Back from mental vacation with tidbit of story for my ebook

If you feel this portion of my upcoming book should be classified as ‘erotic’ and for adults only, please leave a comment. My friend and I don’t feel it is erotic content, but we’re only two voices. Thanks.

So let’s begin the tidbit…

Childhood forms an adult, or so say some intellectuals studying childhood-to-adulthood development. If that is true, I make a very interesting study for such intellectuals.

My mother came from a prominent, wealthy, established family in Ontario, Canada, with a long history of political and business offspring. My father came from a family which bred no particular persons of interest, and in fact were quite a dull, middle-class lot. Thus lays proof of ‘opposites attract’.

My mother grew up knowing wealth and prominence placed her above others, particularity when it came to society and its rules. After all, she was a (name removed for blog post)! My mother made sure this elitist mentality of hers was adhered to by her husband and her children. Oh yes, children. I was first born, followed years later by my sister, and a brother each of the following two years.

We lived in a gorgeous old mansion in Rosedale, a neighbourhood of Toronto. A giant Chestnut tree stood guard at the corner of our property.

I was a bit of a tomboy, and beginning at six years of age I would climb the branches almost to the top and sit there waiting for people below to walk by the tree. I would then drop Chestnuts on them. I was scolded several times for doing that, but neither my mother or father ever did anything other than talk to me when I was misbehaving. I believe that is why later in life I sought a man who could control me. I was spoilt, and misbehaved without punishment of any lasting impression. Looking at my life now, I doubt even severe reprimands would have change how I turned out. But, who knows? For that matter, who cares? I’ve had a wonderful life and have no regrets.

I was a precocious child, and an avid reader early on in my development. I was also unexpected, a fact which I was constantly reminded of by my mother in a most malevolent tone of voice; “I had to get married because of you!” You can imagine the emphasis she placed on the word ‘you’. She’d then purse her lips and glower at me, as if I was responsible for her spreading her legs for anyone she fancied.

At the age of four I discovered how easily I could manipulate my father. It was the beginning of my disdain for weak men. A smile, a wink, a sad face, a pleading face, they all worked on my dad. Most four year olds probably don’t recognize the power they have at that age, but I did.

At the age of seven I discovered sex. I was upstairs in my bedroom reading when I got thirsty and decided to go downstairs and get some apple juice. I was about to come down the stairs when I heard whispered sounds of my mother and another man. Curious, I snuck a little further down the stairs to find my mothers’ head bobbing up and down between the legs of our neighbour Mr. (name removed for this blog post.)

My mother seemed to be having a lot of fun, sometimes swishing her head from side to side as she moved it up and down.

I couldn’t see exactly what  mother was grabbing with her right hand every now and then, but she would reach up and kiss Mr. Franklin whenever she was holding whatever it was she was holding in her right hand. This seemed to please them both, especially my mother.

Mr. Franklin moved his body up and down, sometimes in unison with my mom, but he didn’t appear enthusiastic about either.

The Tarot reader

I’m writing erotic bits and pieces in Scrivener about some of boys in my life when I suddenly thought of the time a friend and I visited a Tarot card reader.

This was in the 1960’s, the time of ‘free love’, and one of my current boyfriends took me to a Tarot card reader. He was expecting her to say how much I loved him. I know this because I asked him why we were going there.

The Tarot card reader, rotund and smelly, sat at dimly lit table at the back of a restaurant in New Westminster. We sat down and my friend said he’d like to know her (meaning me) future. I told him I could speak for myself, and asked the old woman to tell me if my love life included him. She asked for the $5.00 and my friend paid her.

She passed me the cards and asked me to shuffle them, which I did. She then created a pattern on the table of the top cards. She looked at them a while, then looked up at me and said “You hate men.”

My friend and I made fun of her decision and left. Now, many years later as I reflect upon my life and write about it, I know she hit the nail on the head. I loved men, but I hated them at the same time. Love and hate, what strong passions they are.

 

 

Closet full of memories

Most women of my age have had a few lovers in their time, and each article in my closet holds precious memories of the places, events, and each man I loved. I did love each of them, the men I mean, even though some were fools who couldn’t or wouldn’t understand what I was offering them.

The picture is relatively recent, which explains the circle, so that if my ebook/book becomes popular I will retain some privacy.

cwcloset