Women are from where again?

Note. The Manley book is a work of fiction. It was born out of a situation where I had heard it said one time too many that: “All men are dogs.” If that is true, I thought to myself, then, who breeds and trains them? And a book was born. It's available on Amazon.

Here's today's excerpt.

Guess you could say that I’ve come full circle. As a small boy, I was just so damn shy and insecure. Afraid of everything and everyone.

Grandma, first, and then mom. They were my only safe spots. My soft landings. I didn’t like girls, I couldn’t understand them. And I most certainly, couldn’t stand them.

These women, though (and a few men too to a lesser extent) are the driving forces in my life. Other than for my mother and grandma, who were the very first such influences on me. Miss Brodbendt was the first one to have gotten my attention and captured my teenage boy’s lustful thoughts, and imagination. This was to have happened at about twelve going on thirteen years of age. It was my fairy godmother, though, who initiated me into the real meat of the matter.

A young woman with chestnut hair, and Amber eyes. Skin so soft and clean as if she’d never been bitten by a mosquito. Or even had a pimple or scar. Or maybe she was just over waxed, over-shine.

When I got back home after leaving the Millers, I discovered that she was gone. They told me that she had gotten herself a teaching job south of the border. And headed down to the great big USA. Making the big bucks doing what she does best — teaching. Or was it?

I can’t help but wonder at times if she took all of her teaching tools with her. Her tactics, and all of her goodly goddy techniques with her when she went down there, hmm. Some southern teenage boy must be counting his lucky stars right this minute.

…

My fairy godmother and her family were living just two blocks away from my mother’s house. That’s the house where we all were living at the time. My mother, my sister Amy, my brother Norm, and me. Too close to her leer for comfort as it was to have turned out. But who’s complaining? Not me.

She, goddy, (that’s what I started calling her since no one seemed to know her name. Everyone else around those parts just calls her “Miss.”) So, goddy (or miss,) was able to watch me as I grew up, and develop. Putting on the muscles. Between the ages of thirteen and fifteen. I would have grown about a full foot in height, and I was putting on weight too, in all of the right places. And in pure clean muscle, needless to say. I was ripped. And her? She noticed, for sure. She never did miss out on the opportunity to tell me how great I looked.

I was beginning to get the feeling at times though, that someone was talking to her. Telling her things about me. About all of the troubles which I was having, or getting myself into at school. Because she was to have started showing a bit too much interest in me. And in particular. In those personal and private aspects of my teenage life. Much too much for my comfort at the time. And then, she offered to come “sit with, and talk to me.” The timing couldn’t have been wackier.

It was just around those same times that I was beginning to get cozy in Miss Brodbendt’s company. I was to be seeing a spike in sexual tensions in that arena. Unlike it was to be with Miss Brodbendt though. Goddy didn’t waste any time in priming and prepping me for the journey. She just delved right in with the brush and started painting. This well and timely relieved puppy dog was to have breathed a huge sigh of relief. Shuu. Not a minute too soon.

…

Unlike how things were at home, in our house. There were never more than four people living there at any given time. My fairy godmother, in contrast, seemed to have an entire village living inside of their apartment. She was always reminding me that, she’s from a very big family.

Her family is big alright. It’s so big, in fact, that. She has two sisters with the very same name. The big joke in the family is that: their mother has got so many children that. She had forgotten that she had already used up that name. And since the other sister, whose name it was at the first, had also got a pet name by which she was commonly known. They didn’t bother to change anything.

Everybody just went along with the flow. They all knew very well who was who: Deloris number one (Dell) and Deloris number two. Was born almost a full decade apart. So, there was never an issue in deciding which “Deloris” was which. With all of that crowded mess, though. It was only a matter of time before somebody was going to get into somebody’s way. Or trip over somebody, and fall.

It would have come about on one of our — by then, regular rendezvous. I went over to her house. At her invitation, of course. She had said that she would be home alone on that day.

Our house was the meeting place of choice up until that point. But for some strange reason. I was beginning to get somewhat uncomfortable with the whole idea of carrying my girlfriend into my mother’s house. No. Wait a minute, she was not a girl. So, “girlfriend” is probably not the correct term here. She was my female friend. This was a grown-ass woman, not a girl.

I had gotten to the point where I was getting uncomfortable with the practice of carrying her over to our place. And into my mother’s house whenever she was not there. And for no other purpose or reason than to make out with her in the basement.

I had made my over-sensitized hang-ups and reservations on the matter known to goddy. And she agreed with me that, it didn’t seem right. Said that her mother would have been pissed off too. If she should discover that she — or any other of her siblings should ever do that sort of thing.

But then, not many days later, she did just that. She invited me over. Said she was going to be home alone. I hopped right on over and wasted no time in getting into the activities of the day: working on the day shift.

In the middle of it, without any prior warnings. Her little sister was to have popped right on in and disrupted the apple cart.

To her great credit, though, she did not tarry. Just turned around on her heels and headed straight back out. Maybe, I thought. Maybe that was the norm in that household, hmm.

That was it for me though, I was done. You could fold me up and wring me out like a wet rag after that. And hang me on a clothesline somewhere. I was that much done.

L’il sissie was not done though. As for her, she was just about to get started. She wanted in on the action, and fast.

I think this little encounter right here. Did feature prominently in goddy’s decisions to go south. When the opportunity arose a year or two later. The relationship between her and her little sister also did take a beating from that moment on. And as for me? In the meantime, I was majoring in running.

Running out of places for us to get comfortable and get down. Running out of interest in Goddy and the family gang. Running into some other new and interesting prospects, here and there. Running away from home. Running headlong into Mrs. Miller, and then…

What? You ask if I did do them crazy little things with l’il sissie too? What kind of a question is that — B?

…

My mom used to boast in those days about me. Telling tales about how kind and caring her little boy (me, big bulky strapping old me,) was. She’d said that I would take the shirt off of my back and give it to a friend in need. The truth is though. I’d take off not only the shirt but the pants. The underwear too, and even down to the holey socks off of my feet for others. And they didn’t even have to be my friends. Just someone who has got the proper motives. The proper desires, and the proper rewards for my ever-in-demand services. Or simply, just someone who will ask, nicely.

I have always been sweet and kind like that. Ever willing and ready to help out someone in need. And dad?

…

My father was a Rolling Stone. So they say. Never stayed long enough in any one place to be able to get comfortable with the place. Or with himself being in that place.

Mom’s favorite words in referring to him were, “a sperm donor.” She said that he is nothing more than a sperm donor. She also said that it seemed like every time he shakes his pants. A child would fall out. As for him, he never did seem to miss out on a chance at shaking those damned pants. Whether it was to be in a dark shit hole somewhere. Or in some high and lofty places, shake he would.

He doesn’t seem to have any idea as to how many children he has fathered so far, by doing so. And in real terms. He’d said that he had stopped counting at thirty-one. And that was several years ago.

The significance of the thirty-one in his view? He can ascribe one to each and every day in any and every month of the year. My mom accounts for two of those children. I could never have understood why she hung around long enough to repeat the mistake. But I’m kinda happy that she did. I really am mighty fond of my sister — Amy.

My mom did take yet another kick at the baby-making machine, long after our father had skipped the scene for good too. The result of that venture is our little brother — Norm. Short for: Norman Whitley.

After dad was to have upped and left her with a three-month-old baby (me) and nothing with which to care for herself, and a young child. Mom had to fall back onto her own resourcefulness, and fast. I was shipped off to Grandma’s place. While Mom returned to work. We were all still living in our mother country then. Our mother country, Jamaica. In the West Indies. When the second child came less than a year later. Grandma had to put her feet down firmly.

“Every woman,” she said, “have got a right to mind their own ill-begotten children.” She was to have said further. “I took care of my own children. With no help from anyone. And I’ll be damned if I am going to take on any more of other people’s responsibilities towards their own children, in my old age.”

Of course, grandma loved all of her children. And that included this daughter too. (My mom,) as well as all of her grandchildren, including Amy and me. She was not going to return me back home to my mother. Even if she could. But not anymore, she had said.

She was just disappointed and frustrated though, that’s what I think. At the sort of choices her daughter was making. But most of all, she was tired, simply tired.

It wasn’t very long after those things that grandma passed away. I was forced to go back to living with my mother and sister.

I believe Jack Whitley was to have entered the picture because. Mom needed help with us two. Being in a new country and all.

We had arrived in the new country of Canada. With little more than the clothes on our backs. And had was to start all over from scratch. The help which Jack had promised was very timely. He seemed to her like water in a thirsty land at the time.

The help though, which she ended up getting from the good old Jack, in real terms, was her third child and almost no more help than she did have before. Mom never did give old Jack a chance to do any further damage. By doing it to her again. He was out of the door like stale fart against the rushing wind. She opened up the door, and then, just like that? He was gone.

…

So, like I was saying, I had some real trouble on the social scene as a small boy. I couldn’t understand the girls. And boys? As for them. It seemed as if, the only thing that they would want to do with me then, was to beat me up. And that they surely did, at every juncture. And with every opportunity that was to have presented itself. I stuck to myself back then. Until that day when Bobbie Nooks — the schoolyard bully. Was to have messed with me once too many times. I busted his head. I then kicked the living daylights out of his already bloody face. And got myself sent off to the principal’s office for it. I got sent to the principal’s office a lot in those days. To my mother’s chagrin. But as for me, the more I get sent there, the more I get to love it. Why? Stay with us to learn more about that and other such things as we go along.

Nooks never did bother me again. And that wasn’t the only strange thing that was to have happened there that bloody day. All the rest of that bunch of wolfhounds. That wild-pack of sticky slime-dripping kids seemed to get the message loud and clear: don’t you go a-messing with that Manley kid. He will kick your face bloody. The most amazing side effect of it all though, as it turned out. Was in the way how the girls started to look at me and treat me from then on. It was like night and day, the difference. Suddenly, they wanted my company and wanted to be with me. Some even “wanna do me,” including Bobbie Nooks’ girlfriend — Jada. Strange indeed. Seems to me like some girls only want to be with the big bad wolf in the pack. The ones who will hear, see, and eat them raw.

I was still afraid of that part though. I never knew what to do, really. Or even how to do it, right up until…

My fairy godmother was to have shown up with her training gloves on. And started showing me everything that I needed to know. By practice and all. She, just like Miss Brodbendt before her. Was starting to invade my teenage boyhood imagination with the wonders of sex and sexuality. She happened upon me and promptly began filling in the missing links. Which were to be sprouting up between Miss Brodbendt and me, but were not being fulfilled. She then ventured to fill in all of the blanks. Not a moment too soon.

She was working at another school at the time. Separate and apart from the one which I was attending. But she lived close enough to our house, to my mother’s place to be very convenient. And that’s all I’m going to say about her on this particular point. In order to protect the innocent.

I gave them both what they wanted though, the two of them. And at other odd points in times, even three. All in my own “sweet darling” way.

According to her, (goddy) my fairy godmother. If I’m going to be anything remotely resembling what a man ought to be. There are some things which I needed to know, and fast. More or less the same as what Miss Brodbendt had said.

So, she too was to have volunteered her services. And then, what I became, what I turned out to be, is probably the very reason why I am in this shithole of a situation today.

Words started getting out and around, about me. And just as quickly it would have exploded out of all proportion. The gossiping, the name-calling, and the reputation building. And then…

My fairy godmother was to have a waltz right on in. Literally picked me up, and put me on top of the girl from next door, I can’t even remember her name, but then. Just like the good school teacher that she was. She coached me along. She was to be coaching both of us along. I wasn’t quite sure at times if my practice mate was enjoying the ride or abhorring it. But she was in it, in all of those agonizing ways. Well, agonizing on my side of the leger that is. As it turned out, goddy my fairy godmother, did not seem to think that it was all that it was supposed to be. Practicing with the girl next door. She, not many days later. Was venturing to do it all by her fabulous self — the coaching. Practice, show, and tell, everything. And boy, what a teacher, mentor, and coach she turned out to be. I was never to be the same again.

#fictionwriting, #creativity