

with me. She stated that she was going to kiss me. My

heart started to pound, and my thoughts raced. I

thought we might get caught, and

wow, this would be

my first kiss with a girl.

After a couple of get-togethers of innocent

kissing, I realized how much I liked Casey. Once I was

completely comfortable with the kissing, Casey

decided to teach me more. She advised me to lie down

flat on the bed, and she would lie on top of me. She

walked me through step-by-step what we were about

to do, and we were never fully naked. The first couple

of times, we kissed and touched over our clothes, but

as the visits increased and overnights began, we started

to strip down to our underwear and bras. Lots of

affectionate moves ensued, but we always stayed

above board of the underwear and bra.

One of last times we fooled around, we tried

taking our underwear off, which didn’t last long…

Casey wasn’t comfortable with it, and almost

immediately put her underwear back on. I started to

profess my love to Casey and said that we should get

married someday. When we were finished fooling

around, Casey made a joke of what I had said to her. I

brushed it off, but was extremely offended that she

didn’t take me seriously, and the occurrences stopped.

We no longer hung out. I think I may have scared her

off with my intensity. I did, however, learn at a very

young age what climaxing was, and that was just from

hands and rubbing—while clothed—nothing more.

I already knew I was different, but I never really

understood why at the time.

Later on, I found out that Casey was very

active. She had known exactly what she was doing

with me. Our moms had wondered why we stopped

hanging out, and Casey had told Barbara that she had a

boyfriend. She found an outlet quickly and made it

clear they she cared very much about her boyfriend

and no longer had time for our friendship. In turn, I

started hanging out with Casey’s brother, Brad, who

was awesome, but he didn’t give me the affection like

his sister did nor did I want him to. He was younger, so

I ended up watching

him while our parents went out to

party. Brad never knew of the relationship between his

sister and me.

I eventually found out that Barbara had gotten

heavy into drugs, and my mom pulled away from their

friendship. I would never see Casey or Brad again.

While hanging out with Casey, I was also

messing around with a girl named Rochelle. When

Mom couldn’t hang out with Barbara, she hung out

with Rochelle’s mother, Jessica (Mom always being

the life of the party), who was also Norman’s sister.

No, there was no blood between us, and I didn’t even

know that Rochelle had any link to Norman until much

later in life, and boy did it come as a major shock. I

also later found out that Casey was Norman’s niece

because of her dad, Uncle James. Can we say “all in

the family?”

Anyway, Jessica and Mom both drank heavily

and had a lot in common. If Mom was with Jessica,

then I was able to hang out with Rochelle. And boy did

we have a lot of time to get to know each other. When

those two got together, it would be hours before they

would check-in on us. So yeah, we had a fling and she

had 120 percent “come on” to

me. Rochelle was a very

domineering Mexican girl

and almost two years my

junior, but I thought this chick was cool. She was very

feminine, but didn’t curl her hair like Casey. She had

huge breasts for her age and accentuated them well, or

so

I thought.

Rochelle was also extremely bossy, a control

freak, and much to my surprise, her mom allowed this

behavior. It wasn’t long before I became her pet. She

dragged me along everywhere, and we played video

games quite often. If she said jump, I jumped. When

she came onto me, she did so with mondo dominance

and when no one was around, she expressed much

affection toward me. When she asked if had done it

with a girl before, I ended up telling her about Casey. I

tried to reassure her, but she got jealous quickly.

Rochelle was forced to grow up fast, quite possibly

faster than I did. She had older brothers, and had to be

one of the guys, or she would be treated like a little

whore.

I was fine with her being dominant. She would

tell me she missed me or to come here, and like a little

dog, I obeyed. Her mom knew she was affectionate,

and it was nothing when she showed affection toward

me in front of her. There was a lot of touchy-feely in

front of the adults, but our parents never caught on that

there was something deeper going on between us. She

showed me affection like no other had at the time, not

even Casey. Rochelle

always wanted to be with me.

On one occasion, Rochelle convinced me that

she should spend the night. Did I mention that

Rochelle always got her way? If I wasn’t in the mood

to mess around, or felt like that was all she wanted me

for, she would easily convince me otherwise. She

would start to love and kiss on me, talk me down from

how I felt, and would start asking questions. I guess

she thought that maybe she was doing it wrong, so she

would copy the exact thing that Casey had done to me

prior. She started saying things like, “Hey, what did

Casey do different?” She drilled me and wanted to try

what Casey had done. I would occasionally mess with

her and rattle off things Casey never even dared to try,

and Rochelle would do it anyway, just because she

thought Casey had done that to me and wanted to do it

better.

Rochelle taught me how to ultimately peak at a

very young age and always made sure that I was

satisfied before we stopped. She started playing with

her fingers here and there, and our connection grew

 For more of this very intense story… click here…

So if you have made it this far, I suspect I caught your attention. I’m currently looking for an agent or a real publisher to accept my work. I also have an indie film maker look at my book to see if it may be movie material. I’m not trying to be a millionaire off my book, but making a bit to carry through life would be ok. It’s more about reaching people across the world and showing them it’s “ok”. I’ve been working my whole life on opening up people’s eyes to what goes on behind closed doors. Whether it’s men, women, children, animals or whatever. What honestly scares me is knowing that it still goes on. I protect my children and my family to the greatest extent that I can. I try to keep drugs, alcoholism, abuse, violence, and everything bad away from them. Not because I feel they couldn’t handle it, but because I feel they shouldn’t have to. A child shouldn’t have to hear, “get me a beer”, or “you stupid asshole”, or “you are so fucking retarded”, or “pass the bowl”, or whatever else comes out of irresponsible parents mouths toward their children. This and more we deal with everyday with out even knowing we are doing it.
It’s much easier to just turn the other cheek and forget you heard what you heard or saw what you saw… until now…

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