I found myself living with my parents again, only this time they wanted me to pay 300 dollars a month worth of rent and they still expected me to live by their rules. My sister had managed to move out and she lived in a ramshackle trailer that smelled something awful. It was a mixture of mildew and sulfur(from the water). She did her best to fix it up and make it look decent and the truth is, I was jealous of her.

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I found myself living with my parents again, only this time they wanted me to pay 300 dollars a month worth of rent and they still expected me to live by their rules. My sister had managed to move out and she lived in a ramshackle trailer that smelled something awful. It was a mixture of mildew and sulfur(from the water). She did her best to fix it up and make it look decent and the truth is, I was jealous of her.

She was blessed with an artistic talent which I completely lacked and I wanted the painting of a kitten she had on her floor. I was stunned when she gave it to me. The only thing I could give her in return was a hug. I was so envious of her, being all free and such, but I never realized the price she had to pay for that rusty, smelly piece of shit. I never knew that she had to sleep with the pot bellied alcoholic painter who owned the thing. I probably would have been less jealous of her had I known that at the time.

It was less than a month later that I fell in love. I had a friend who was, to be honest, a bit retarded. His parents paid for him to live in a trailer park and have a few luxuries which he could pay for with his disability check. We never had sex, but he was nice to me and was always welcoming, especially if I came over with some beer or weed to share with him. He didn’t care that I wore panties, in fact we would sit together and watch movies while drinking and smoking, me in my panties and him in his Fruit of the Loom undies. I think he was in love with John Wayne and I was cool with watching his films, especially The Quiet Man. I fantasized about being Katherine Hepburn, dragged off into a life of married bliss by such a strong man.

We were sitting there one night watching a movie when his phone rang. He had written his phone number down in a restroom stall and some man had called him to take him up on the promise of a free fuck. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but I found myself on the phone with that strange man, blushing when he asked me if I wanted to be fucked. I told him I did and he told me he would be right there in 20 minutes.

It was only about fifteen minutes later when he banged on the door and introduced himself. I tried to hide it, but I was so hot I could barely contain myself. He took the other guy into the bedroom and stuck his thumb up his ass while he beat off. For me, it was a different story.

He made love to me, gently and then roughly, ramming his rampant hardness into me as I lay there pleading for him to go deeper. We both came and were panting out our passion with him folding his arm around me while I lay there under his bulk, my passion sated for the moment. That feeling of peace and satisfaction was replaced with terror when I heard my father banging on the front door of the trailer. I quickly cleaned myself up and sprayed some perfume on me to pretend I had been having sex with a woman while he hid in the bathroom.

I didn’t know it until later, but that man was the one I was going to marry. I didn’t realize it until much later and to be honest, I was scared to death of the very notion. I fell in love with him that night even though I couldn’t admit to myself that he was almost exactly what I wanted. He was strong and masterful and made me almost cum in my panties with wanting him.

I called him the next day and we made a date. We went to his apartment and had more wild and wonderful sex, but that was just a side dish. I was lost in the fantasy that a man would love me as his woman, that he would and could make me feel that way. One night when I wanted so badly to be with him, he refused to come get me because it was storming badly and he was afraid to cross the bridge. I spent the afternoon and evening trying to figure out a way to get across so he would come and get me.

I was desperate for his love and his lovemaking, it was an ache deep in my soul that I had never yet known. I had merely thought I was in love before, but this time, I was sure. It didn’t happen that night, but I had an epiphany as I lay in bed crying myself to sleep.

I was in love! I had fallen so deeply for this man that nothing else mattered. So what if he was 20 years older than me! The thing that mattered was that he had called me his girl and had made love to me. I was an impressionable 17 year old and I had found a man to love who would love me back.

He said he wanted me to come over the next night, but he couldn’t pick me up because he was working. I took it upon myself to take the bus out toward his apartment complex but when I got of the bus, I was completely lost. I called and told him the name of the road I was on but it wasn’t one he knew. Neither of us realized it right then, but I was less than a mile from his home. Luckily, my street smarts led me to his complex, and even though to this day I think he was trying to mislead me, I arrived at his door, dirty and disheveled.

He took me out to dinner at a little Chinese buffet hole in the wall and afterward we came back to his place and made love and it was everything I had been dreaming about. His touch made me shiver, his caress made me moan, and I’m pretty sure we woke up the neighbors. He tried to make me be quiet, and that is something that has held to this day. I might feel like screaming and moaning, but I bit my teeth and keep quiet, so the neighbors won’t hear.

It was only about a month later that my parents kicked me out again because I couldn’t pay them what they wanted for rent and I wouldn’t obey their rules(which included going to that horrible church).

We talked about me moving in, and he told me that he didn’t love me, but he was willing to try, so we would give it a trial period. At the end of the three months, neither one of us could imagine life without the together, so we made a pact to give it another six months. I still had not told him of my true desires.

When I did, about 4 months into it, he recoiled. He told me flat out that he was gay and never wanted a woman and if that was what I had to be, he didn’t want me. I cried for about a month, then realized that I wanted love even more than I needed to be myself, so I agreed that I would live with him as his male lover.

I managed to surpress myself in his presence for the next 8 years. I had quite a few semi-suicidal episodes during that time, but my point of ultimate crisis came when I could no longer accept that and I began to self medicate behind his back. I had a lung infection and went to one of those private clinics where I discovered that the drawers in the exam room were filled with estrogen supplements. I stole every single packet of them. I stole bras and panties from the laundry room at the apartment complex. I dressed as fully as I could whenever he was out of the house.

I was thrilled when people started calling me maam on the phone and at drive-throughs. Then the pills ran out, and I had no money to get more. About a year after that, he had a heart attack and I thought my world had ended. I thought he was going to die and I was once again going to be left alone. I was so overcome with my own grief that I almost missed the signs that something else was wrong. I was trying to feed him and he was falling out and almost choking on the food. He would chew a couple of times and then fall out with the food still unchewed and in danger of choking him.

He knew something was wrong and asked what meds they had him on. I had taken a medical terminology class at that point and was able to tell him that they had him on Morphine. I knew that it was a common treatment for heart attack patients but he told me that he was hypersensitive to it and that was in his medical records. I knew that his medical records also contained the fact that he was gay.

At that point I put 2 and 2 together and got 4. I shut off his IV, went directly to the nurses station in the ICU and started to raise hell. The nurses were nice and apologetic and told me that the doctor was a “Very Christian man”. I ordered them not to treat him any further until I had a chance to speak with the doctor. He met me in the waiting room and I started in on him.

The bastard actually had the gall to mention the fact that hubby was gay and said that he had just followed the standard course of treatment. At that point, I completely lost it. I didn’t break any bones, but I certainly threw him around a bit and destroyed the waiting room. I wanted to kill him so badly. What I did instead, although it took a couple of years, was ruin him professionally.

The nurses had to have known what was going on because they never even called security on me. I know they heard the whole thing because the waiting room was only separated from the nurses’ station by a couple of pieces of sheetrock and I know full well I threw him through at least one of them. Within 10 minutes, there was another cardiologist there, one I knew and trusted, who had treated his father when he had heart trouble. I told him what was going on and he was pretty much beside himself in his own anger.

The medical treatment end of things immediately got better and the first doctor was banned from ICU. He was later ejected from the practice that both doctors had been a part of because they found out he had been preaching to people and telling them that the only way they would live was if they accepted Jesus as their lord and savior. One of the people he had done this to was an elderly Jewish woman. She raised all sorts of unholy hell. That and my own very loud and strident complaints convinced the other doctors that they could not afford to be associated with him any longer.

The truth is that if I were to meet the man on the street at this point, I would attack him. I didn’t know the whole story until much later, but now I am convinced that he was trying to kill my husband because of his own religious beliefs. I have no idea how many people he has killed or let die in the name of his beliefs, but the anger that causes is something beyond simply furious. It is more along the lines of a cold killing rage. I know for a fact that if I ever meet Dr. Miller again, only one of us will come out of that meeting alive.

Even writing this, 12 years later, I am literally shaking with rage. That man is probably a part of why I did not pursue one of my dreams, to become a doctor.

Anyway, I did get a birthday present that year. Hubby had his heart attack on February 27th, 1997. My gift, the most precious I will ever have, is that he was alive on March 1st, the day I turned 25. I thank Dr. Grayson and the dedicated nursing staff in the ICU for that.

There is more, and more detail, but right now I have to stop and cry for a bit.