| "Guess what I just found out? Looks like I'm not as toothless as you thought, sweetheart." |
[Jun. 28th, 2008|12:20 pm] |
i am sixteen years old with 5 days to go until i'll never be denied entry to an r-rated film at any cinema lame enough to check on shit like that. my mind swells with possibilities. i've been seeing this girl a couple of years younger than me and earlier in the night we made out drunk at some nature center or park or something in the south park area. in all of our groping and cloudy-minded fumbling, she dropped a ring given to her by her parents as a confirmation gift and we couldn't find it drunk and in the dark, even with the help of the friends (also drunk) who were with us. it doesn't matter that i made the shallowest attempt at slitting my left wrist earlier in the summer. it doesn't matter that they kicked me out of school and i spend my days drinking and tearing up my parents' house. what matters is that, after my best friend of the moment and i dropped this girl and her friend off at her house, we took my car, still drunk, back to the park or nature center or whatever and i found the ring when it caught a glint from the moon. i can't wait to give it to her and for her to be mine because i may be jaded and a budding lush and incapable of meaningful human relationships but i am still young and nothing's yet made me seriously doubt that some things have the potential to last forever. my friend sleeps in my bed with me even though i sleep naked and neither of us (as far as i know) is gay. the booze i've been drinking all night helps me shut my body and brain off. it's a welcome occurrence because i want to call this girl in the morning and let her know that i have something for her and when can i see her? the sound that awakens me isn't so strange, just a jiggling doorknob. i always lock my door. still, it swings open and two strangers enter my room. big, burly guy with a beard, probably 6'2", white, mid to late 40's. bulldyke-looking woman. short, squat, about the same age as the man, reddish brown hair. my friend is even more startled than i am and it's my room. they're from a transport service they say and they're here to take me to a place where i can get help. if i had just talked with my parents and therapist and agreed to go, i would have had more say in my treatment, they tell me, but now i'm going whether i like it or not. put on some clothes the man tells me and i do so while the bulldyke averts her eyes. my mind is on the .38 special under my bed while i pull on my boxers and this asshole doesn't have the decency to look away. he and his associate appear to be unarmed so i could probably get the drop on them, if only i hadn't foolishly left it unloaded. they are probably familiar with disarming techniques but i'm still tempted to push my luck. even an empty gun could perhaps spook them enough for me to run run run, anyfuckingwhere. if it was loaded, i could probably claim that i killed them out of self-defense, despite the fact that they identified themselves and stated their purpose. they are adult strangers in a teenager's room. my parents would take the heat for my possession of a firearm that really belongs to my dad. the man tells me to remove my earrings and the wind just goes out of my sails. i still see myself killing him, just blowing his heart or his guts or his brains right through the back of his body and all over his agape partner and my walls. but i just struggle to free the captive beads from my earrings, regretting the fact that they will probably close up in a matter of hours with how fresh they are. the man asks me if i'm going to give him any shit and need to be handcuffed or if i can behave myself. i ask why i would tell him if i planned to misbehave. he kind of laughs and grunts and tells me to come with him. my friend isn't in my room any longer. i never saw him leave but somewhere between the shock and the exquisite nausea, he slipped by me. a real friend would come back with ammo. i'll share a similar sentiment with him during a heated verbal battle a few months after i see him next, which is closer to a year than not. i don't move and the man just grabs me by the crook of my elbow and pulls me through the house i grew up in and never should have come back to the night previous. the cable box in our living room shows that it's 6:42 am. my parents wait with solemn faces in our living room and the man whispers to ask me if i'd like to tell them goodbye. i scoff audibly, make my most furious face and refuse to meet their eyes as i'm dragged out of my house and into the unknown. who's going to give her the ring back?
it's march 2, 1997. the most exciting thing to happen recently is the rerelease of the star wars trilogy in theaters. i don't really enjoy the movies so much as the hype surrounding them. i should be in school but i'm halfway between charlotte and pleasant garden, a small town outside greensboro. i'm in the passenger seat of my mother's van. she just drags me on her every stupid errand, trying to warp me with too much time spent in her company. she's malicious, callous and petty. i've known this intuitively since i was too young to have thoughts like that. today's errand is traveling to my grandparents' house so that we can watch my grandfather die of his lung cancer. i'm in that awkward phase. geeky clothes that i, for some reason, insist on buying several sizes too large. long hair that neither of my parents cares enough to tell me would look much better with the ends straightened. chubby because i'm 13 and this phase is lasting longer than it should. i don't care enough to watch what i eat or exercise because i'm just so fucking sad all the time and stressed from having to deal with my mother's mood swings and general insanity. i care about myself so little that i tell her to stop at taco bell. i guess i'm hungry for the filth they sell there but more than that, i want the star wars game pieces on the sides of the drink cups. they have character faces and names on them and they all stick onto a game board, like the monopoly ones popularized at mcdonald's. my game board is filled in all prize categories with all but one character. i'm smart enough to realize that the missing characters are the rare ones that i have virtually no chance of ever discovering in my abhorrent meal but there is so little in my life at this point that i fantasize vividly about finding darth vader's game piece and winning a car or whatever shit they were giving out. the first taco bell we stop at is out of the game pieces, to my dismay and disgust. i eat my food, crestfallen. i bitch and moan to go to another one. it akes us way out of our way to track down a second taco bell and my mom keeps whining that she wants to get to the house that she grew up in quickly, "before anything happens". like some shriveled old man taking his last breath is an expensive and well-choreographed fireworks show or the trailers before a movie. they've got the game pieces at the second taco bell, though of course none are the ones i need in order to give my life meaning. i eat again, not quite so down. my mom indulges in her repellent habit of singling out pieces of her hair from the top of her head between her thumb and index finger and then pulling them out one by one. i've seen her do this thousands of times, from both the passenger seat and the driver's seat. she does it when she's reading books on long trips and while driving. it's impossible to judge her mental state from the gesture, unfortunate because, in the house i grew up in, you need constantly to look for signs of the matriarch's mood. we have one of those ancient car phones sitting in an overlarge console between the two seats. it rings. my mom tells me to answer it and it's my dad telling me that he feels awful and doesn't know how to tell my mom that her dad has just died. we're about 5 minutes from the house where he has just discorporated. i think about what a weak and pathetic person my dad is to ask me for advice when she's sitting right next to me and there's only so much i can say in code. besides, he's an adult and has had people close to him die before whereas this is the first person i've known that has died and we're not all that close besides. i just hand my mom the phone and she spouts out some dramatic shit because she loves to hear herself talk and says things you would expect from a lifetime movie. "oh thank god, thank god he's not in pain anymore", she babbles, trying to look as frantic as possible. i fully expect that my preventing her from being there at the exact moment of her father's death, my robbing her of the odor of his shit and piss soaking through the sheets as he likely fought for breath and convulsed, will be a point of contention between us for a lifetime. a petty stone for her to sling in unrelated arguments for years to come. time will tell me that i'm right and no matter how often she attempts to use it against me, i'll never feel bad about it. we get to the house and my mom runs inside to participate in some foul, dramatic gesture with her foul, dramatic twin and other foul, dramatic sisters. i am told later that they wait for my grandparents' methodist minister to arrive and they all hold the corpse's hands and body while the clergyman speaks some empty words over the cadaver. but at the moment, there is just me in the yard and my cousin, amber, hanging by her arms from a tree branch. she's not crying, either. i think we both liked the guy alright but he was old and old people die. when our eyes meet, for some reason, i just burst out in laughter and relief washes over me and we never talk about that or why it happened.
i'm with another cousin, sarah, at her family's house in wilmington. i have been four for a couple of months and she just turned four. she's the daughter of my mom's twin and we don't look much alike aside from the dark hair but our moms always tell a joke that, even at four, i can tell is lame. the joke goes: we decided we wanted twins but didn't want to have to take care of two babies at once so we each had one. no one's sides ache when this joke is spoken aloud, not the first time they hear it or the fourtieth. sarah and i have always gotten along famously and about 14 years later, we will actually develop similarly destructive drug habits at about the same time. she will overcome hers and become a nurse. my mom will tell me about how much my cousin is making to try and goad me into feeling bad about my poverty and lack of general accomplishment. twins, indeed. but on this morning, we just watch cinderella on vhs several times in a row. i'm embarrassed to admit how much i am enjoying the movie and keep assuring her that i'll sit with her through it again, if she wants to watch it. but i make sure to point out that i don't care for it. after lunch, our moms are still drinking on the back porch so we go upstairs and rub naked barbies against naked kens in the barnyard of a toy farm. we construct poorly plotted stories about who the dolls are and why they do what they do to one another but we are too young to know really and primarily we just enjoy rubbing the genital-, rectum- and nipple-free dolls together. sarah gasps and tells me she just remembered something cool. i hold her hand and we both run into her parents' bedroom where we each struggle with one half of a set of hinged closet doors. she digs in the back right corner until she produces a pair of what she says are called "playboy magazines". i can't read the cover aside from the word "boy" and i don't know what the hell this magazine is all about but that all goes out the window when i see two fully nude women atop motorcycles and another woman wearing only a santa hat. there is a strange, electrical feeling rushing all over my body, though i notice a concentration in my penis. it is erect, small as it is and for years i will be mystified to hear of other boys receiving their first hard-on at 8 or even 10 years old. i've had one before, just never in direct connection with anything sexual. my sister and mother tell stories about my flexing my cock through my diaper at 2. my time with playboy magazine is tragically brief as sarah and i are caught red-handed by our tipsy moms. they don't punish us or even scold us, they just laugh at what we've gotten into. i just keep thinking about how i can't wait to see, touch, and taste boobs for what i think will be the first time. i'm still in the dark about the fact that i was breastfed and, even when i find out, i'll still be too young to be revolted at the incestuousness of the act. i keep thinking about breasts for years and years and it is common in the capotosto household for one of my parents or my older sister to tell me to quit playing with myself.
it's halloween and i've just turned twelve. i don't dress up because my confidence and self-esteem are so low just being myself that i shudder to think how i'll be judged if i attempt to temporarily become something or someone else. i have this girlfriend, krystal, whom i've made out with (poorly) a number of times. she lives in a trailer park in york, south carolina and i see her very rarely. but this halloween party is at a mutual friend's house in the country and centers around hay rides and some bullshit haunted woods tour and because it's so far out in the sticks and because halloween is supposedly such a big deal for us young folks, krystal will be there. when i see her, she is distant and won't talk to me. i have this strange idea that maybe it's because i'm not in costume and she is but the thought gets more ludicrous by the second. she sends her fat trailer park friend, brandy, to tell me that krystal isn't sure about me because i never call her or see her. i don't call, i explain, because my mom sits on her fat ass eating ice cream and either looking at the internet (this is, i believe, 1995 so of course we have dial-up and it ties up the phone) or talking about nonsense on the phone and cackling like some fairy tale hag. and i don't come see her, i tell brandy, because i'm fucking 12 and she lives 40 minutes from me. krystal's almost 15 so i suggest she should just chill the fuck out for a few months and deal with it until she has a learner's permit and can drive illegally on it. then we can hang out. brandy walks around the side of the house and presumably relays the message to krystal because she comes around the side of the house seconds later, takes me by the hand and leads me inside. she steers me toward a dark, deserted room and tells me to sit down on the couch. she closes the door we came in through which would leave us in darkness if a tv in the room wasn't playing a vhs of halloween 2. she disappears into a connected bathroom and i hear water running, then stopping, then the dull whisper of a towel being removed from the towel rack and used. when she comes back out, she's removed the green witch makeup she had been wearing, though i can still see pale green streaks on her neck. the witch hat is gone too, i can see it on the bathroom floor behind her. she pulls off the black witch robe, too skillfully and seductively to be believed for someone so young and inexperienced. she's wearing light blue jeans and a dark blue sweater. she straddles me on my lap, facing me, which i've seen enough cinemax to know is how a lapdance is given. we make out for a while, with her usual maneuver of forcing her tongue as far and as forcefully to the back of my mouth as she can manage. not much later in life, i'll discover that this is poor technique but i'm just glad to be doing something that feels adult. because i assume i'll never see her again and because i've been waiting for it since my first glimpse of a naked female, i thrust both hands up her shirt with positively no finesse and bend both wrists so i can jam my hands into her bra. my body and cock feel like they're on fire. her tits are pretty big for 14, i'd say a 34c with what i know now, and they are much firmer than i imagined tits would be. i thought they'd be like water balloons filled with that slime shit. nickelodeon's brand was called gak. the breasts are slick with sweat, which excites me because it's fucking october and any perspiration she has worked up can be attributed only to me. she has a few tiny bumps in the crevice between her tits, something i only remember later. the most thrilling part is not what i'm doing to her, but the fact that she is letting me. i want to stop making out so that i can concentrate on my hands and her tits but i don't want to have to talk to her or look her in the eye. i don't know her very well. i abuse her nipples in amateur fashion for i'm-not-sure-how-long and then she breaks away from our sloppy kiss to tell me that she's nervous someone will walk in and we should go outside with everyone else. i go along with it because i've gotten what i wanted and there are plenty more boobs in the world to fondle. just after getting outside, i notice that i'm shaking violently. i try to mask it but everyone asks what's wrong. i tell them that it is an adrenal disorder and i have to go do some pushups. i assume, probably correctly, that it's some nervous tic, some backup of sexual energy connected to my first skin-to-skin contact with a girl's breasts. it subsides after about fifteen minutes and everyone keeps asking about it but i just shrug it off. krystal and i hold hands and walk around together, not really talking. when my parents pull up a few hours later, i kiss krystal goodnight and promise to call. i see her a handful of times after that but we never speak again. years later, a mutual friend (later the 6th or 7th person i ever fucked) tells me that she doesn't want to get involved with me like that because i had hurt krystal's feelings and she knows about it. she also retells krystal's version of the feeling-up but in her account, we left the room because i started unbuckling my pants and she wasn't having that. no such thing happened but i just laugh and admit to it anyway. about a year after i squeezed on krystal's tits and likely left her with sore nipples, i lose my virginity at myrtle beach to a friend of my cousin. it is terrible sex but she and i are both too green to know that, thank the gods.
it's october, eleven days after my birthday. i'm nineteen and i'm sitting on the back porch steps of my newly ex-girlfriend's parents' house. she broke up with me on the phone hours earlier, citing a desire to see her girlfriends more and my increasing instability and insanity. i begged to come over and talk to her and she said okay but it took a lot of pestering and a massive loss of dignity on my part. she tells me that she never loved me, that even when i was mad at her i would still fuck her and that meant she was getting used. i tell her she's a dumb slut and sixteen and what does she know about love and can't she see how much i love her. but while i'm saying all this, i'm trying to remember which of her friends have curfews so i can call one and fuck them on my way home. she certainly doesn't seem to be budging and i don't want to get myself off. aside from all this, it does hurt. my ego probably hurts the worst but i have some deeply buried affection for the girl, genuinely, and i keep remembering the time we've spent together and thinking how it was all a waste. she just can't have feelings for someone who has been as mean to her as i have, she says. anything she felt, i killed. overbearing, controlling, possessive, half-crazy. she's surprised i never hit her. the look in my eyes when she says this makes her retract her statement and her apology is honest. she knows i have a deep aversion to that. it's not the kind of crazy i am. she wants to know why, even if she felt something for me still, she would let me have an important place in her life when i abuse myself the way i do. she's watched me shear open my arm to the bone with an exacto knife. do cocaine until my nose just won't stop bleeding and i have to heat a coat hanger and cauterize it myself. run us both off the road because i'm too drunk to see. none of what i'm saying back is stored in my long-term memory, apparently. just what she says. my despair grows as i realize that i'm really not convincing her this time. no chance of talking my way out of it. after all the ways and times i made her cum, she's really just going to dismiss me. i ask for a kiss as i'm leaving and it feels so pathetic. she gives me a quick peck on the mouth and i can tell how much she doesn't want to do it. this is the worst and first time my heart is broken and i decide right then and there that i'll never get hurt this badly again. my eyes are actually starting to leak tears at this point and i am shocked. i never cry. and i never thought i really cared. i turn and look back at her through her screen door, not even bothering to somehow mask my tears, and i say in this weak voice that disgusts me as it leaves my throat, "but i found your ring for you". no response and the heavy wooden door slams. i drive home totally recklessly and i listen to saves the day's "can't slow down". i spend two weeks drinking heavily and not shaving. then she wants to come over and i fuck her in the ass not long after she gets there and we never get back together but we fuck each other for another 7 months before she fucks my best friend and all my wishes start to be for them both to burn and die in torment. |
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