Repeating myself …. sort of …. allowing for comments

A friend asked today, “do you have a blog?” I responded that I didn’t and she encouraged me to start one…

Today’s conversation was food for my soul. It wasn’t deep and heavy, it was rich and real! It was a two-step, two-person kind of conversation; both people offering and sharing with an openness on both parts. I crave that and sadly my regular daily life doesn’t afford me that luxury, so maybe I can create it here…

So why Faces On The Wall? Well, while most kids I knew were out playing football, jumping skipping ropes, playing elastics, hide-and-seek, tag-your-it, wrapped up in the joy and laughter of their sweet youthful innocence, free, simple and unknowing; I was hanging over the top of the cellar steps, being penetrated from behind by my father, facing darkness, inhaling the damp aroma of a white-washed coal cellar, the black coals before me, but black cannot be seen in the dark.
Sometimes it would happen when my friends were in the living room, my dad and I in the kitchen (behind a closed-door) under the guise of making them a cup of tea. Behind the closed-door, I would be guided to the top step of the cellar steps, the light always kept off, he would slather his dick with Vaseline, pull my pants down or my skirt up, and force himself into me, his hanky in his hand to catch his sperm. It took all of two or three minutes. He had it down to an art. I on the other hand was numb. No words were ever spoken, just a finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet. We’d finish making the tea for my friends and walk back into the living room like nothing had happened. Was he ever afraid that he would be caught? Was the thrill of being caught a thrill for him? Did my friends ever wonder why we closed the kitchen door just to make tea? Did they believe him when he said, ‘we’ll close the door to keep the draught out?” Did they ever see the shame in my eyes? The split that took place – being fucked by my father on the cellar steps – walking back into the living room like nothing had happened. How did I hide that? How could no-one see me? I am still the same today, unseen and un-showing!

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