Woman vs. Women

In December I decided to take my best friend to a psychic to have our fortunes told for her birthday. She and I had wanted to do this since we were in high school. I always felt as if my husband wouldn’t allow me to do such a thing so this was one more thing to check off my very long list of things I can do now that my husband no longer has a say in it.

It was her birthday and she made the appointment for each of us. She had seen a psychic before and swore that I would be blown away with what they’d have to tell me. But I am a skeptic. I thought these weirdos would take my money and give me a bunch of general information that could apply to basically anyone.

She and I met in the parking lot of this psychic’s office. I was still not sure it was going to be worth the $150 that it was going to cost me but I wanted to try it & I knew it’d make my girl friend happy. Her appointment was first. I sat outside and read a book she brought for me about a woman who had supernatural senses, something I relate to.

Her 30 minute reading flew by and before I knew it she was walking out. I stood and walked towards her. I could tell she had been crying but she had a big smile on her face. She said as she walked up, “she’s good”, and with that I made my way inside her office.

I sat at a table and she introduced herself. Then quickly went through what types of readings she offered. I decided to have my palms read and my fortune told. She covered a lot of information very fast. It was information that couldn’t apply to anyone but me & most of it were things no one on earth knew about. It was jaw-dropping stuff. One thing that struck me & stayed with me since that meeting with her was about my relations with other women.

She pointed out that she knew I had never had many female friends. That I always had mostly male friends. She said that women have been jealous of me since I was a very young child, through school and into adulthood. She added that women feel threatened by me because I do not follow the same protocol they do with regard to men, sex, business and relations with other women.

All of a sudden I had validation for the way I’d felt all my life. Here it was, displayed before me on the palms of my own hands and read to me by someone I had never met in my life & had no knowledge of me besides my name, date of birth and my occupation.  She could see the surprise in my face and called me on it. She asked if her statements matched with how I’d felt inside. I told her yes. She continued her reading  and I listened but I stayed on that statement in my mind until she finished.

Throughout my life I’ve always felt a little different than the image I had/have in my mind of most women. Growing up, I was the tomboy. Sometimes tougher than some of the boys. I always controlled things. At times I was cruel to the boys. I remember a few instances where I felt a rush of…something (not exactly sure how to describe it). One of them was in my front yard. We had a huge fruitless Mulberry tree that was perfect to climb. I was playing with my good friend Aaron that lived across the street and one door down. I must have been seven or eight and he was just a bit younger than me. He climbed up into the tree first and I watched from the ground. As he found his perch he looked down at me and motioned for me to climb up. Instead of following his invitation I twisted it on him. I told him he had to take his shorts off first before I’d climb up there with him and then I’d take mine off once I got up there. He hesitated at first but eventually they came off. It was the first time I had seen a boy without pants on. I stared. I never did climb the tree. I let him sit alone, half naked, vulnerably way up in the dense tree. I pretended that I was coming up at one point but I only did it so I could get closer to him so I could snatch his shorts out of his hand. Now he couldn’t get down without having everyone see that he was naked and I enjoyed how uncomfortable he looked and sounded. He begged me to give his shorts back. I wouldn’t. No amount of begging could help him. He was up there a long time before he climbed out, without his shorts, and ran home half naked while I watched. I threw his shorts into a bush and carried on with my daily antics.  –  A dozen or so years later after his family and my family had moved away from that neighborhood and Aaron and I were adults – he came looking for me. When he found me he told me that I had become the object of his desires and I had been ever since that day in my front yard. He asked me if I would consider a relationship with him. I told him no. I knew that if I did I would mistreat him and I didn’t want that. I haven’t seen him since. I have talked with his parents and they tell me he is still very much in love (lust?) with me and even they wished he & I would have gotten married because he “needs a girl like me to straighten him out”.

Aaron wasn’t the only boy I controlled like that. There were quite a few I enjoyed humiliating on a regular basis.  And all of them came to find me once they became adults.

Then at puberty my role reversed. Well, not entirely. Some boys made me slip into a submissive state when I was in their presence while others stroked the dominant in me. I never realized it until right now. I never separated the two very different personalities before like this. I see now what happened to my relationship with my husband. Deep down, I know that I need to submit to a man for the relationship to work. My relationship with my ex-husband started off with me forcing myself to see him as the dominant when he clearly was not. It became obvious to me one day when we were in San Francisco killing time. We hadn’t been together for very long and I don’t think we were married just yet. A switch went off in me. I felt it. I think he even saw it in my face. I am sure of it now. We never discussed what happened that day because we both knew what it meant. It meant that we were not right for each other and neither of us wanted to ever admit that.

(I am shocked and relieved at the same time and needing to get back on topic now)

I’m not exactly sure why I don’t relate well to women. Maybe it’s my demeanor. Maybe it’s because I don’t hate men like most women do. Maybe it’s because I love men and respect men and understand men that women don’t like me. Maybe it’s because I don’t like women that women don’t like me. I don’t mean to offend anyone by implying that all women are the same but in my experience I know that a woman is more likely to stab another woman in the back out of jealousy than a man is. With the exception of the man that acts like and idolizes women. He’s just like them. Flamboyant. Materialistic. Shallow. Spineless. Close-minded. He’ll turn his back on you as quickly as some women do.

Maybe I’m old fashioned? I have been told I have an old soul.


I truly believe the male should always dominate but at the same time the woman should never become a doormat. Mutual respect is required and each should know one another’s role in the relationship.

That’s my opinion and if you don’t like it, go make one of your own.

He’s BACK!

I picked up my friend at the mortuary yesterday and brought him back to my house in a neat little box. Tomorrow I have to pick up the death certificates…then begins the tedious process of cancelling/changing all his accounts. To prepare, I’ve had to sift through the mounds of papers in his house. It’s such an odd feeling being in this situation. He’s lived next door since before I was born. As a little girl, he was always the elusive old blind man that wore a weird hat and drove really really slow that lived next door. He never seemed to have any regular visitors. Occasionally, I’d see his mother pull into his driveway and I’d  hear all sorts of doors slamming and her crackly voice ordering him around. Our street is pretty quiet and the neighbors here are so nosey that even when you keep to yourself, they still know what happened at your dinner table last Thursday despite your best efforts to keep it private and they make sure everyone knows. So, when there was movement at HIS house, you can bet every housewife was peering through her front kitchen window at the “weirdo” & his mother, gathering their gossip tid-bits for the daily morning swap via phone over their cups of  black coffee with the ones on the side of the street with a less desirable vantage point. No one made too much of an effort to befriend him and the story always was “he’s weird” “he never comes outside” “he never talks to anyone on the street” “he went blind from some government experiment in World War 2” “he’s got weird contraptions, like some kind of midevil sexual torture devices in his living room”. The general rule for all the kids on the street was to stay away from him because he might molest you. So nobody bothered him. Well, except for…me.

I was intrigued, I guess. I wanted to see who he was. I went to his house nearly every day. I’d knock on his door and he’d answer. He was always friendly to me. He never liked any of the other kids and he told me so. He & I would talk for a long time in his front doorway. I’d usually have my dog Duchess with me & he loved to see her. He had tattoos on his arms, a lion on each, and I’d always ask him to flex his muscles so I could see them move. I remember playing in his garage, sitting in the bed of his pick-up and watching him work at his workbench. I never felt scared or unwanted by him. My parents got a lot of flack from the lookie-loos on the street about letting me play over there for hours unsupervised with him. But they trusted him, like I did.

So now, at the conclusion of his life here, I am getting a chance to look into who he really was and I am beginning to learn why he was so…weird. From what I’ve gathered, he didn’t seem to have a close relationship with his father. He was quite close to his mom but I think he may have been mistreated by her. I get the sense that he didn’t have much respect for her though. He seemed to want to out-do her intellectually. He had an older brother, who was his fathers namesake. He married a woman. He had a daughter and possibly a son. I think the boy died when he was young and his daughter refused any sort of contact with him. I get the feeling the family was broken up by a devastating event and somehow my next door neighbor-friend had a lot to do with it.

Aside from all the family drama I’ve read about that he had dealt with, he was also a World War 2 vet, honorably discharged from the US Army in 1945. He was injured somehow and ended up in a hospital. He says he was given a shot in his arm by a doctor as part of his treatment then the next day his eye was completely bloodshot and his vision blurry and at the site of the injection was a large fluid-filled blister that ended up as a permanent, very visible scar. When he made the doctor aware of the eye problem, the doctor made excuses about what caused it and said it would heal in a short time.  His medical records showed he was on some sort of schedule to have these shots on a daily basis over the next few weeks but he suspected he was being used for an experiment. He had only 2 of those shots, which later was revealed that he had been injected with mustard gas. The military also infected him with malaria – he claimed.

After he was discharged from the Army, his eyesight deteriorated, but he managed to get his teaching credentials and became a Professor at San Francisco State University…at least until he was laid-off due to complaints from students and staff that he was rude, disrespectful and just plain mean. No student would take his classes and the other faculty avoided any contact with him.

Then there’s the hatred towards women. In his journals [which by the way, he meticulously kept for from what I can tell so far, every day, his entire life] I don’t know how many times I’ve read “kill the fetus” or saw his very graphic drawings of a woman giving birth to something that looks evil like the Devil. His drawings are all very detailed. The women in them are all slightly taller than the men. Always either dressed very classy or naked and posed obscenely. The captions are usually sexist. I want to have them looked at by an expert, but who? And why? It’s not like I can help him anymore. Maybe then, just so I have one of the last puzzle pieces to help me close this chapter of my life.

Those contraptions the neighborhood labeled as torture devices are actually still in the house and garage. Here’s some photos I took of his creations.

I am fascinated by how creative he was. The photos don’t give enough detail. He designed these 2 massive “home-gyms” and built them with very little commercially manufactured components as possible. He also pre-fabricated each one in miniature.

Now that I’ve found a family member of his, I’m feeling my loss. I became very close to a man that they really never knew and against his wishes, I have to give him up to them merely because he’s related by blood. They don’t know him as well as I got to know him and are swooping in like vultures to pick apart the corpse. I’m struggling with my automatic reaction to protect him still, like a gaurd dog, I wish I could chase them away.




FWB, Fuckbuddies, casual sex – whatever you want to call it. Basically having sex with a friend or acquaintance without the woes that come from a commitment to a ‘relationship’. Am I the only person that has a hard time with this type of arrangement?

Being that it’s been a little over a year now since my separation from my husband and one month since the complete end of my last ‘relationship’ I am again faced with the ‘friends with benefits’ relations. Well, I know I am not the only person on Earth that feels this way but I just can’t have sex without becoming emotionally and physically attached to the person. One night stands are usually an exception. I just feel that if you’re not in a committed relationship and having ongoing sex with more than one person you’re either being led on or your leading yourself on that at some point ‘things will change’. They don’t! My beliefs are that if you’re not finding all you need in that one person then they’re not the right one for you. Besides, no man can please me better or faster than I can please myself so most of the time I use the feelings of penetration, touch, sound and scent to take back with me and use them for my self-pleasure, while in a relationship or otherwise. It’s the intimacy and the closeness that I cannot recreate alone.

I am guilty of having sex with multiple partners. I see now that it wasn’t done out of my need to have an orgasm, it was done for my need to be held and touched. Nothing more. That’s exactly why I become emotionally tied to the man/men I have sex with. Hmmmm. You see, this is why I write. I work through my quirks with my pen and paper or in this case my keyboard and a white screen. It clarified something for me that I struggle greatly with and put it in a context that I can understand & work through to change.

Having figured that out just now gave me more clarity on my last relationship. I just realized that I was never just held by him, or touched. I held on so long just waiting for it to happen. Thinking that if I kept working at it & putting up with what I did that he’d want to just hold me. He’d finally trust me enough to just let himself feel and love. When all he wanted was sex. He never once just held me. Poor him! I say that only because I think intimacy is something you can give to another person if you have a strong inner being yourself.

Just fucking doesn’t prove you’re a man. Anyone can fuck. He shows he’s a real man when he holds you afterwards.