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Pelvic pain is a widespread chronic pain condition that affects the lives of men and women all across the world. But most people don't realize how big the problem is because those who suffer don't talk about it. Why? Would you talk about your pain if it involved rectal pain or vaginal/penis pain to your pals? My guess is no. You would keep it a secret and just try to "brush it under the rug" so to speak. There are so many people that suffer and just accept their pain which is sad.
But change is coming...
In the past few years, pelvic pain is getting much more recognition. Awareness is beginning to grow and people are coming out and talking. So you may be asking yourself, do I suffer from chronic pelvic pain? In a nutshell, chronic pelvic pain conditions usually consist of urinary pain, rectal pain, muscle spasms or tightness in the pelvic muscles, and usually there is no sign of any major abnormalities. That is what makes the condition so tough, is that there is nothing actually found to be wrong with the sufferer.
Previously, most doctors would prescribe rounds of antibiotics or pain killers to take care of the pain. In most of the cases, there wasn't even any sign of an infection. Doctors would just prescribe what they thought might work. Overtime, this method didn't work. Today, there is a whole new approach to how pelvic pain is treated. One of the popular methods that has had good success is The Pelvic Pain Solution, an ebook written by a sufferer that beat pelvic pain (see www.redmaven.com )It is highly recommended if you suffer from chronic pelvic pain. The whole approach focuses on the body and the mind to beat pelvic pain. It is a more holistic approach that doesn't involve antibiotics or other invasive procedures.
Finally, people that suffer from chronic pelvic pain conditions such as prostatitis, vulvodynia, interstitial cystitis, levator ani syndrome, etc. can have hope. The old methods involving pointless procedures (dilations, pain killers, antibiotics, invasive procedures) are about to bite the dust. There is a new turn to a more realistic treatment that puts the sufferer in charge of healing themselves...instead of someone else trying to heal them. This is new breath of fresh air for people with pelvic pain!
For more information on chronic pelvic pain conditions, visit: www.chronic-pelvic-pain.redmaven.com
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Men notice that their youthful exuberance and ravenous virility are slowly diminishing when they reach the age of 40 and onwards. This is when males experience hair loss, bone loss, insomnia or other sleeping disorders and problems with memory and calculation.
They often feel cranky, fatigued, and less motivated. Or sometimes these symptoms are accompanied by sweating and flushing, loss of muscle mass and strength, aches and pains, increased fat, decreased sexual performance or erectile dysfunction, and depression.
Most men who reach midlife will basically experience one or all of these in varying degrees. And their impact on the confidence and peace of mind of an aging man can be quite devastating.
Rather similar to the female menopause, this male phenomenon is what is known as andropause. Also called Partial Androgen Deficiency in the Ageing Male (or PADAM) or Aging Male Syndrome (AMS), it refers to the natural and gradual decline of testosterone (or the male hormone) levels starting at the age of 30 and which continue to do so at a staggering rate of 10 percent per decade.
Since testosterone is a hormone that helps maintain sex drive, sperm production, pubic and body hair, muscle, and bone, the consequences of andropause slowly emerge as a man ages.
This “mid-life crisis” poses a great impact in the quality of most men’s lives. Life is finally taking its toll on the aging body. Moreover, andropause leads to other long-term and silent effects such as increased cardiovascular risk and osteoporosis.
But you can opt to battle it out and alleviate or even avoid the symptoms brought about by andropause. You should have a strategy that incorporates lifestyle approaches such as optimal diet, regular exercise, stress management, and reduction of tobacco and alcohol intake.
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Your penis is determined by genetics. (According to the National Center for Genome Research at the National Institute of Health. "penis size like height, weight, and general build, probably comes from both mom and pop.) So I guess you can go ahead and blame your mom and pop if you feel you were not endowed with a normal size penis. (Now, don't be too hard on mom and pop.)
"My penis is too small, too soft, and lacking the endurance to satisfy a friut fly." (Theage.com.au/ Title: Give a man six inches.) Do you feel this way about your little guy? Usually at most, the average size of a erect penis is 6 inches in length and 4.84 inches in girth. Approximately 60% of men do posses this size. (This figure was taken from an independent survey over the course of 3 years and over 350,000 men participants worldwide. There are other numerous reports about a man's average penis size. Some have the average smaller, some larger.)
Another study done by a leading condom manufacturer has said that at least 68% of women are unhappy with their partner's penis size. Some of these women did say that size does definitely matter. Well I will leave it up to you men to make your conclusion here on this one.
Well in any event, there are many resources available that will help you to achieve a 7 or 8 inch penis if this is what you may think about doing. This task is not a difficult one at all. You would most definitely give your partner more to love. Now if you are deciding to go a step further with this, then you will need a product that is going to Lengthen and Thicken and this will enlarge your penis.
Exceed Your Sexuality. A penis size of 7 or 8 inches and a thick girth of no more than 6 inches will add alot more pleasure to your sexual enjoyment. And this will be enough length and girth to keep you and your partner happy for many years to come. And do not go beyond this in trying to lengthen your penis further. You want sex to be quite comfortable with your partner don't you? The 7 or 8 inch penis will be just right.
Now if you are already a well skilled player and your partner is satisfied with your 5 or 6 inch penis, then that is a great thing to hear my man. For those who want to add on a few more inches, there is more info available over at my blog to get you started.
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I remember when I was in eighth grade in school years ago and listening to Pink Floyd. I heard a song way back then that became a favourite of mine at the time and still is today. It was called Comfortably numb. At the time of listening to it back then, I thought it was all about heroin abuse.
A year or so later I heard another song by an Australian band called the Choirboys that had lyrics that said: “You don’t need anyone, no you don’t need anyone; when you run the paradise.” Once again I saw this as the paradise that is found by the injection of heroin.
In the movie Pulp Fiction, just a few years ago, I saw the absolutely mind blowing rush one can get from the injection of a needle, and how heroin really is like the big daddy of them all. For even the name itself boasts of its awesome ability and power and how it should be worshipped. We all know about branding and the power of a brand name, if it’s used properly. Just think of Coke, Mc Donald’s, and Disney and suddenly you have an emotion and hopefully a positive emotion come to mind. The word heroin is no mistake. It’s available when you need the ultimate peace and numbness, and you put the father of all drugs into your arm like a doctor gives medicine, you go and put the Hero in.
I am fortunate in one way. I am sure it was an act of God and nothing short of it. As I was growing up, our house was a halfway house for recovering heroin addicts. They came around to our house on rainy Sundays for lunch and when they were healed often stayed with our family until they could find a permanent place of accommodation. They came to us raw and fresh out of rehabilitation. It was their words, and their tears that showed me heroin had its costs on a personal life and wasn’t just the hero in these guy’s life, but their master for many years. They who worshipped the drug and fought, begged borrowed and stole to inject it, were broken individuals who readily cried and told of the horror the drug demanded of them.
Yes, heroin is a powerful drug and I’ll admit that it will make you leave this world we are in, and you will float and kick back into a comfortable numbness. Yes. You won’t need anyone when you run to paradise. But it comes with a price.
I thank God I saw the pain in the drug and never injected it myself. Oh boy I came close and yes I mixed in all the right circles, but I never succumbed to its tantalizing beckoning. And how glad I am that I didn’t! But that isn’t to say those who do are bad people. I just found a better way for myself to find a release.
If it’s comfortable being numb…how can there be comfort in pain?
This was the confusing part for me to work out. How could I enjoy the release which was very pleasurable sleeping with prostitutes, and yet still enjoy the pain of it all in eating breakfast cereals and milk for days because I had no money left?
I read an interesting article once in a psychology magazine. I had never picked one up before that day and have never picked another up since. But in this magazine on this day, whilst I sat in some Doctors surgery for half an hour, I truly learnt the key to the whole puzzle.
We who have addictive tendencies, don’t get a choice in what we become addicted to.
What? I hear you say. Yeah well its strange isn’t it? It’s not all that hard to grasp really. You know that song that you hear and you just can’t get it out of your head. Every time the radio plays it, you spend half a day singing it to yourself. Even years later when “Run to paradise” comes on, I still get caught up with the emotions I was feeling that day. I absolutely love that song.
Well that’s how a habit is formed. Repetition. The more I hear it, the more stronger my emotional response, the more I am addicted to it, or attracted to it. Even if it’s a not so pleasurable experience. Even if that experience is being beaten by your father in a fit of rage. The more he does it, the more I emotionally respond, the more I begin to crave that negative emotion. You become addicted to the pain. And in some ways when life is going along fine, if you are missing that pain in your life, you actively seek it out.
It's sad really. That’s why a woman stays with a man who beats her up. That’s why a junkie sells his soul for the junk he puts up his arm and that’s why a person will ritually cut themselves to feel the rush of pain. We are addicted to the pain, just as much as to the pleasure. And just like light follows darkness, after the pleasure we seek the pain, and when we are in pain we seek the pleasure, and we continue to exist.
We all enjoy feeling comfortable. We all enjoy being safe and secure where we are. Take us away from what we know, take us to another state or city suddenly and tell us to deal with it and we have a problem. We need to change slowly, but given the choice we like to stay with what we know. Why else would a country approve of a president who blatantly lies to his people? We don’t like change and we only do it if forced upon us. It’s only when a wife is beaten so very badly that the authorities step in and keep her from her husband by locking him up, that the wife accepts separation. But she has no choice in this matter. So she quickly goes out to a pub and finds another guy to beat her up.
She can’t help it. She doesn’t like getting beaten up. And her friends can’t understand her for going back. But that’s the only sort of love she knows and that’s the only love her daddy taught her. He regularly beat her mother up and in between beating her he made love to her mother and brought her presents home from work. And if he was a fine example of an alcoholic father he even made special visits to his daughter’s room to comfort her and run his filthy hands over her and molest her.
Oh yes She remembers the love, and she remembers the pain, and somehow they melded into one, and that was called life. To her, or to the heroin addict or to you the reader, life is all about feeling comfortable with our lot and coping as best we can in the circumstances.
How do I know about pain….
Have you ever had a man shove his penis up your behind? I mean shove it right in there so you can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks. Have you ever had to lay down and push your bum in the air and let a beast put it into you with all his might? It’s not fun. Its not love, and if you’ve been there, it’s not something you forget real easy. Worse still is the guilt you feel for putting yourself in the position that allowed it. Oh what a fool you were. If only you weren’t so craving pain in your life, things like this wouldn’t happen. And soon you believe it is all your fault. And then you begin to take comfort in the pain.
One day you are seeking the pain. One day you become comfortably numb. You go through the motions, you allow the lightning pain, and you switch off to it by a sheer act of will power. It seems as you lie there and let a man rip your insides with his penis that Pink Floyd may have been singing about this pain when they were singing. Maybe it wasn’t heroin, but the pain, and you’re switching off to it all, that makes you numb. Maybe you weren’t as smart as you thought you were when you are young, and the wisdom of a life half lived has served to give your life a richer and more rewarding tapestry.
It’s a sad cycle. The addicted are addicted to the week of poverty and no food after one night down at the pokies or one night with the prostitutes. We feel lonely, hopeless and we have no hope in life, so we confirm what a sad person we are when we live in poverty and prove with cheap clothes a free charity meals that we really are a loser like everyone things we are. It’s not fun eating cereal for a week. It’s not fun nursing a black eyes once very few weeks, it’s not fun having to go up the street everyday saying can people spare you change for a bus fare, it’s not fun, but we are so useless and we are so lacking in self worth we just love the feeling of shame, guilt and stupidity and we beat ourselves up with it. We make all our promises. If he beats me up one more time I will leave. If that girl does not kiss me this time I am never going to see her again. If this jockey does not ride that horse in next week that is it for me and punting. We are weak, we are hopeless and we are addicted to feeling that way.
The hardest thing about not sleeping with a prostitute for three months is not feeling the week of guilt after we have partaken of that sin. Especially when you are a Christian. It’s fine not to get the high, but how am I going to get that rush of guilt each week that I am in love with and addicted to?
And then there is the high. It’s in the paper ringing private escorts working in their own rented apartments and interviewing them one by one a few days before you get the money. You narrow it down and pick one and then five hours after you have been paid you are in bed with her. No matter how much you cry to God about your wicked sin, here you are trying to bring pleasure to a professional so that you can feel like a man and have a good time, and if she’s a professional she’ll have you convinced you did bring her to orgasm. If this is all to crude for you, you can jump to the next paragraph. In twenty years of this addiction, I have only been convinced of about three orgasms of the prostitutes I have been with. And boy, twenty years worth of once a week, or once every two weeks of seeing a sex worker, you do the maths, that’s why I don’t own a house.
You see I am poorly dressed and poor in assets and have never had any reason to really write a will because most of my life my addiction kept me broke.
Boy I can relate to people in addictions. The only way I came out of my addiction the time the original of this piece was written in 2005 and now in 2006 my two successful times of reprieve from the addiction was when I repented with many tears before God with all my heart and not wishing with all my heart to ever go back to these ladies. I had to love the girls and stay away and not abuse them, I had to love God enough not to break His heart with my sin with sleeping with a girl I was not married to, and I had to love myself enough not to degrade my self esteem by becoming a sex starved brute.
The only way out of my addiction was to hate it.
The problem with many of us is this addiction to the highs and the lows.
Oh I know about the rush of horse racing I did that for many years. There’s nothing like buying a car from your winnings one week. There’s nothing like seeing your horse win the race and it’s because you were a smart little punter watching all of that horses races since it first started racing and knowing that it can only win certain races at certain distances according to the track, the rider, the breeding and the time in the current campaign it is in. There’s a skill of knowing which race the owner and trainer are wanting to win with the horse and what races the horse is only racing to stay fit. There’s knowing which jockey will ride the horse when the horse has got to look like its trying to win the race and it’s the race favourite, but the owner, the trainer and the serious in the know punters connected to the stable want it not even to run a place and definitely at all costs do not want it to win the race. There really are so many factors to consider as a horse punter, it’s no wonder big high profile people in the business world are kings and respected for placing million dollar bets.
Racing stroked my ego on the high side when I won, and when I had a big loss on a big punt it made me feel like the loser I was when I lost. So how could I lose? lol
And what about today five years on?
I am comfortable and I am not addicted any more. I attend a church where I am loved and I have began to preach in a few churches. My Lord Jesus trusts me today to help strangers find their way to Him and to healing and I am in love with myself. I am quite impressed with what articles I have written five years ago and a lot has happened in my life since then. I have been Baptised and now have some giftings that Jesus has given me so that I can better witness to people. He has given the ability to "Know" a person's pain and their struggle and know things about them that they haven't told me. He gives me the ability to give strangers a message from Him and that just makes me so happy to be out and about doing that.
I have not seen my son in six years and that is sad but it was his mother's wish and I didn't fight it. I have had another breakdown and now am wiser and have stayed on my medication for four years without a serious incident. It seems the more hard balls life throws at me the more confident I am in the power and the love of Jesus to pull you through anything.
I really enjoy sharing a message with a person through prophecy when Jesus speaks through me as I really enjoy seeing Him speak. He is such a magnificent, wonderful, caring and patient God that was man. It is so good to have a God in heaven called Jesus who thinks and reasons like a man but with all the power of God behind Him.
Jesus is just so real to me. I have seen Him in visions close to ten times now and some of them have been so very memorable. He told me once that I was his hidden treasure and if you are reading this I am sure He would tell you the same also. He is so sweet, I do not need another person to sustain me. He is my everything and He is such a loyal and honest and caring friend.
With much love,
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22 March, l968
As it turned out, Johnny would visit Jill’s room off and on during the following weeks. And that strange woman that left the Belmont’s room brought along another woman, and on occasion, he’d catch her on her way down the steps and invite her into his room, although she’d had preferred ‘Jill,’ so she said.
Tasma was not aware of most of this, but a little. Also, she had received at this time several letters from home by her parents, in particular her father, but she did not respond back. She was not certain what to say, she loved them, and Jill assured them she was fine, but it was too stressful for her to talk or write them. She did have a profound desire to please her father, and wishful thinking to please her mother, but it seemed she needed to learn how to please herself first, and to Jill, she did not blame them for anything, not anymore anyway. And had she started a communicational dialogue, they may have persuaded her to return, the one thing she did not want at this time.
—Jill was in the kitchen—the ironing board was pulled out from an inner-cabinet built into the wall, a wall-unite if you will, it was kept snugly in, in which there was a door attached to it; Jill was ironing Tommy and Johnny’s cloths, another lover circle had stared. Both were arranged in separate piles. Mrs. Belmont was sitting at the table talking seriously to her; it was most unusual thought Tasma, for seldom did she see Mrs. Belmont other than at the bar talking to Jill. As Tasma neared them to join them, the subject—whatever it was—changed, and what appeared on Mrs. Belmont’s face was an un-cheerful smile, not unusual, but quite sudden, and it was apparent. Consequently, feeling a little awkward she left the kitchen to work on her diary-novel (some poems), in the living room in her usual spot; in effect, she could overhear bits and pieces now of their conversation. It didn’t occur to her to get up and leave, rather the opposite; she actually pretended to be busy writing and was simply drawing a picture undiscernibly.
“It’s been going on for a while mom, I didn’t think it was, I mean it would end up like this.”
“Get rid of him, or all of them.”
“No, no, I don’t think Johnny will go so easy. He likes me, and thinks he can have me, and he has me of course.”
“What about Tommy?”
“I like him, I like him a lot, but that’s the problem, I don’t love him, I just like him.”
“He’s what you need though. He’s more anchored.”
[With scorn] “What the hell does anchored mean!” said Jill.
“Ok, ok, I could have used a better term, Tommy likes to work and go to school, he’ll be somebody someday.”
“Tommy doesn’t pay you a dime; Johnny does and Johnny works hard.”
“Yes, he works hard all right, hard at drinking, screwing you and god knows who else—smoking that weed.”
“So Tommy was screwing me and working.”
“You’re going to lose him to that cousin of yours if you don’t hang on to him.”
“Tasma,” she looked at Tasma reading, “you got to be kidding, she’s as naïve as a sparrow.”
“So you say: does a pineapple come from a pine tree?”
“No,” said Jill apprehensive, “now what does that mean?”
“She’s not the little girl she was three, four months ago, or is it five or more? She has a good shape, and pretty face, and if Tommy can’t see it, I can. And so can a lot of men at the bar. Anyhow, Tasma is not the issue, Johnny and Tommy are.”
(A long pause came, then with a cracking voice, and an almost whisper, she leaned over to her mother, and Tasma leaned over the arm of her chair): “I think I’m pregnant…”
“Ay caramba,” she said in a sigh that slurred all the way to Tasma’s ears, “…now what?”
“It’s Johnny’s, not Tommy’s, Tommy uses a rubber, and Johnny thinks it is not manly to do so.” It was momentarily hard for Jill to look her mother in the face; she was at this time, pacing the floor in a small circle as her mother followed her with her eyes.
“Listen Jill, Johnny’s drinking with all the gang members at the bar, and he’s gambling, it’s just a matter of time before he gets in trouble with them.” (Some of the gang members had motorcycles, others cars, it was somewhat an unofficial bunch of criminals, in that they were but twenty of them that hung out at a number of bars).
23 Shan’t be a Minute
Tasma found herself walking upstairs to her room, it was quieter in the kitchen, and figured, she had heard enough, a voice said, “Where are you going?” it was Jill, polite but to the point.
“Shan’t be a moment,” was her answer. She wanted to tuck away her diary-novel, she had written some exposing things in it. And so she tucked away, under her pillow, as if it was safe, and her place was off limits to others, which in presumption it seemed to be. For the most part, she did not want to leave it laying about for someone to pick up accidentally.
Life had seemed uncomplicated she thought, and now with Jill’s mother it seemed somewhat speculative, if not downright disjointed. It had now crossed her mind Tommy would find out the secret, the secret being Johnny’s behavior and her being pregnant, or so she said she was, and ‘I know about it,’ she felt as if she was a betrayer, be it to Jill or Tommy, or even Johnny. Down the stairway, into the living room she went. She looked outside through the bay-window and there was Mrs. Alice Whitehead getting into the car, she looked at Tasma, Tasma waved at her, she was a nice old lady, and it always seemed to her she had concern on her face for her.
As she turned around looking towards the kitchen she noticed Mrs. Belmont sorting out bills: ‘I suppose she’s done talking to Jill now,’ was her thinking.
“I talked to your mother a few days ago Tasma, she’s doing well and I told her likewise, you were doing well.” Tasma simply made a polite gesture, no verbal adjectives.
“I want to do something today, a surprise, come with me,” asked Tasma, for some odd reason something had popped into her head.
“What, may I ask, is on that devious mind of yours?” laughed Jill.
—Tasma and Jill were gone for several hours, and arrived back home at about 6:00 PM. Johnny and Tommy were sitting in the living room watching TV. As they both walked into the house, both the boys were somewhat taken back a bit at Tasma’s appearance—if not down right, star-struck. Her long reddish hair was cut to where it reached only the nape of her neck. And she was wearing more makeup than she had before, the result: she looked a little fresher and less school-girlish, than before. Thought Tommy, ‘…before she seemed more delicate and fragile..,’ as he glanced at the poise she displayed as she smiled and stood in the middle of the room awaiting the verdict of the two young throbbing hearts, the heart breakers themselves. Johnny noticed her slender bones, and her nicely shaped neck was more defined (front and back). Tommy for some reason noticed her neatly-set breasts, small as they were—just above her small waist they were a hand full no more. Yet her slyness somewhat removed, still left her with a harmless effect. Her nervousness was repressed for the most part.
Along with all that, with all the money she had saved up, she also purchased some bath salts, talcum powder and a small mirror, which she duplicated for Jill as a gift for allowing her to stay. She had spent her $100-dollars she had saved.
For some odd reason, Tasma had glanced back into the kitchen, expecting to see Mrs. Belmont, but of course was not surprised when she was not there, she usually would go to the bar around this time, either she had missed her, or she was in her room preparing to go. The boys looked at one another in jest, and laughed.
Said Johnny with his normal side joking way, “So now you’ve grown up, welcome to the real world kid, looks like you’re willing to join us.”
Tasma knew Johnny’s ways and knew that was better left alone.
“It makes you feel good,” commented Jill; meaning spending money on oneself for preservation purposes, or simply for a change in one’s life. But there was concern in Jill’s unseen eyes, in her cerebellum. She was no psychologist, like Skinner or Pavlov with his salivating dogs (who worked on association), but the boys were kind of salivating, restlessly slobbering might be a better way of putting it, if not downright uneasy, with this new Tasma look.
Everyone had gone to bed now, it was Jill’s turn to sit downstairs in the sofa-chair for once, wondering, thinking, not sure of her next move. ‘I just don’t get it,’ she asked herself, ‘why am I so attracted to Johnny, and going with Tommy? Tasma wouldn’t have the answer even if I asked her, nor mom, facts are facts, feelings are feelings, I don’t sense they are neither right or wrong, they just are. Johnny makes love as if he was a mad man and seems almost barbaric, and I think of him when I make love to Tommy—it’s just unthinkable. I wonder how Tommy’s new book will turn out. Can you love two people at once, at one time? A good question; I think I do, or maybe it is lust, how do I know, I’m just…(pause) will be nineteen in a month. Mom said: love is a choice. I say love is a feeling. I wonder what Tasma would say. I know Tommy feels love through his penis, like Johnny, all men do, kind of, sort of—most of the time; but Tommy is more willing to be dedicated, I think. I have learned men are attracted by looking, but I like touch.’
On her way to her bedroom, she stopped at Tasma’s room, knocked lightly, “Can I come in just for a moment?” she asked.
“Why sure you can,” answered Tasma with a thoughtful voice.
“I had a great day with you today, and thanks again for the things you bought me (this was a good lead-in she thought to bait her for a question to be soon asked), but I have a question, somehow I think you’re going to oversimplify the answer but I’ll ask it anyhow. How do you know if you’re in love with a person?”
Surprisingly, Tasma answered Jill with foreknowledge, “You mean you are having a hard time trying to figure who you want, Tommy or Johnny?”
(A tight look went over Jill’s face.) “Yes, yes, that is where I’m coming from; I didn’t know it was so obvious.”
“It’s becoming obvious Jill, it was the first day Johnny came through the door, and it has progressively taken a greater shape to it. But in regards to your answer, I’ve never been in love so I might be the wrong person to ask, but I do know this, as simple as it may be: if I wanted to go out with Johnny, I couldn’t be in love with Tommy—that much. I mean, I’d think whoever you were in love with—you’d not want to go out with anyone else; you’d kind of want to stop shopping around for another person, or so I believe. If I was to get married, I’d not want to go out with anyone else: and if I did, I’d know that I was not ready for marriage, to him or anyone, if that makes any sense.”
But to Jill it made all the sense in the world. She was sleeping with Tommy at night, and wanted to be with Johnny.
“What do you think I should do?” asked Jill.
“I think you already know; I don’t think I need to say anymore. My heart is with you, no matter what the outcome is.” Then Tasma hugged her tightly.
24 Reset
As the next two weeks passed a kind of silence took over the house, people talked less to one another, I suppose you could say, Jill was the life of the house, and now she was deep in thought. Everyone tried to keep busy and pretend things were normal, but they of course knew they were not. The Belmont’s kept their normal schedule, and the pretense lingered.
Tasma had finished up with Tommy’s book on San Francisco, and had explained to him how she liked the ending of ‘Bustling,’ by his fake name Colleen Grant; she commented to Tommy: “The younger woman fell in love with the older man, but she had psychological issues, and she was too fragile for him to care for her emotional illness, and he was too sick biologically for her to care for him. It was a sad ending I thought, but had they married: love would not have been enough, as they wished, they’d both had ruined the life of the other. Yet they remained friends as they parted, matter of fact they remained friends until he died at the age of eighty-years old, and her, at eighty-two.” She then read a poem she was working on for him: “I haven’t put it in my book or diary yet, but here it is I’ll read it to you from the paper (Tommy sat inquisitively on the edge of her bed):
The Maiden from Seattle
When she walked into the light The door to life, grew black as
Night, And her earth began to swell
(This youthful beauty of Seattle);
At first glance— Fell this youth from high Aching to touch the morning sky.
Who dare take this maiden’s hand? To help her though this silent land! Ah! From hair, to heart, to breast:
Like faded flowers in the ground Fleshless alms, could not be found, And so she remains—bound!
Said Tommy in surprise, “I like it, I think a little or maybe a lot of you is in the poem; I think you’re going to be a Mrs. Plath, or Dickinson some day.”
—The following day Tommy had come into Tasma’s room unexpectantly, “Are you still writing your story?” he asked.
She looked at Tommy, “Just some poems, and dairy notes, really haven’t gotten into the plot or theme of anything in particular yet; not sure how to get it going.”
“Let me see, maybe I can help you” he said. Yet Tasma was still bewildered of his rudeness to just kind of enter at will; she liked him and didn’t want to scare him away, on the other hand, she was not going to join any love-circle.
She leaped quickly to her pillow, then it dawned on her, she had much information in it about Johnny, Jill, Tommy and, none other but the: The Lady in Black, as she referred to her in the diary. But had she not jumped, she thought afterwards, had she not jumped she’d had not given away her hiding place, although it was no vault for sure—I mean, a mouse could have found it had it looked for it.
“I, I have too many personal things in it, private things, I’d rather you not see,” said Tasma as she currently held the book in the middle of her chest; as she got off the bed with her one knee, fully turning about now, she tripped on her shoe and the book fell, Tommy quickly grabbed it and opened it. Tasma saw him reading it, and needed to do something quick, she grabbed it out of his hands and jumped on the bed, her dress flying above her waist showing her underwear and all.
Somehow Tommy found the child in him, and jumped on her bed trying to grab the diary from her as they rolled around in the bed; now Tommy hovering over her, his legs between hers.
“What are you two up to?” questioned a voice in the background, it was Jill: she had heard the ruckus.
“My fault, I was trying to get her diary from her, I started to read something quite interesting,” he looked at Jill halfheartedly. Had he gone back any farther, thought Tasma: The Lady in Black was there.
Jill looked at Tasma in an indefatigably way, “I see I wasn’t invited to the party—”and slipped off to her bedroom where she just looked out the window aimlessly. In a way it didn’t bother her about what she’d seen, but on the other hand, she was jealous. When Tommy left the bedroom to join Jill he didn’t know whose child it was; he had only read up to ‘I overheard her say to her mother she was pregnant today by….” He could not ask Tasma to betray Jill, it would be too much to ask, if anything, Jill might be betraying him, it was indicative of her.
—In the following days, Tasma noticed Tommy and Jill fought quite a lot; and Tommy was not a person to be irritated easily, it must be that she was leading Tommy to believe it could be his child, Tasma thought. Then one evening she noticed Tommy sleeping on the coach, and Johnny still remaining in his bedroom.
During this interval, Johnny entertained himself in his bedroom, hoping Tommy and Jill would sort things out—thus he remained in kind of a queue, waiting for Jill’s signal to return, somehow he had come to that conclusion she would. He found himself pacing the floor at night, saying, ‘I wish, whatsitsname, would…’ and never ended the sentence.
—I must make this awkward at this point, his mind broke off the subject of Jill and Tommy after the first week, his insides became external. He looked at himself, pretending he was not feeling this serge; he had not guessed at this until it engulfed him, there was stern on his face—and, toil in his hand. A cold shower might work he thought, but it was too far away. He felt he was on a fast run; he hardened his body like a weightlifter, a boxer ready to take a punch.
This lasted two weeks, finally an agreement came about, Jill would sleep with Johnny, and Tommy would sleep in Johnny’s room, and in due time Tommy would have to leave, approximately in a few months, considering once she started to show it would only provoke issues within the household, or so she felt. The real problem was that Johnny did not have the heart to tell Jill he liked the way things were, and he really liked Lorie to a higher degree. He wanted his sex, but could find it elsewhere if need be, now he’d have to resort to living in her bedroom, and his alone time would be altered. In addition, Lorie was somewhat out of the picture for he had not seen her in weeks as he waited for this all to settle, but he’d see her again is what he was planning. Again, everything seemed in the air now. But to resist the plan would be too premature at the moment he deliberated out.
In spite of the tension, things appeared to move about on a regular base for a few more weeks. However, Johnny was starting to hang out with the gang more often now, with their motorcycles, and customized old cars. He was doing a lot more drinking and gambling with the gang members. They had even stopped on a few occasions at Jill’s house looking for Johnny, taking pains to find him, going out of their way it would seem. It came to her attention; Johnny owed them money, how much it wasn’t said (but it was close to $6,000-dollars). They’d not go to his work; it was one thing the groups forbid: that being, to endanger a man’s livelihood was not being a man at all. They could do almost anything else, even kill you, but not jeopardize your job: that was considered a low blow.
Out of nervousness, Tasma started to keep her distance from the group at the bar, if she could, she would have vanished into thin air.
