5 comments/ 8249 views/ 0 favorites Stepping Stones By: Brandii She sits alone in her room. She writes Erotic Literature both as a hobby and as a sexual outlet. She also writes Erotic Literature because she knows that the 'words' can excite men in a way that her body never will. She writes to fill an internal void deep within her and because it is far less dangerous than drinking excessive amounts of alcohol or swallowing extreme quantities of sleeping tablets. She has been through that phase: taking tablets to ease the emotional pain she feels inside; seeking sleep over reality and thankfully, she has emerged on the other side. She is 48 years old. She considers herself attractive, although she has been told by family members that she has an over exaggerated opinion of how attractive she really is. She is also quite overweight. She has never been any man's wife, fiancée, or even live-in lover. She is what society calls a 'loser.' Men do not want to date her. If anything, men are embarrassed and even horrified when they learn that she may have developed romantic feelings of attachment for them. She is the teenage girl, high school boys played cruel tricks on, in order to amuse each other and to humiliate her in front of others in her class. She is the young woman men loudly make fun of and call out put downs to whilst standing in groups as they watched her walk past, causing her to lower her head self consciously. She is the middle-aged woman who is far too old now to re-start chasing her dreams but does anyway. She is the unloved: the unacceptable and definitely one the most emotionally fucked-up females you will ever encounter. Over the years, men have taught her to fear them and she has learnt that lesson well. Her first lesson came at the age of fifteen. She was a late bloomer. At fourteen, while the other girls her age were dressing in their bikini to attract the attention of the boys on the beach, she was completely oblivious to all of them: preferring instead to burrow away in the sand making sandcastles. The only interaction she had with those boys was to abuse them for walking over the sandcastle, instead of around it. At fifteen, she experienced her first real crush and being one to wear her heart on her sleeve, everyone in the class knew about it. Now she was no dog back in those days. She was slim, had mousey colored, bra- strap-length light brown hair and an ample bust (thanks to genes passed down from her grandmother.) Unfortunately, she was also painfully shy and not all that well liked by her classmates. She did have one good friend though, a girl named Karen. One afternoon, the object of her affection (David) came up to her as they were standing by the port racks and he called her aside so he could speak to her privately. The details of the meeting are sketchy at best; but the question he asked has always stayed with her. He told her "he liked her" and then went on to ask, "If she would like to become his girlfriend." She walked on a cloud all day. She began to think that something was amiss when he spent no time at all with her the next day, but just let it go, not wanting to rock the boat, so to speak. She had a boyfriend, now. She was normal. She was acceptable. She was wrong. Within three days, he would approach her again, still having spent no time with her, as one would think a boyfriend would; and say directly to her, "he wanted to break up with her." No reason offered. He simply turned and walked away from her. True scenario: The other boys in the class had given him a dare. He had to go with [surname] for forty-eight hours: he did not want her: he just did not want to back down from the challenge. There is little need to write about the impact of that on her adolescent psyche. It was during this time that she began to draw conclusions about her worthiness to the male population... and she knew they found her wanting. She became reclusive. She did not develop romantic feelings for another male until she was twenty-two years of age. He was a student minister in his third year at the bible college she attended from 1982 -1983. She had it in mind at that time to become a Missionary. She had grandiose ideas of surviving alone in some far off African jungle: a kind of female Dr Livingston. Her father was also at the same college training to be a Minister and was in the same year of college as her new crush. She saw him on the grounds of the campus one day and immediately fell head over heels in love with him. Always thinking on her feet, she walked up to him and said, "Do you know where my father is?" He answered, as she knew he would, "Who is your father?" She told him. Instant recognition appeared on his face. Bingo. She had him. He, never having met her before, had no knowledge of who she was so the question was merely an introductory tool she used so he would know her next time they met. Of course, she was not considering the 20 kilograms she had piled on since her high school days. She waited for him to notice her. He on the other hand remained friendly but emotionally detached. She made excuses to be around him, often taking up kitchen duties on the same nights as he so she could spend time with him. One afternoon she snuck into his bedroom, pillow in hand and, unbeknown to him, exchanged her pillow with his so she could sleep on something belonging to him. She wanted his acceptance and to belong to him so badly: but as a result the reality was that she drove him stark raving mad in her desire to attain it. He was in no doubt of her affection for him, yet he neither encouraged nor discouraged her ambition until he was sick to death of her and drew away. To cut a two-year story short, he did not want her and her need to be desirable and acceptable destroyed their relationship. He ended up rejecting her and she watched helplessly as he began to date her roommate instead. She put on even more weight during this period. Still a virgin at twenty-seven, she fell in love again: with the father of her now nearly twenty-year-old daughter. He was an Irish tourist and definitely, the most handsome man she had laid eyes on in years. They became friends. He would sit by her and they would go for long walks and talk about anything and everything: but there had been no romantic gestures on his part. Wanting to feel loved and accepted, she shocked the hell out of him one day by impulsively putting her head on his chest while they were lying back on a bed [with other people in the room] watching a video. He tensed, but never moved away from her. He certainly never told her to get the hell off him. That alone was all it took to make her feel secure. Around two weeks went by. It was the week before Christmas. He had been to an after work Christmas party and had finally come home [they both had rooms in a boarding house filled with young people, mainly backpackers.] She had had a fair amount to drink that evening, as they always seemed to have an open cast of wine on the table. During this time some information which was to change her rational was accidentally let out of the bag when a member of their group piped up and announced suddenly that the 'love of her life' was leaving in the next day [ for good]. It was his considered opinion that, if she knew, she would fall in a heap and he was right. Emotionally crushed, she ran to the park down the road and sobbed uncontrollably: cried, in fact, until she was physically sick. She could not lose him, not now that she had finally found him. She had to find some way to keep him with her. She devised a plan: She would offer him her body. Every romance she had ever read said that the virgin always got the hero to fall in love with her by the end of the novel. Therefore, that is what she did. She set out to seduce him and succeeded, although the alcohol no doubt helped enormously. The sex, although lasting only around three and a half minutes was pleasant enough despite his level of intoxication. Suddenly he rose from the bed, put on his shorts, grabbed his other belongings, and then left leaving her bewildered and wondering why he would not stay. The next morning it all fell apart. He told her he was still leaving. She was sure all they needed was more time together in order for him to fall in love with her, so unbeknown to him she impulsively caught a bus to where he was heading three hours before his departure time and decided to meet him there unannounced when he stepped off the bus. She meant it to be another surprise. He was surprised, no doubt about that: and as angry as she had ever seen any male ever. His exact words: "What the fuck!" followed closely behind by; "What the fuck are you doing here?" and "Are you fucking insane?" She did not know how to reply to that. He has a few other choice comments he made to her as they walked down the road. He was still fuming so she dropped back a few paces behind him to give him room to calm down as they walked alone down the dark street. She noticed the gap between them was getting wider, but did not worry too much as he was still looking back to see if she was still with him. She thought he was looking out for her safety. She stopped to look at something in a shop window only for a moment and when she looked up, he was gone. She was all alone. She called out his name, but heard only the wind in the trees. She continued to walk down the road, looking for him, but he was well and truly gone. She became frightened, as this was a dark lonely stretch of open road and infrequently a truck would pass speeding up towards the highway. It was obvious she was all alone in the middle of nowhere and worse still, because she wanted it to be a surprise, she had not told a sole where she was going. She pressed on looking for him. It was around dawn, about two and a half hours later when she finally saw him again. He was this little speck of orange way off in the distance. The orange she could see was his backpack. She turned around then and began to retrace her steps back to the bus stop and home to Brisbane. People on the bus looked at her with such compassion as she sometimes silently cried, sometimes starred blankly out of the window, and sometimes seemed to choke on the grief inside of her. It was a four-hour trip back to the terminal. One night, several days later, she was talking to his best friend who was still in Brisbane and who, knowing how much she was hurting, tried to give her a reality check by telling her what he [the love of her life] had said to him on his return from what was the most intimate night of her entire life. He had walked into the room and stated to his friend, "I can't believe I fucked her." When she heard that, a part of her just died inside. She got on with her life as best she could. Two weeks before the due date for the baby's birth she got a phone call from a trusted friend who had received an invitation to the baby shower. She was hanging out the washing when the call came. Her friend told her the following: The love of her life had met a woman in Sydney and he had married her. The conversation ended after that and she returned to the clothesline as if to continue hanging out the washing. Shock had set in: then reality hit with a force one cannot describe. He had married another woman while she was carrying his child. Even now, she was not good enough. She vaguely remembers hearing a scream and then remembers falling to the grass, which brought her parents bolting out the door to where she lay sobbing on the ground. They helped her to her feet and took her inside. She was eight and half months pregnant. She later found out months after her baby's birth that the story her friend had relayed to her had not been true and that he had been standing there along side her telling her friend what to say. It was his way of making everything, including her simply fade away. He boarded a plane home to Ireland the next day. She never quite recovered from the barrage of hurt she had to endure and she has never been able to be intimate with another male since that night. Twenty years later, middle aged and living alone with her sister... she writes erotic stories of lovers who do not exist and of romantic liaisons, she has never experienced and dreams of true love. Stepping Stones Ch. 00 Twelve O'clock the alarm blinked every second. I rolled over and saw a picture of James. Why him? Why Him, why him?!? I think it is more like why me. I thought he was the perfect roommate; everyone said I had nothing to worry about. He was always willing to spring for pizza or a flick. So why did I fall for him? How could he do that to me? Most of all, how could I love him and hate him at the same time. The memory seeps through me and all the pain from that day came flooding through. I could not stop the tears from falling; this was the first time since it happened that I had the opportunity to feel real emotion. The pain I endured that night hit me hard. I willed the tears to stop but the stubborn tears wouldn't subside. I curled up as small as I could, drawing the covers over my head. I just wish I would disappear and this chest pounding pain was a dream I want to wake up tomorrow and all this pain be gone. I yearn for it to go back to normal; why can't I just be normal again? My sobs echoed in the dark, empty room. It seemed like years had gone by before the tears finally disappeared from my aching eyes. Maybe if I got up and heated some tea maybe, just maybe I could sleep this night away, unlike the others. Never mind, it probably would not do much for me anyway. I might as well get up, as there's no way I could sleep now. I flung back the blankets and threw my feet over the side of the bed in disgust. I got up and started walking toward the living room to relax, but when I got near the kitchen I heard a crashing sound. All thoughts left but one. Don't be him! Please don't be him! Dear God, don't let it be him! I tried to run but it seemed my legs had roots instead of feet. My breathing seemed incredibly loud against the darkness, God help me. I leaned in trying to pinpoint the sound. I heard another rustling in the kitchen. I willed my feet to move but my stubborn fear held me to this spot. Then I saw my baby come strutting out of the kitchen, coffee grounds and gravy smoothed through his golden coat, and the meat I threw away earlier dangled from his mouth. I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. He stopped when he saw me. He looked at me with that half-cocked head turning from side to side as his beady, black eyes pierced through the nights glow to see if he was in trouble. He must have sensed my fear mixed with relief because he whimpered lightly then backed into the front room to gently sit on his bed. I just gaped at him. It's just my Sammy. Breathe Jackie, come on girl, breathe. Once I was sure I could walk without hitting the floor I headed toward the kitchen. My legs had the rubbery shaky feeling that too much exercising brings on. It was like trying to get spaghetti to stand up straight. I leaned heavily on the wall as I ventured toward the dark emptiness my baby just abandoned. As I rounded the corner to the kitchen I spotted the kitchen graffiti Sammy left. The only trash bag I had used to clean the corner of the attic was ripped apart as well as the bag I had used to clean the ice box. A mixture of old, musky, torn clothes and crumpled papers were covered with gravy and coffee grounds. Swirls of colored flour and what was left of Tuesdays meatloaf scattered from one end to the other. From the corner beside the ice box, to the door I had spent so much time making curtains for, little paw prints circled the room, and a single paw print was on the bottom of the fridge door. I grabbed another trash bag and started flinging the mess back into it. I couldn't hold my anger down. Although it wasn't my baby I was mad at and I was glad to see hom come through that door, it was the fact that anybody could have come through that door, anybody. Even though I had managed to keep busy all day and for the majority of the night, I knew there that there was no way I could sleep now. Fine I'll take a hot shower, get dressed and decide what I'm doing the rest of the time till I must go to Stefan's. I stood under the hot fingers massaging my back, and all I could do was cry. My tears were washed away by the gentle indexes trying to wash my pain away. I stood there till I felt I could again face the cold, empty house. After I gave Sammy a bath, I went and sat on the porch swing. The sun definitely looked beautiful as it stepped above the horizon. The blue and orange collide making a light violet streak across the otherwise midnight sky. It's like a painter miss-striking the painstakingly perfect spot; it stands out from the rest of the painting. I finally felt relaxed enough to sleep. Ok. I pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and curled up. I looked down at Sammy curled up at my feet. It's hard to believe he is almost two. It seems like time goes by so fast at times that you just forget to look around and say, "Hey! I'm a part of this charade too." Then there are times that it goes by so slow that you just wish you could die or become faster than the world. That's mostly when you're younger though. The moments you want to forget stick with you and some you want to remember just vanish. Stepping Stones Ch. 01 It was twelve O'clock in the morning and the alarm wouldn't stop blinking. I rolled over and saw a picture of James. Suddenly the memory seeped through me and all the pain from that day came flooding through. Why? Why him? Why me?! I used to think he was the perfect roommate; everybody said I didn't have anything to worry about. I liked him so much, he was such a cool guy. Always willing to spring for pizza or a flick. After spending all days and nights with him I even felt myself in love. How could I ever imagine I'd hated him like I did now? And how could a small part of me still feel love for him? As I lay there in the dark, I could not stop the tears from falling; The pain I endured that night hit me so hard that this was the first time since it had happened that I had the opportunity to feel real emotion. I willed the tears to stop but they wouldn't subside. I curled up as small as I could, drawing the covers over my head. I just wish I could disappear or that this chest pounding pain was just a nightmare. I wanted to wake up tomorrow with all of it gone. I yearn for it to go back to normal; to be able to look at him without feeling a disgusting tug in my stomach. My sobs echoed in the dark, empty room. It seemed like years before the tears were finally gone from my aching eyes. I thought that if I got up and heated some tea I might be able to sleep this night out unlike the others. Not that I'd be of much help. But neither would be staying there as there was no way I could have gone to sleep. So I flung back the blankets and threw my feet over the side of the bed in disgust. I started walking towards the living room when I heard a crashing sound near the kitchen. All thoughts left but one. James! No, not him! Dear God, don't let it be him! I tried to run back but it seemed my legs had grown roots. My breathing became incredibly loud against the darkness, so I leaned in trying to pinpoint the sound. But when I heard another rustling in the kitchen again I willed my legs to move but they just wouldn't give way. Then I saw my baby coming strutting out of the kitchen, coffee grounds and gravy smoothed on his golden coat, and the meat I threw away earlier dangled from his mouth. I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. He stopped when he saw me. He looked at me with that half-cocked head turning from side to side as his beady, black eyes pierced through the nights glow to see if he was in trouble. He must have sensed my fear mixed with relief because he whimpered lightly then backed into the front room to gently sit on his bed. I just gaped at him. It's just my Sammy. Breathe Jackie, come on girl, breathe. Once I was sure I could walk without hitting the floor I headed toward the kitchen. My legs had the type of rubbery shaky feeling that too much exercising brings on. I leaned heavily on the wall as I ventured toward the dark emptiness my baby just abandoned. As I rounded the corner to the kitchen I spotted the kitchen graffiti Sammy left. The only trash bag I had used to clean the corner of the attic was ripped apart as well as the bag I had used to clean the ice box. A mixture of old, musky, torn clothes and crumpled papers were covered with gravy and coffee grounds. Swirls of colored flour and what was left of Tuesdays' meatloaf scattered from one end to the other. From the corner beside the ice box, to the door I had spent so much time making curtains for, little paw prints circled the room, and a single paw print was on the bottom of the fridge door. I grabbed another trash bag and started flinging the mess back into it. I couldn't hold my anger down, although it wasn't my baby I was mad at. I had being so glad when I saw him coming through that door, when it could have been anybody... As I knew there that there was no way I could sleep now, I decided to take a hot shower, get dressed, and later think about what I was going to do the rest of the time till went to Stefan's. I stood under the shower, hot fingers massaging my back, and all I could do was cry. My tears were washed away by the gentle indexes; I wanted them to wash my pain away too. I stood there till I felt I could again face the cold, empty house. After I gave Sammy a bath, I went outside and sat on the porch swing. The sun looked beautiful as it stepped above the horizon. The blue and orange collided, making a light violet streak across the otherwise midnight sky. It looked like a painter was miss-striking the painstakingly perfect spot. When I finally felt relaxed enough to sleep, I pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and curled up beneath it. I looked down at Sammy curled at my feet. It was hard to believe he was almost two. It seemed like time went by so fast at times that you just forget to look around and say, "Hey! I'm a part of this charade too." Then there were times when it went by so slowly you just wish you'd die or become faster than the world. That's mostly when you're younger though. The moments you want to forget stick with you and some you want to remember just vanish. CHAPTER 1 "Think of it as a foreboding stone in the only exit, to overcome it could be crushing in any perspective. To succeed means to continue in life, but to fail means to face the daunting terror again and again until it is finally overcome." Just thinking about baring myself scared the hell out of me. "You mean to tell me that if I can't tell you what happened, it's going to haunt me until I tell someone about it? "Yes and no, if you don't tell anyone and try to deal with it alone, you have just as much of a chance of overcoming it; however, it would take a hell of a lot longer and no one to lean on through the process." I stared at him a minute taking in his words. I didn't realize how tall or how lean he actually was. His eyes were as big and as blue as the sky and I thought that if I looked close enough I could see the stars drifting inside. His chin had a scar that looked jagged and old, and I couldn't help wondering where it came from. "Jackie?" he said, breaking the silence. "Yes?" I whispered. "Are you going to let me help you?" he leaned forward as if trying to pull the answer from my soul. I glanced at my hands, shaking in my lap. How could I trust anyone anymore? Why should I? My eyes darted nervously around the room, settling on the intense look gazing back at me. But this was Stefan, and I had known him for years... and I couldn't live with the paranoia anymore. "Yes," I said after a moment, not knowing how I managed to get that death warrant from my lips. "Excellent!" he practically screamed the word. "I promise you won't regret it, and you are welcome to stay at my house, since I know you're not comfortable going back home." "Your house...? I don't know... I mean, I didn't know that's what you meant by helping me. Why would we need to go to your house ... alone?" I stammered at his gusto. "Listen to me Jackie; I am your best friend and practically your therapist besides. Why would I do anything to hurt you? When I say come to my house I mean like...as friends, nothing else. Okay?" "Okay" I felt myself cave into his generosity; after all, he was just looking out for me. "What time should I be there?" "Is noon alright with you?" "You got yourself a date." Before he could say anything else, I added. "I've got to go, see you tomorrow." I could feel his eyes burning into me as I grabbed my jacket and purse, and luckily he chose not to say anything. I hurried out the door before he could change his mind.