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Who can relate? I know I'm not the only one.
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Who can relate? I know I'm not the only one. Some of my earliest memories were sexual in nature or maybe they were just the ones that stood out most. I was around 5 or 6 when I realized that my dad (On the few occasions he was home) or any of the numerous other guys my mom brought home were not beating her in her bedroom every night. Those grunts, smacks, banging and screams were not sounds of abuse, they were the sounds of of pure ecstasy. My younger brother and I actually tried to save her from one of those brutal attacks once. We were in the living room sitting in front of the television watching Saturday morning cartoons and eating cereal like we always did. About ten minutes into Karate Kat we heard our mother scream and then a banging sound followed, that just just got louder with every thump. We had been through this routine a few times before but usually we could just turn the television down and drown out the noise. Well this time was different. I imagine now that this guy was John Holmes twin brother because nothing was going to drown out those screams. I mean our pictures were literally falling off the wall. My brother and I looked at each other and had be thinking the same thing. It was time to put our Super Hero undies that my mother would have pry off of us every 4 days just to wash to good use. We both jumped and darted to her bedroom door putting all of our 100 combined lbs into it. It moved about an inch or two. Just enough for us to see that her old oak dresser was against it. The second thing we noticed was an extremely dark, almost egg plant colored man on top of her doing pushups up between her legs with such vigor that a navy seal would be jealous. And for a split second I wondered how the hell she had gotten her feet behind her head like they were a pillow. I mean her creaky knees were the reason I had to run every errand that required more than 10 steps to accomplish since the age of 4. Those knees looked mighty find to me that day. Our screams for him to stop fell on deaf ears, it was like we were Patrick Swayze in Ghost but Whopppi was nowhere to be found. We had to do something, get Andy Van Slyke, I told my brother. That was what we named our louisville slugger that Toys for Tots had given us for Christmas that year even though I hated baseball and wanted a football. The Pirates sucked and us naming that bat Andy Van Slyke because he was our best player at the time (Im not kidding you) was a testament to how bad the Buccos were. I took Andy handleside first, aimed for that villains head and heaved it with all of my might. I had done it, I saved my mother from having to be chained up at the feet of Jaba the Hut with a silly hairdo, gnawing roasted wooly mammoth ribs that the sick fuck had already sucked clean. My shit stained Green Lantern undies had giving me the powers I knew they would one day. My time as a hero lasted about 13 milliseconds. The handle end of Andy slid through that crack in the door like it was laser guided but as soon as it got to about the sweet spot it halted abruptly and came back at us just as fast as it had left. The conclave fat end of the bat fit perfectly over my brothers orbital socket as it ricochet from the door to his head and still had enough velocity to bruise my shin bone before it broke the main stem on this huge, dumb, fake looking plant that my mom kept in these expensive ass wicker baskets that she replaced every year like a birthday gift. Thats when all hell broke loose. Im on the floor rolling around holding my shin screaming. Brandons eye had swollen instantly and was gushing<b> blood </font></b>everywhere while he was running around trying to scream louder than me. And Mr. Holmes was still in there pounding my mom to the dirt. I had went from a hero to a zero at the speed of light. If I would have had a white role model then there probably would have been a 9 iron laying around and my plan would have worked perfectly. I knew i had to redeem myself so i surveyed the room and grabbed the first thing that i thought would fit through that damn crack, our skinny, pathetic, yellow wiffle ball bat. We had duct taped the end of it so it had a little bit of weight on it. I didnt have to figure out the wind speed and air friction like i would have had if it wasnt weighted. I aimed, I launched and watched it glide towards its target just as planned. A second later it hit pay dirt, striking that monster right in the nape of his neck. I was a hero again, my mom was going be so happy that I saved her that she wouldnt even care about that dumbass plant. Boy was i wrong. That dude hopped off of her and was at the door throwing that oak dresser to the side like it was made of card board. I barely had time set my feet and get to the kitchen table so i could hide under it like I always did to avoid ass whoopings. The black blur was behind me so fast that I could feel his breath blowing by my head . Thank God I had become too manly to sit indian style in front of the tv and my brother still sat like that because that one missing chair allowed me to slide under that table with no hindrance and the third chair still being there allowed enough cover to avoid the claws that were snapping at me . Now Brandon wasnt as lucky. He was still running around screaming, holding his eye when that dude descended on him like a nude, ebony, angel that lost his wings when he decided to listen to Lucifer and now was furious that he had to walk like the rest of us. My mother did have one rule with her male friends, dont you even think about trying to discipline her babies. So i was kind of taken aback at this strange ass naked man smacking the shit out of my mortally wounded brother. I wish god would have taken half his cock away along with his wings because every time he smacked my brother, that monstrosity of a cock would follow right behind his hand hitting my brother in his face at least five times, yeah I was counting. What made it worse was that he had this real thick, clear pee leaking from it. (yeah, we knew nothing about precum) My brother went from holding his eye and screaming, to trying to get his shirt off to wipe the pee off his face. For a split second I had thought about helping him but that was before body fluids had gotten involved. I cowered in my bunker while my comrade was on the frontline being desecrated. I made a vow that day never to cower to any man again and it is probably the only vow I ever kept. My mother came out of the room red and looking like she just done a triathalon but she still had enough energy to calm the hulk down and tend to my brother. He didnt give a damn about his swollen, gashed, bleeding eye. He ran straight for the bathroom and poured a whole bottle of peroxide on his face like he was doing the ice bucket challenge. And then he went through a half bottle of Palmolive scrubbing his face until his olive colored skin turned bright pink in certain spots. After everyone had calmed down for, about an hour I finally was able say what i had been holding in for what felt like forever. Brandon, I cant believe that guy peed on your face like 5 times. He flew from his end of the couch to mine and wailed on me for a few minutes like he always did when I jerked his chain a little too hard, but that time he put a little extra it. I dont recall ever seeing that man again, But I know if i was him where Id be. Right in the San Fernando Valley getting paid to pee on people. |
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