CHAPTER 2
One of the things I discovered as a kid was how sweet the
warm feelings were that filled my heart up from having some
one to relate to and who would relate back to me without being
selfish. I don't mean fair weather friends. They come into
your life like unwanted babies and you've got to deal with
them whether you want to or don't. I'm not saying all friends
are a pain, but what I mean is that most don't give you much
choice or space to move around in.
When you're fifteen and a girl, most friend, all ages, push
you around or suck your blood. They dish out advice they
don't want to take themselves. When you get into trouble
believing their lies, being obedient at home, docile as I was,
they expect you to wiggle yourself out all by yourself. And
that's just not fair. So really the first thing I learned about was
being fair-to myself and to others.
Getting back just to get even wasn't fair but it was what you
had to do to anyone who wasn't fair and who wouldn't own
up to it. So you made them pay some price for how you got
hurt by them. Then the opposite would take over and the next
thing you knew, they were getting back at you. Revenge. This
is what vicious cycle means.
It didn't take long for me to work this out. Giving it and getting
it was pretty much what made the world go around. If I
held myself quiet just to watch like from the front stoop, it
would spin so crazily it could make me dizzy enough to throw
UP.
So the next thing I learned was how to look away or putting
it differently, not seeing so nobody was even sure I was looking.
Wearing shades, for example. This led me into not getting
involved. If you got yourself involved, aImost with any old
day-to-day people thing, it messed you up. Folks would squint
their eyes and say over and over didn't I tell you so? Then you
were in deep trouble.
Every day in Pottsdam the gossipers woke up with the
gloomy dawn and if you closed your eyes, the noises they
made gossiping was like everyone talking at once. Babble babble
like twisting the radio dial fast. It was mostly the old biddies
and the jealous wives and just marrieds who kept the town
party lines buzzing. Bad news would spread up and down
those little streets like every house had its tv on the same channel
full blast at the same time. If you walked down any street
with the windows open, you couldn't miss hearing the same tv
program from one end of Pottsdam to the other.
This was exactly how my reputation spread. This is how I
heard that I ought to be wearing a brassiere, not strut like
some lewd brazen hussy, slow down my bursting tits that were
making men's mouths water and outraging their suspicious
wives. I got nicknamed Busty by the kids in our school gang
but the grownups whispered about me as Chesty so much
because I sensed pretty fast this was a backhanded compliment.
Small town jealousy and envy didn't make so much of a
dent in what you call my personality until people used it as an
insult or a means of criticising me when they could find no
other way to express their hate. Women would stick up their
noses when I'd jiggle by with my big nipples sticking out.
Behind my back they'd curse me for a whore. But to my face,
if they had no way out, the'd be as sweet as pie. I'm sure this
isn't front page news for small town girls like I was with extra
sized bosoms.
When I'd be hanging out with a bunch of kids at the filling
station or in with the guys in the cozy back of the candy store
near our highschool where old man Gorkowski had his antique
ice cream parlor booths, you can bet your ass people
would mutter to themselves and everybody listening knew I
just had to be up to no good. Sometimes these rumors got so
thick the Welcome Wagon Lady told me she prayed for me.
When I got my first pair of spiked heels it gave my backside a
wicked wiggle and with my long beautiful hair bouncing on
my shoulders, titties jiggling like jello, toe nails painted, with
my friendly grin, well you can just imagine! I was a walking
obscenity.
This attracted the town ministers and the lonely old priest.
On visiting sermon Sundays during the hot summers, young
ministers drove for miles to make sure they gaped and gawked
me. Religious tracts got slipped under our front door and into
Daddy's mailbox along with bills, repossess and foreclosure
warnings on our poor mortgage which was like hammering
crucification nails in my Daddy's heart.
So you can imagine it wasn't long before everyone was saying
I had sex on my brain like some people got God in their
hearts and they weren't too far from wrong. A lot of it was
Pottsdam's fault. Men raped me with their hungry eyes, licking
their lips while they stared at my titties. Some of the real
bold bastards who knew what a sissy I was deep inside would
rub their crotches when they made sure only I would see them.
I had to stop riding my Sears bike down the road near the
cutoff to the old state highway in back of Cunningham's filling
station. This wasn't far from our only local diner run by a
short big-shouldered guy we called Tommy the Greek. One
look from him answered any question you asked whether it
was what time it was or did he think it would rain, what was
the soup of the day.
Tommy the Greek hired different short-order fry cooks.
These were down-at-the-heels bums passing through, some off
trucks, others just sprung from jail. One of these they called
Byjesus because he started everything he said with
"Byjesus. . . . " He was a shameless one.
One day he was carting garbage out back when I biked past
and yelled. I stopped. He was hidden between the garbage
shed and the door in the rear of the diner. He took out his cock
and jerked it at me. Then he dropped his pants all the way. I
was frozen. This was the first time I saw a white naked cock
with thick black hair. His balls hung like a dog's He weaved
his body and humped the air, his eyes leering. I couldn't take
my eyes off him.
I felt a heavy sickening-like thud in my lower belly. Then an
ice cold fear like a knife glinting in the sun. Then he started to
jerk off with his hand. I was mortified. Me and my bike
almost fell over. But I got myself back together by clamming
my eyes tight. But all the way home, peddling like crazy, I
could see nothing but the image of that thick white ugly cock
and the white trash pallor of his skinny thighs. It's one of
those memory pictures you never forget.
I've got a bunch of other sickies but there's nothing unusual
about them. None of them was pretty. At sixteen going on
seventeen I got into some hot and heavy necking with aguy I'll
call Ninety-Five because that was his speed record. He had this
souped up jalopy before he totalled himself and the jalopy
while the state cops were playing pinochle instead of patrolling.
He was a tit man, a mother's milk weirdo, always slobbering,
drooling all over mine. But he talked such sweet baby talk
so naturally, pretending he was sucking milk. He made googoo
noises. If I closed my eyes I had no trouble imagining
Ninety-Five about three months old. That was about how
smart he was too.
Then I met this encyclopedia salesman in Gorkowski's. He
looked like a winner right away. A nicely pressed suit, expensive
socks, shoes shined. He had a nice smile and a real gift of
gab. He was one of the few guys I've met who didn't lose his
eyeballs between my tits or glue them to my nipples when he
talked. In fact he was cool about my tits, half the time I'd be
talking with Wilbert, I'd forget I had tits.
He knew a lot about cities, having run away from quite a
few. He told me this confidentially because the fuzz had some
crazy idea he was taking housewives' deposits on encyclopedia
sets and never getting around to sending them Volume One.
It was Wilbert who told me I had a nice singing voice, that I
should think of becoming a singer, even better-an actress in
Hollywood movies. He had this way of looking through people
including the housewife idiots who paid him cash in advance
for the entire twenty-eight volume set of encyclopedias
and never get Volume One. I'd listen to his little stories that
were mostly funny and sad but kept me laughing. They were a
breath of fresh air in that town and pretty soon he got me excited
about singing with a rock group and getting into the
movies.
When Wilbert wasn't going door-to-door in Pottsdam and
other towns around there making his pitch and collecting
down payments, we'd meet at Pop Gorkowski's where I could
smoke cigarettes openly and sip his Thunderbird from coffee
cups.
Sometimes we've drive around the outskirts in his car off
Route 19 and I'd sing along with his radio. This was before
cassettes. Wilbert was always flattery but at the same time he'd
make helpful suggestions and correct me politely. He never
hurt my feelings.
Wilbert really liked my company because I'd keep asking
questions and he never tired of telling me how few women he
knew asked intelligent questions. He said this wasn't because
they knew all the answers but it was more because they didn't
have any curiosities. Wilbert expIained it was because of my
curiosity that I had it all over them. I'd go far with my voice
when I got a manager who knew his way around the rock
scene.
When Wilbert wasn't in town, I'd be reading up about big
time music and groups and bands in magazines Wilbert would
drop off for me at the candy store. God help me if my parents
found out what was going on in my brain. I was also getting
heavier into movie magazines, rock stars in particular. I was
practicing my voice a lot. On some days when I'd ride around
with Wilbert, he'd grin and say I was in good voice. My whole
idea of Pottsdam would change. I'd think that things weren't
so really dark or as sour as they looked. Hope was catching me
on fire.
Now I want to say a little about Wilbert and sex. It's only
natural you'd be wondering. Well, he was basically shy the
way all guys are who aren't high on booze or their own macho
that makes them think they're God's gift. He admitted he was
more interested in just taking it easy and letting it happen
naturally.
Most girls Wilbert met and tried to get a little serious with
were more interested in being taken out to nice places, getting
it on fast and spending his money. They had gold digging in
their blood. Either this or they came on real helpless. These
poor things couldn't do anything for themselves. He said most
females were sloppy by nature, swept everything under the rug
and looked like hell froze over in bathrobes and bedroom slip
pers. Pretty much in general they were all talk and no action
after they hauled you in. I wouldn't say Wilbert was down on
women especially. Since I've been working the street, this kind
of news about women don't make the front page neither. You
hear it all from every john telling you nasty things in confidence
about his wife or the woman he's living with.
Wilbert was really trying to tell me, and I found this to be
true, was that I was one of the few girls he'd met who listened
to him without interrupting or letting my thoughts drift while
he talked. He said I had a head start because I knew how to
listen and pay attention.
One night we were parked in a rainstorm and the windshield
wipers were making me so sexy I took my first wild chance. I
reached for his dick and it was beating as hard as my heart. I
was crazy to give him head because I'd been planning it secretly
for weeks. He was really timid about letting me and finally
we got ourselves comfortable in his back seat. Then he started
to get embarrassed repeating how much fun I could have in the
outside world if I had the guts to run away from home. As I
listened I kept making love to his nice dick and he kept talking
and talking. He painted gorgeous pictures. When I brought
him off we were both moaning and it was one of the most
beautiful moments in my life.
Afterwards we shook hands and kissed on the month. This
was the beginning of me learning how to relate to a human in a
decent honest way, but what I loved most about Wilbert that
first time was when he dropped me off home. He said, "thank
you." And as I hurried across our front grass in the rain I felt
warm and good all over.