Memorial Day Weekend...it's the unofficial start of summer. Soon, as the showtune goes, June will be busting out all over. Longer, lazier days; the green of trees in the parks of New York City; the red paint toes of all the anonymous subway women i ogle on a downtown train. But I realize in May that June is such an emotionally loaded month for me. A virtual Coney Island funhouse of distorted mirrors and scary goblins. For June is the month my mother died and the month my brother committed suicide. June snuck up on me in May, got its hooks in me and wouldn't let go.
My mother was a strong, successful, dominating woman. It is too simple and just plain inaccurate to credit and blame her for my kinks. But she had a guiding hand. A hand not always kind and gentle. She is gone seventeen years now, but her spirit snuck up this year, grabbed me by the ear and whispered - do not forget.
My brother, dressed only in panties, suffocated himself with a plastic bag in a motel room. He was of me - a part of my soul - despite the fact that after my mom's death we had become completely estranged. We shared inherited kinks. He loved cross dressing. But he'd dress and put himself in situations he'd be "discovered" and physically hurt. He'd goad others into punishing him for his love of women's clothes. He became addicted to crack cocaine. And then he was no more. He is gone ten years now, but his spirit snuck up this year, grabbed my sleeve and shouted - do not forget.
The light I've let into my life finally illuminated the spirits that haunt me in May. As the counter-weight promise of my June passage brings another new summer to stretch out in welcome warmth, the pain of prior loss recedes and I look forward to the red paint toes of a downtown train.
Prostate - Milking vs Orgasm
8 months ago