Someone is digging.

.

.

Exactly, specifically, and pretty far back.  No, not lucky hits.  They know what they seek.  And they are finding it.  I suppose my conversations, and recent posts, have stirred something in someone(s).  Yes.  I do believe so.  Which, in turns, is stirring something in me.

The... rest, or whole, of the story?  Fine.  Do the digging, I'll do the telling.  Appearances in these aren't the same, but the ideas are.

My first lover was a fine looking woman, of sixteen, fair complected, dark hair.  When I was four and a half, to nearing five.  I only remember one incident, but believe there were others.  I had her for the summer, give or take.  No, I couldn't... complete the job, with her.  But... she... aimed me at a girl nearer my age.  And, during the winter after the summer with her, I... got the job done, shortly after turning five.  Can't remember the "babysitter's" name, but Shelly was my first full lover.  Sure... reminds me of the parties involved

There... was a reason for this.  It... was a... corrective.  And, yes, I had my own room.  Wetting the bed, falling off the top rack of the bunkbed, and... other oddities... lead to me having a room to myself in a group of seven kids?  

My mother didn't believe me.  So... being she was then living near where we had been, and still had many connections?  I told her the girl's name.  Last name too, I still remember.  She found out on her own.  As well?  When I showed one of the vids, my brother said he remembered me having gone into a room with the "babysitter".  But he had thought it a dream.  At least now they know.  Not that it matters at this time.

Well, that was the start.  After having sex with Shelly, it threw me enough that I didn't touch another woman, female, girl, for... five years?  I had to... ponder what happened, and... such.  After that, I got busy.  Knew how to wiggle, if didn't understand, quite yet, why?  Right.  Took a while to sort that out.  Mostly a milf man, as I might have suggested.  But... not... only a milf man.

As well, I started fighting shortly before we moved to the town in which those events happened.  I think it was Greely, the first time.  When... you don't have a dad?  As boys, you are targets of bullies.  I... just wouldn't tolerate that.  I didn't give up my lunch money, milk money, or place in line.

I took a beating, often, initially.  But... learned to resist, fight, and when and how and where to do these things.  Then we moved often.  Every year or so, sometimes more often, sometimes staying a bit longer in a place.  My brother couldn't, and wouldn't, fight.  He doesn't seem to have found out, but I took people out who were messing with him.  Almost every place we lived, at least one of my fights was because he was a wuss.

But there is... something different.  Not just fucking and fighting, if perhaps belonging with those somehow?  Something about a proximity to death.  So close, so often.  More than close far too often.  But... it is what it is, was, will be.  A strange creature.  No doubt.  True stories?  I tell you they are.  All of them?  As I remember, think.  But... who ever really knows.

Oh, no, not a killer as suggested, but... not a man of peace, at once.

A curse or a blessing though.  That I can't say.