At some point, everything comes out. I hope. I used to hope the other way, that the secrets would stay forever, however that is how demons keep their power. Now I know (think/hope) a way to destroy them. Expose them to the light. My demons will haunt me no more.
I finally started to posted this story on the day of my last surgery on my adventure post for 12/21/2022. The past midnight section, the detailed story, I moved here and linked here after publishing for better content organization.. eventually when completed, this website will be able to read as a complete story from start to finish.
Here is the after midnight section, moved from here: sorry-it-is-a-bit-smaller-than-i-said.
I suppose you should read that first, then read this to finish the story.
[EDIT: My eleven fifty nine timer went off and I published before I proof read or typed the final period. I will proof read, but I will leave absent that period, because it’s not final yet.]
That was the first story I should have told.
And by God it will be the last time I journal it or write it or think about. It’s a fact. It’s not me. It’s just the first quiet then active submission to something I knew was wrong that took my freedom. Much later I told some other people and they thought it was cool banging my neighbors wife, in a locker room talk kinda way, so mostly laughed it off myself for years.
After that night, I thought it was cool too, after I processed it (alone) for a day and it kept going on for a couple weeks. The next night she tapped on my bedroom window and invited outside me to talk and I went (my bedroom was in the back of the house inches from the back door.) I went and we talked and she offered me a drink of her alcohol and told me it was okay to be mad as long as I kept talking to her.
As we walked she took my hand in a romantic way after a while we stopped to talk. She told me she wanted to see the gift she had given me (she had actually suggested I put them on at Meijer’s while we were there, to make sure they fit before we left,) and then at the park after we were walking, she wanted me to model them. I was sixteen and finally legal and she had another gift she told me. I hate to sound dumb but I was sixteen and legal and she was my neighbor. That sounded logical, another gift, so I did what I was told. I really didn’t know what else to do. I was grounded at home, I had been sent out to help do her chores for punishment.
She was pretty hot I recall, super hot MILF actually, touch on the chubby side. An awesome mom, wife, neighbor, friend to some and others.. kinda a sporty look as I would call it now. We were still talking as I laughed awkwardly, and she gave me the standard, you’re grounded, I’m the adult look and waited. After a few seconds I lowered my pants and she smiled and turned into my playful friend again. The shorts did look nice, and I liked the way they felt. She had told me that story before, that her husband liked silk boxers too. Then she kissed me standing up, grabbed my junk and walked me back to a tree as we kissed.
Time ceases to function. Anxiety kicks in. Can’t think. Can’t act. Don’t draw attention. Blend in. Go along. Figure it out.
What should have been the best blowjob of my life kinda sucked. It did suck. Almost summer, peak of daylight hours yet it already dusk become dark. A warm night in June or a nice day in September, you need a jacket for some outdoor activities in Michigan. And if you’re sitting on the ground leaning against a tree, you might even take the jacket off and sit on it.
People, it was cold and I was young and anxious and I wish I could tell you I went too soon. I wanted to, I knew I wanted to, OMG (at the time, SOOOO sorry now, you know this my man.) It was cold and I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on in my life as my next door neighbors head is bobbing up and down on my dick.
My mind was going like battleship to the chess exponent.
Somehow there was a solution to this reality, however just beyond my thoughts..
Don’t know what to do? Ah.. thought process of sixteen year old?
What is a thought process for sixteen year old? Sleep, Food, Sex. Well.. Sleep, Sex, Food. Well.. Sex, Food, Sleep?
And this is not my sock.
Fuck it. Let’s do this shit. Decision made: I was gonna fuck my neighbors wife.
Moments later.. da da duh..
“Are you okay..? Um.. should I stop?”
I was old before I was young, I supposed I’d rather have thought about having getting off that night than actually have done it, yeah know when it’s not cold and you’re not sitting in the crook of two tree roots. Or well, sometimes when you go somewhere else in your mind, it’s because you don’t want to be where you’re at. Telling this story or a dozen or this time of year. Except that I’m sober and I’m happy. And, twenty-eight years later, I still didn’t die.
So we did talk that the next night; I was a little pissed. She blew my best blowjob. I agreed with her I was hurt and mad (I identified hurt/murder at the time, but not hurt/rape,) and she said she was sorry. It was nice that she helped me figure out how to feel, because by then I already wanted to feel good for the next time at the same time. I had brought my jacket outside. She didn’t want to be mad- she liked me.. and she wanted it to go slower too, since she was the married one that didn’t want her husband to find out. It did go slower (which is faster, now I know that game too – a good learning game) and it kept going so much further than what I was prepared for that night and it only took three weeks.
Now I know: I was raped. She pulled into the park and asked me out of the vehicle. It was a nice night, so I thought she wanted to chat and help keep me out of the house longer. She’d do the same when I babysat for them, since I could just walk home whenever. We’d sit on her couch for an hour sometimes, long after her husband and children were asleep. I liked that. Sometimes on her couch she would sit close to me, and although she was the driver, she usually had a few drinks.
Bobbie Jo. Yeah, that it’s it, but I’m still not sure on the last name. It is one thirty two am now. I have to finish. She was twenty-nine. Still the oldest woman I’ve ever dated, tied now actually. She had two littles, one itsy-bitsy boy, (Bobbie Jo I meant, not the one she’s tied with) the little girl not quite to kindergarten yet, and her husband Randy. I think he had a middle schooler with them sometimes.
I think he worked in a shop. He was tough and lean. I remember him working on his truck and stuff, things like my dad did. They were friends too. He was thirty two. Or was it the other was around.. no, I think that’s it – absolutely close enough for the screen play. Ha! My narrative voice – did you know you’d be introducing scenes like this?
This is why I’m writing to friends people, I am not alone anymore. Never really was I guess. Long story, it’s two oh nine am. We are all so old now, so distant, so many families, so much less time for more alcohol and bad stories. What is a bad story? Less than good. What isn’t less than good. Take a poll. I’ll wait.
Everything is in-between I surmise (from a thousand authors previous that I could begin to intelligently quote.) Perfectly good? God. Perfectly not good? Absence of God. Everything else yep, you guessed it – in between. My stories are good’ish, I’ll learn to improve them with time. Follow my faith, process my feelings, find the facts.
And by God I write it down, so the next time I forgot I can just go read it again. Or maybe so that the next person doesn’t have to learn how to forget. Just to have to remember and process later. Kick the can. Play another game before you move on from here. I am moving on and I am leaving the dust. No more games, I have finally learned. Sorry, going home. May come back when I learn better games.
At my last Commissioner meeting I wore the shirt you see pictured above. Commissioner Phil Duckham, as I believe it may be your district, and that you know I am a man that holds every word I speak or write would you vouch? An empty threat is an empty threat and and honest story is exactly that. I do hope my message will reach you and your well regarded Sheriff.
As for my father, he and my step mom found out maybe five or six after it started, two weeks after I ended it by being sick and refusing to leave my room when ever the neighbors visited (very so very weird while we ‘dated’ I thought.. where is that book of etiquette, how to behave at a family meal with neighbors when you’re screwing the neighbors wife and don’t want you dad to find out?
Him, after a good long talk between the three of us – I apparently had not fooled my stepmother with my sicknesses – he finally asked me. Did she hurt you?
And I had to think about for a bit and no – I was never hurt/murdered. I just felt a lot of hurt/raped until Bobbie Jo made me feel heard and loved, even if I was mad she accepted me and was so turned on by me at first I think, then she’d want me to come over and talk. And that was cool too.. as she’d catch up her housework while I listened and watched her kids. This was a new game with new rules and no guide. It took me a minute to say WTF no. And I shut it down. I went to my room and closed my door to break up with her. I ghosted her (with my death sickness.)
Six months later after I learned my father David Neil Alexander raped another family member years prior, (to which I witnessed his confession in public place years later with opposing contemporaneous witness present to questions his story – hence an adversarial truth I feel I received. At the end of that mutually told story – the closest thing you can get to the truth I figured then.) and I should have told this story then, processed and moved on and I did not.
It is the first of many stories that will be published. I am ready to leave. Today I layed down to die and I was scared (and they did lie to me again, worse this any, anyway, I got him to smile at me first when I described his silly game, to calm me, the silly patient. I’m done… proof read, moved paragraphs – I may move this second have “Past Midnight post.. hmm maybe that is a category.. this can’t be the only time my pumpkin pops and midnight and I get caught in a story I can’t stop.