Date: Mon, 20 Aug 2007 06:57:59 -0500
From: J.J. <jjjanicki@gmail.com>
Subject: Understanding Sex-Part 2

I really don't know why I'm even bothering with a disclaimer on this
chapter, since you probably could find worse at Waldenbooks.

Although you would be surprised at what you can FIND at Waldenbooks. At
least I was. (And so were the Concerned Citizens For Decency.)

Well all right then. The following contains naked people and one wet
dream. If naked people and wet dreams are illegal in you current place of
residence, you have my deepest sympathy.

But this chapter is important, because it sort of establishes my
character. And it's not that long anyway. And if you've liked the other
stuff I've written, then this should be OK. Even if most of it was
written before I decided to stop pretending.


                    Understanding Sex-Part 2
                          Naked People
                        J.J. the Vampire
             Sex Made Plain For Christian Young People
                        and other stuff


May 2...Maybe now would be a good time to throw in a little
autobiographical information, because I think most people would like to
know more about a person than just what his sex fantasies are. I know I
would, anyway. To be honest, sometimes writing about sex gives me an
upset stomach.

So OK, I'll write some stuff for Dr. Danko then. Write, talk, whatever,
he'd just like to have a little more information. He's a Christian
psychiatrist. I really don't think I would be having all these problems
if it weren't for my adoptive parents, but see, he seems to think that
most of the accidents which have been happening to me ever since I was
around eleven weren't REALLY accidents. So I'll work on that for awhile,
then after awhile, I'll get back to sex. I don't ever talk to him about
sex, by the way. There are probably some things he THINKS we should talk
about, but I think I'll just pass.

I broke my foot playing croquet when I was twelve. Which definitely was
an accident.

I can hear you asking, "CROQUET??" Well, in my neighborhood croquet could
get pretty vicious, like for instance in one game I sent Ellis Kinney out
the back gate into a rose bush and Eddie Hayworth's ball up the driveway
and it kept rolling out into the street and didn't stop until it got to
the corner of Crestview and Briarwood. So they didn't do anything to get
even with me then, but the next morning Eddie sent my ball to the bottom
of a five foot hole. Which they'd dug after I left the day before. I
guess it took them awhile. I really didn't think that was funny and I
didn't think it was fair either, but they thought it was just hilarious
and they didn't care WHAT I thought. Well, with a standard K-Mart mallet
you canNOT blast your ball out of a five foot hole, but I was trying
anyway, and you see, it's very important that throughout the stroke you
keep your head down and not move off the ball, just as in regular
putting; well actually I guess if you're trying to just knock the living
hell out of your ball, it is DOUBLY important; but I didn't know that
then and that is how I broke my foot. And they thought THAT was funny
too.

I also broke my right arm playing football when I was twelve. Officially,
I was trying to tackle Donnie Hundle, which in my case was a very brave
thing to do. Although it was also a bit foolhardy if not downright
suicidal.

So OK, in that case maybe suicidal and/or self-destructive isn't always
redundant then. Although I still say suicidal AND self-destructive IS,
but then I'm not supposed to waste time playing semantics here. So OK.

Well, if you want to know the truth, at the very last instant I had
changed my mind about even trying to make it LOOK like I was trying to
tackle Donnie "Mad Dog" Hundle, but I think he veered or something. I'm
really not sure WHAT happened. But it was AWFUL. Compound fracture, mild
concussion... but it wasn't on purpose.

I broke my LEFT arm when I was eleven. Back then we were living in
eastern North Carolina, forty miles from the coast out in the boonies. Me
and Kelly; who was six months younger and lived half a mile down the
road; were playing naked Amazon headhunters up in his hayloft. So I was
going to ambush him by jumping off a large stack of hay bales onto a
smaller stack and then right on across the canyon and if it had worked
out like I'd planned, I would have cut him off at the pass. (The canyon
was the large opening in the floor with the ladder down to the ground.)
It really seemed like a pretty good plan, but unfortunately the smaller
stack shifted or something and with an AIIIEEEGH!! and a KAWHOMP!!! all
at once I found myself down on the ground with my arm broke. Then Kelly
asked if I was OK. What kind of dumb question is that? I mean how COULD I
be OK?

So anyway I answered no, I was NOT OK.

And yes, we were naked. Exactly how else are you SUPPOSED to play naked
Amazon headhunters anyway?

Then just past thirteen I gashed my right eye open. Actually, it was just
above my eye. This was right after I made the ultimate bike-stuntrider
jump over a ramp, a twenty foot embankment and almost across a small
ditch at the foot of the bank. And while I didn't mean to wreck, I have
to admit that I thought the scar looked pretty cool. Come to think of it,
I still do.

I guess I can see how right after all that my mom might've wondered if I
really WAS trying to break my neck, but the deal was Ellis (the former
record holder) said my jump didn't count because I wrecked. Well, since I
also bent my front wheel, I borrowed my sister Mandy's bike which is
better for stunts anyway since you don't have to worry so much about
wracking your balls; but as fate would have it, before I'd even finished
my warm-ups my mom appeared with a switch because Mandy told on me.

"You.. GET... your.. little... hind-end.." (the pauses are for where she
was switching me. Now that you have the rhythm, I'll write normal.)
"..HOME and when your FATHER gets home, you'll be doing good to sit down
for a WEEK! You think all we got to do is just pay your doctor bills?
Well, ANSWER me! And you better just HOPE you haven't tore up your
sister's bike! Ohhhh, you had better just PRAY that you didn't! Now git
home!..." and so on. Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed. And me
with a big gash over my eye. She didn't even NOTICE that until we were
home. Although at least " J.J.! What happened to your eye!" put an end to
the switching.

While my mom doesn't make me drop my pants and all, she IS bad about
hitting just about EVERYWHERE. Only she doesn't whip me that often,
mostly just when she loses her temper.

Although now that I think of it, once she DID lay it on my bare behind,
but that can be explained by the simple fact that I didn't have any
clothes on to begin with. Which can also be explained.

I was five. I was playing by myself under the house and at some point I
decided it would be fun to take all my clothes off. It was OK, I guess,
at least until my mom started calling me. Then it wasn't.

Well, if I ever have kids, and one of them for some reason decides to
take his (or her) clothes off, I'm just going to explain that he or she
mustn't do this in front of company or at say, Wal-Mart, but beyond that,
I'm not going to let it bother me.

But to tell you the truth, I DO have a well developed sense of modesty
and you know what? I hate it. Well, I want to have enough modesty that I
don't get myself arrested, but going into the seventh grade when I was
looking forward to gym with about as much enthusiasm as I would've
normally reserved for a trip to the guillotine, I was being just a wee
bit overwrought. I know that, you know that, and truthfully I knew that
THEN, but do you think that for one second I could just go ahead and act
normal? No I could not. It just wasn't possible.

(I realize I've wandered away from the original subject, but it seems
like I would still rather write about naked people. So possibly I'll get
around to the rest of my accidents later.) (And I don't guess I'll be
letting Dr. Danko see this after all.)

I really think the first day of seventh grade p.e. was the worse. I mean
it was a close call because on the second day we actually had to dress
out, but it was on the first day that my imagination ran totally amuck.
Not only did I have to dress out, I also had to wear an athletic
supporter! And it got worse. I also HAD to take a shower, even if I
didn't so much as break a sweat because nobody ever bothered throwing the
damn ball anywhere near my direction anyway, I still HAD to.

Now don't get me wrong, I had nothing against showers. I took one every
day, but I like a little privacy. I've heard newer schools usually have
individual shower stalls, and there's lots of places where you don't even
dress out period, but what we had was one of those communal jobs, sixteen
shower heads nakedly ringing the walls of one not nearly big enough room.
And it got worse! There were THIRTY-FOUR kids in my class! Oh NO!! We
weren't expected to SHARE were we? And let's see, sixteen times two
equals thirty-two... no, that wouldn't work, like if you had fourteen
being shared by two each, that would leave two being shared by THREE...
and knowing my luck, I would be one of those six people and to make
matters even WORSE, there was this really GROSS kid in my class, so what
if... oh SHIT!... I was already under a shower and here HE came? And I
just KNEW he would, it just HAD to happen that way, and you know, I
couldn't hardly go, "Shoo! Shoo! Go away!!", now could I?

But actually it wasn't all that bad. If you didn't make it in among the
first sixteen, you just stood around and waited until a shower came open.
Although you waited naked. And there was some bumping. And towel popping.
And I was never any good at towel popping. And occasionally some goosing.
This usually happened when you were bare assed at your locker and
squatting to open it... see, we had these combination locks with long
hasps, so some guy would flip the open end out from the lock and ZAP!
First time I guess I jumped about five feet. Second time I jumped even
higher. But it only happened to me those two times. Just jocular
horseplay, I guess. I mean it was mostly the jocks who went in for that
sort of thing. And it really wasn't a good idea to start calling them
names. I know.

But after a week or so, I got used to it and it wasn't that awful. (I am
referring to nudity, not the lock hasps.) It was sort of interesting,
really. For one thing, I definitely wasn't the only one who hadn't
started. At least half the boys in my class hadn't started. So I didn't
have to worry about it anymore. So that being the case, you could check
out those who HAD started to get an idea where you might be headed. So
sure I looked. I mean we had almost the entire spectrum of development
represented in that class. And I wasn't unique in this checking out
everyone else, either. I mean the only weird people were the ones who did
just about everything in their power NOT to look. Well, I take that back,
because there were two or three who were EXCEPTIONALLY weird, but aside
from them; I mean you had to be cool about it, you didn't go, "Damn!
Would you look at THAT! Damn boy, you got a right nice 'un!"; of course
you didn't do that; you just acted like it wasn't a big deal. A casual
glance, that's all.

The IDEA of running around naked, not caring who saw what has always been
attractive to me. When I was seven or eight I often went to sleep
literally praying my folks would be called to be missionaries in the
Amazon and I could go with them, but the deal was I wanted to be kidnaped
by natives and raised as one of their own so I could go naked all the
time.

Let's see now. (No, I'm not done. I'm not even close.) It was the summer
I was released from the fourth grade that I first read "Tom Sawyer". So
you want to know what my favorite part was? It was where Tom, Huck and
Joe ran away and ended up on that island and ran around naked. And my
LEAST favorite part was where they went back home again.

Also I found out that boys used to go skinny dipping all the time. If
they went swimming, they went bare, it was that simple and I do recall
wishing it was still that way, which is pretty damn interesting
considering how later on that same summer I got my chance, I mean my
father even SAID it was OK, and I flat out refused. What I did was I just
flat out made a fool of myself.

Without getting into genealogy, I should explain that on my
foster-mother's side I have eight aunts and uncles plus my grandmother
living in and around southern Minnesota and we visited up there about a
week or so every summer. The summer I was ten my grandfather was still
alive. He had a farm near Waseca and this is where everybody gathered
together on a Sunday afternoon. In this horde of in-laws were ten boy
cousins all around my age. And possibly it was because I only saw them
once a year, but usually we got along OK and had a pretty good time.

At home I can't hardly do anything on Sunday, but these restrictions were
relaxed a little during family reunions, so while demolition derbies were
out, the apple fight was OK. Why, I have no idea, but it was. Running
around getting hot and sweaty was also OK. But I still had to go to
church, and that included the evening services. So around four my cousins
decided to go swimming in the pond. But even without asking, I knew I
couldn't because it was Sunday. I mean they'd gone swimming at the city
pool on a Sunday before and I couldn't go, so there was no reason to
think I could then. Which was just as well because I didn't have my
swimming trunks with me. Only my father said I COULD go, because I needed
to get cleaned up before we went to church.

But I didn't WANT to go because I didn't have my trunks with me, so in as
low a voice as was possible, I mentioned this to him.

To which he replied jovially in a voice probably heard over the entire
front yard and inside the house as well, "Most of your cousins don't have
their trunks either, but you know where the pond is. Nobody else is going
to see you."

All my cousins were staring at me by then, but in spite of that I
quavered, "But I just don't WANT to go."

I do not know WHY that happened. It is downright inexplicable, since only
a week or so prior to that when at a church boys and girl's camp, I
changed into my trunks along with a whole dorm full of boys I hardly even
knew; at least nine times I had gotten into and out of my trunks and I
never batted an eye, not even the first time, so why oh why oh WHY was I
so suddenly and with so little prior warning stricken with terminal
modesty? Well, acute then. WHY??? I do not KNOW why. I WAS aware I wasn't
doing a whole lot for my image, so why did I obstinately CONTINUE digging
myself in deeper? And WHY when my father almost NEVER gives in to me, did
he drive me back to Aunt Julie's so I could GET my trunks? If I wasn't
already the center of attention, you better believe I sure was by the
time I got back. Shit, a year later, I STILL was. My cousins hadn't
forgotten a single detail. I suppose it's entirely possible that they
haven't to this day but at least I didn't see them last summer and maybe
I won't this summer either. I sure hope not.

And actually I guess that's all I'm going to write today. More later.

(Well, shit. I can't THINK of a good way to end today's entry, OK?)


May 4... So today I want to talk about that Christian academy I have to
go to because of the Secular Humanists taking over our public school
system. Or at least I would like to tell you about the "headmaster".
Brother Jack Furnier.

Brother Jack believes in discipline. Offenses of a minor nature are
handled by the teacher, but HE takes care of anything deemed major. He
has this paddle. It's about eighteen inches long, at least two inches
thick and has several holes drilled into the paddling end. So I've been
at that school for less than five months and already I've lost track of
exactly how many visits to his office I've made. I don't know, I just
have trouble keeping my mouth shut, is all. I mean, one day I made THREE
trips.

I've heard he can lift you right off your feet with that paddle, but on a
scale of one to ten; ten representing the worse whipping I've ever
endured; I'd say he rates about a seven, possibly seven and a half at the
very most. Although a seven is noticeable. Actually, I guess my first
visit to his office had to be the worst; on that day it almost went off
the scale; but that was because I wasn't recovered from my old man's ten
and at least a nine which followed shortly afterwards. The ten was after
I got my ass busted for possession. Two frigging joints. And THAT'S when
it was decided that I was going to a Christian school. It was a very bad
night all right, but what REALLY pissed me off was not being able to look
up Heidi's skirt in French class anymore. So I decided it was time I saw
the world. I was headed for Australia. I'm serious. I guessed it would
take a few years, but sooner or later I'd get there. Shit. I didn't even
get out of my own damn neighborhood. Which would explain the nine. So at
any rate, that first day when I couldn't hold my tongue during Bible
study, well, when he added his ten licks I almost passed out.

But it never was easy for me to hold my tongue in that class. That was
what did me in the day I made three trips to the office.

The THIRD time I showed up, Brother Furnier went, "Land sakes, you are
one tough little cookie aren't you? We just can't seem to get THROUGH to
you."

I shrugged.

"Well, we'll have to see if we can't find a remedy for that. Turn around
and drop your britches." It was the first time it had gotten that
serious.

He ended up giving me TWENTY-FIVE licks. So possibly that was the worst.
From Furnier I mean. I guess it rated maybe about eight and a half. By
the time he was finished, I thought for sure he'd worn a hole in the seat
of my shorts. It sure felt like it. And all this was on top of ten licks
the first visit which was because somebody overheard me say "Shit", and
ten more the second visit which was for chewing gum.

And then after it was over he told me to sit down, we were going to have
a little talk.

I sat down gingerly. Furnier chuckled. "Tell you something, tough guy.
You don't straighten your act up pretty quick, you just might be having a
LOT of trouble with your little sitter." (He has a gargantuan sitter. I
wouldn't mind firing a bazooka up it though ... but I digress.)

He leaned back, crossed his hands on his fat stomach and gazed at me for
a few seconds before asking, "You think you're REAL tough, don't you?"

Not feeling too tough at that moment I answered, "No sir."

"Oh yes, you think you're REAL tough." (So I suppose it was a rhetorical
question.) "Well, I got news for you, you're not at ALL tough. Fact is, I
think we'll break you in less than a month's time. How much you want to
bet on that, J.J.?"

Which sure sounded like a challenge to me, but not feeling like getting
any more licks, I kept my mouth shut for a change.

And so he sat there with that self-righteous smile for just awhile
longer, then he said, "I think we've already broke you, tough guy. Now
get your tail back in class and I better not see you in here again."

He had a glass window in his office door. It wasn't safety glass. I know,
because I just shattered the FUCK out of it and that would be how I
almost severed a tendon in my left arm. Blood was gushing out like you
would not BE-lieve. Then I looked at him and said, "Screw you." Then I
blacked out.

But to tell you the truth, I don't think I'll EVER do anything like that
again, because it HURT, but then I didn't really think it over before I
did it either.

I was lucky though and didn't sever a major anything, just a spectacular
rush to the emergency room and about eighty stitches.

Then I was at some family-oriented, Bible-based treatment center for
substance abuse and other types of emotional problems. Including
rejection rightful authority. Attempted or otherwise. And they also had
me down for suicidal and/or self-destructive behavior.

So they figured I needed to stay with them for at least six months, but
my old man wasn't too sure about their values so he had them recommend a
good Christian psychiatrist I could see as an out-patient which would
explain Dr. Danko. But he's not all that bad really. I mean I can even
cuss around him as long as I don't get carried away with it.

So what do we talk about? Oh, I don't know, I guess you could say we talk
about whatever I feel like talking about. And you know, it's good to be
able to talk to someone, even if he's always reading extra stuff into
what I say.

I'll give you an example, OK? Not too long after I started seeing him, I
had a run-in with a skinhead named Bill Brumner. So since the next day
when I went in for my appointment this was still on my mind, that's what
I ended up talking about.

My old man says the best way to handle a bully is to just haul off and
bust him in the nose, then maybe next time he'll think twice before he
starts messing with you. Yeah, right. Occasionally that might work, but
in Bill's case, well, he'll think it over and then he'll just shoot your
ass. Only he wouldn't really need a gun. He'd just kick you to death. I
don't think it would be a particularly good idea to bust Bill in the
nose. Bill Brumner is slightly over six feet tall and probably weighs in
at around 190. But believe it or not, I actually TRIED to knock his damn
head off. Really. I am not making this up. And I don't think I was trying
to get myself killed, either.

It all started when Bill yanked Aaron off his bike and threw him into a
trash pile. See, I happened to be with Aaron when this took place. He'd
been helping me with my paper route that day, so we'd just finished and
we were sort of dawdling home. Anyway, we'd just cut behind Ace Hardware
when all at once, there he was. Bill. Who was looking for Aaron. Because
Aaron had insulted his girlfriend. So right at first I was just standing
there slack-jawed watching poor Aaron fly through the air, wondering if I
was supposed to try to help him out and if so, exactly how, when Bill
hauled off and hit ME. Knocked me and my bike flat. Stars and everything.
And I didn't do a damm THING to Bill's girlfriend. Then Aaron, who
sometimes is totally crazy, got up and CHARGED Bill. Aaron's no bigger
than me, but when he gets mad, that fool would charge a Mack truck. So
fine, Bill just started beating the shit out of him.

So I've been known to do some fairly stupid things myself; like I've
already mentioned a few; and I felt real bad about Aaron what with him
being my best friend, and now he was being killed. So I spotted a board.
It was... oh, three feet long I suppose, and I was going to HIT Bill with
it. Bill BRUMNER. When I think about it, I STILL cringe. If I had hit
Bill with that board, he really would have killed me, like dead. I'm
serious. Oh, I swung it all right, but I guess he saw me out of the
corner of his eye or something, so he ducked real quick, then grabbed me
by my neck, threw me about ten feet and started kicking me. But then
Aaron jumped on his back so Bill stopped kicking me so he could throw
Aaron into a dumpster. Then he threw me in as well. Then he said if
either of us EVER messed with his girl again, he WOULD kill us and then
he left. Then after about a minute I let go of Aaron. He was STILL trying
to get at Bill. And they think I'M suicidal. Although at least he didn't
go out looking for Bill later that on evening. Once he calmed down he was
OK.

But like I said, I didn't mess with Bill's girl, Aaron did. He called her
a whore. I don't think she really is though. She DOES screw like a
rabbit, but she does it for free. With big dumb macho types. I'd like to
tie her and her boyfriends down naked in a field full of fire ants and
then video tape it. Before they all died, I'd probably need four or five
six-hour tapes.

If my old man ever heard me say something like that, he'd knock me clean
across the room. But that's almost exactly what I told Dr. Danko and he
hardly even blinked.

He just said, "Good. Good." I'm serious. Then after he worked on his pipe
trying to get it lit for a minute, he added, "That's real anger. Now we
need to work with that", then he worked on his pipe some more, then
finally he wondered, "Now what do you REALLY feel?"

Well I am just sorry as shit, but I cannot DEAL with that question. What
does he mean, what do I REALLY feel? I HATE that question, so I said to
him, (and this is almost exactly what I did say); "I feel I'd really like
to be a vampire. Only I wouldn't just go around biting people randomly,
the only people I'd bite would be people like Bill and his skinhead
friends, so OK, I'd be sort of like a vigilante vampire. Now if I didn't
personally know the people I bit, say I just saw them on the news and
figured they deserved it, then I guess I'd simply be a bat and bite them
and they would be dead, I don't mean living dead, I mean dead, period.
They'd never even know what hit them. But if it was somebody I DID know,
like Bill, then I think I'd want him to know EXACTLY who got him. J.J.
Janicki the vampire, that's who. Like I would've already changed into a
bat and I'd spot Bill walking over to his girlfriend's house on a dark
deserted street, so I'd get up far enough ahead of him that he couldn't
see me change, then I'd swoop down and change back to my human form.

Then Bill would come walking up and I'd step out of the shadows, for all
the world like I was just J.J. and most likely he'd ask me, `What in the
fuck are you doing here?'

But then again, maybe not. Maybe he'd be wondering why I didn't have any
clothes on. Well, naturally when I changed into a bat, I'd fly right out
of my clothes, so you think I packed a suitcase or something?

Anyway, at that point I'd just tell him to suck on it, so of course he'd
charge, only THEN I'd show him my fangs. And I'd hiss and start
levitating, then I'd SWOOP down on him with incredible speed. But then
again, maybe I'd chase him for awhile, just for the pure hell of it. You
KNOW I could catch him anytime I wanted to, but I'd want to see him run
screaming bloody murder at least until he started waking people up or I
saw a car coming, then I guess I'd have to do him in."

Then I stopped to see if Dr. Danko was taking all that down.

And he was. Honest. And he finally had that pipe going too. To tell you
the truth, I have no idea WHAT he writes down, he won't ever tell me. I
do know I have a lot of internal anger built up (well, no shit) and I
have difficulty expressing this anger and thus dealing with it in a
constructive manner. Furthermore, I have displayed self-destructive
and/or suicidal behavior, I resist treatment and I often attempt to
employ humor which is inappropriate to my situation. Which apparently is
pretty damn serious. And not only that, I wouldn't even TRY to make
breadbaskets out of Popcycle sticks when I was at that treatment center,
and I have made all of my psychologists cry with the exception of him.
Although actually there've only been three, unless you want to count the
guidance counselor at Spring Creek, then that would make four.

They don't have psychologists and guidance counselors at Furnier's
school. He SNEERS at such things. MOLLYCODDLING, that's what it is.
Secular Humanist indoctrination. And that's somebody else I'd get.
Brother Furnier. Oh yes I WOULD! I'd flap up to his door, then after
making sure nobody else was around, I'd change into a vampire and without
even bothering to knock, I'd bust into his office.

So he'd exclaim, "Janicki, what's the meaning of this and where are your
clothes?!", then he'd grab his paddle. Which of course wouldn't help him
one bit. A crucifix MIGHT help, but he thinks it's a papist symbol, so he
doesn't have one.

Me, I'd just go "Hsss".

"It looks like we're still not ready to work" Dr. Danko said.

Well, seeing as how I've gotten off on Bill Brumner, this would probably
be a good time to mention what his kicking our butts led to.

Right after our run-in, Aaron paid a visit to the library and checked out
a book on self-defense. What he had in mind was something like "Hidden
Secrets Of The Ninja Revealed" but they didn't have that one, so we ended
up with something called "Practical Self-Defense".

Well, lesson number one was simple and to the point; if at all possible,
you should avoid confrontations. Like for instance, one should not call
Bill's girlfriend a whore to her face.

But before long it got to some good stuff. Like off-hand I recall that I
could stomp on my adversary's instep, kick him in his shin, knee him in
the GROIN and GOUGE his EYE with a ballpoint pen. Now admittedly this
would be painful. But exactly what do you think is going to happen when
Bill finally stops hopping around? I'll tell you what will happen; he'll
stomp and kick and gouge and bite until he has flat out KILLED me, THAT'S
what will happen and he KNOWS where I live. So I mentioned this to Aaron.

So finally he had to agree that I probably was right, but then he said,
"We can still practice though."

So we did. Although of course we were pulling our punches. No eye gouging
was allowed. And just step on the instep, not hard enough to hurt, just
know you COULD if you wanted to. That sort of thing. Only that gets
boring pretty quick, so before long we were into our WWF wrestling
routine. Body slams, sleeper holds, airplane spins, all that.

So as best as I can piece it together, what happened was this: I jumped
off the rope support (headboard of his bed) intending to land on top of
Aaron. But he knew my intention, so he tried to flip, kicking his legs up
and somersaulting so I'd land on the bed. Then SPLAT, he'd fall on top of
me. You see that happen all the time on TV. But I FIGURED he was going to
try that and I tried to catch him in the middle of his somersault. Which
was supposed to be a pile driver. Unfortunately something went horribly
wrong, I mean somebody's timing just flat out SUCKED and I caught it
right between my legs. Shit! My biological alarm was right on the verge,
I mean it just HAD to be, and then I go and get my clock smashed! I'm
almost like a regular at that emergency room.

But it turned out OK. At least for the most part it did. About two months
ago I had a dream about Heidi. At least that's how it started out, but
anyway... well, she was in my French class at Spring Creek, remember? And
she was beautiful and she often wore a skirt, but she DIDN'T wear
pantyhose, she wore PANTIES.

When my dream STARTED, Heidi was at the academy, in my class, wearing
another skirt. I was very happy, not to mention surprised she was going
to school with me and in my class, but at the same time I was also
worried because at our school girls have to wear these crappy-looking
culottes that come down way below their knees, which completely
eliminates the possibility of seeing anything interesting. So I knew if
old lady Farrar saw Heidi in that skirt she'd be sent home right then and
I hadn't even gotten a real good look yet. ALSO, I was pretty sure if I
ever DID see up her skirt, it was going to make my whole month. Year
maybe. So see, we had some tension in my dream. Then suddenly it
happened. She leaned back to talk to somebody behind her and when she
did, her legs opened up and... well no, she DIDN'T have on any panties.
She was wearing a brown paper towel. Naturally I was disappointed but
then the dream shifted and Heidi was in my house. In the bathroom. I
think she was on the floor. See, the door was shut. But nobody else was
home! And THEN she wanted me to come INTO the bathroom and help her. So I
went in and sure enough, there she was except now she was up on the
counter. Just lying there. She had on a bra and that paper towel again.
But I was still getting pretty excited because I could see her hips, I
could see a LOT and she wanted me to REMOVE that paper towel.

Except THEN Aaron jumped on my back. And honest, in my dream I was
thinking, "Where in the hell did YOU come from?" Aaron, I mean. He had on
a jock strap. That's all. And guess what. All at once that's what I had
on too. Damn! I mean this was just getting WEIRD. Because I was getting
embarrassed because of Heidi being there (still up on the counter) but
I'm just about to touch Aaron's bare butt then all at once the great
roaring ocean squirted in my shorts and I woke up.

Was I ever pissed. But then it hit me. Ho-ly fucking SHIT! I had just
shot OFF!!! I could now inseminate people! And I could also inseminate my
shorts. But I didn't care. I'd try to figure out just how Aaron ended up
in my first wet dream after awhile, right at that moment what was
important was that I COULD shoot off. At LAST!

Yeah, I know. There's just all KINDS of symbolism in that dream. But for
what it's worth, almost from that point on I knew.


May 30...So I guess I'll make one more entry here. It's about what
happened not long after some naked women turned up under my mattress.
Pictures. Well, aside from getting my butt whipped. That much you could
probably guess. But then two or three days after all that, my father said
he wanted to have a talk with me in my room. So of course I was worried.
NOW what had I done?

Well anyway, he sat down on my bed and blew on his hands. And I swear,
there was an almost palpable feeling of KINKINESS in the air!

But after a few seconds he exhaled, forced a smile and said, "Sit down
J.J. I'm not here to punish you."

And so I did, even though I still sensed some weirdness floating about,
and as it turned out, I was dead on. My very first man-to-man talk on why
we HAVE to have sex. Oh my. I would have preferred a whipping. It was
exCRUCIATING. The way he explained things, it HAS to rank right up there
with bowel movements. But he did hit most of the bases I guess. And that
included masturbation.

He said, "Now J.J., I've already punished you and if you've learned your
lesson we don't need to worry about it anymore, but I want to ask you
something. You were looking at those pictures and masturbating, weren't
you?"

I'd looked at the pictures, some, but I hadn't really masturbated.
Although I did admit I had THOUGHT about doing it. And I just left it at
that and hoped for the best.

But I HAD only thought about it. Because I was GOING to show them to
Aaron. And you probably know what happens when a 12-year-old sees a
picture of a naked lady. So the purpose of those pictures was twofold.
One, I'm normal. Two, we're both horny as shit. Sooo....

Well, it was a Catch-22 question anyway. If I said I DID get off using
those pictures as a visual aid; that was bad; if I said they really
didn't do all that much for me; that was worse. (Although I have to admit
that some looked sort of interesting.)

But anyway. FINALLY we reached the point where he never wanted to see any
more pictures like that in my room again because they were an insult. You
know, to my mother and sister. And as for masturbation, well, he knew
those urges would come, but what would I do if Gabriel decided it was
time to blow his trumpet while I was doing that?

That IS an interesting question. But you've heard of self-preservation,
right? Well, me too. "I see what you mean" I answered very carefully.

So I thought I might as well mention my father's explanation of sex
because you might not believe this, but about a month ago we had a sex
education class at the academy. We did! REALLY! I mean it's not part of
the regular curriculum, but a Christian author was in town and often
Brother Furnier invites leading Christian thinkers (who agree with his
way of thinking) to speak to us. This author, a Dr. Karl Hamster; had
recently written "Sex Made Plain For Christian Young People" and so we
young people, armed with signed permission slips from our parents or
guardians, gathered together one afternoon to be instructed. (Seventh
grade on up. Boys only.) And really, it didn't matter to me if my slip
was signed or not.

But anyway, Dr. Hamster told us of bodily changes that would soon occur
or had begun already and what these changes meant. It meant we were on
the threshold of adulthood. Once we became full-fledged adults God
expected us to go out and find a mate. This mate should not be an
unbeliever. We would join this mate in holy matrimony and at this point,
we could experience the joys of sexual intercourse, the way God intended
it. And that's as specific as he got about THAT.

But the majority of us boys were still a few years removed from the joys
of marital bliss and in the meantime we were going to experience certain
urges. While these urges were perfectly normal, we were to avoid giving
in to them. He then mentioned several effective ways to combat these
urges. Vigorous exercise. Community service. Memorization of Bible
verses. And so on and blah, blah, blah, zzzzzz...but was masturbation
ALWAYS sinful? (??!!!??... I missed something!) (So I just wondered what
he thought about it, OK? Morbid curiosity, that's all.)

So WAS it sinful? Not ALWAYS, but if the sole motive was sheer biological
pleasure unrelated to anything else, it was. If compulsive, it was. If
the habit resulted from inferior feelings or for some unfathomable reason
caused guilt feelings, then I'm afraid it was. If a person fantasized,
even if visualizing a FULLY CLOTHED beautiful girl (or even a fully
clothed UG-LY girl) (or no doubt even a hippopotamus for that matter), it
was. It was brazen lust. That person would be using sex as a means to his
own personal enjoyment and that person would be guilty of adultery. (So
there.)

(I guess that leaves hippopotamuses out then. Well, whatever.)

But meanwhile, back at sex-ed... There was still hope. Knowing how
difficult this period of our lives was going to be, the Lord had wisely
provided us with a safety valve in the form of nocturnal emissions. Now,
there was a time when our church leaders and educators were trying to put
a stop to that as well, (Ha ha...and blah, blah, blah) ..but eventually
these emissions would not occur as frequently, in fact they might cease
altogether, but even so, the sex drive; which was actually God's way of
ensuring mankind's survival; would continue unabated and probably would
even INCREASE in it's urgency. This was normal. Usually it occurred at
around age nineteen, which was when the sex drive peaked. So at this
time, if ALL ELSE failed, then there was a limited, doctor-approved
program of masturbation which could be availed upon until marriage,
provided of course...

Excuse me? NINETEEN??!!???

Provided of course he doesn't really enjoy it. So maybe he sticks it in a
vacuum cleaner and thinks about the Second Coming, I don't know.


June 2... Well, it won't be long now. We're out of school tomorrow! Then
Monday morning we leave for Minneapolis! Yes!! And then shortly
afterwards, the rest of my family drive on to Bismarck,ND for their first
revival! Yes! Yes! Oh YES!!! So I guess I'll wait until then (Monday); to
make my next entry. I mean maybe I shouldn't press my luck any further
until we're actually on our way. And shit, come Monday I'll have plenty
of time to peck away to my filthy little heart's content. Although once
I'm safely in Minneapolis, I'm not sure how much time I'll have. To write
stuff, I mean.



I guess I should warn you that in the next chapter I'll STILL be trying
to establish character, but in this case it'll be that of a bunch of
crazy people associated with the Minneapolis #5 Putt'n'Putt. Which should
go a long ways towards explaining why I found it so appealing. Then in
chapter four things should start getting interesting. As long as you're
not expecting it to happen all at once.

But this chapter really wasn't THAT bad, was it? Please advise.

jjjanicki@gmail.com