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Excerpt ~ "I Have Mine...Show Me Yours"


For a preview of my book "I Have Mine...Show Me Yours" for the book promotion I am offering now I am posting the opening so readers can peek at what's inside the book.

The Beginning

Everyone has a story, just like everyone has their ‘stuff’, and we’ve all come to love showing off our ‘stuff’. It is also true that everyone has genitals, yet, unlike their ‘stuff’, not everyone will show you their genitals.

There is a certain trust inculcated in showing off the latter, whereas trust has nothing to do with the former. It is one of the vanities of Ego that drives the former, and the pathos of Ego fear that drives the latter, hence the great need of underlying trust.

I’ve learned many things through the years, one of which was the above abrogation of trust in showing one’s genitals. That never worked out for me, and growing up I had to put up with the mere dream of ever seeing what lay beneath a girl’s shorts.

I wasn’t like Andy Pike who’s two girl cousins visited during the summer months, having the luxury of spending days on his dad’s sprawling acreage he called his back yard, replete with old tool sheds and work shop, and the most prized place in the Universe for anyone who knew Andy. His fabled tree fort.

The use of the word ‘fort’ here in lieu of ‘house’ is due to Andrew’s (his mother’s use when he was in trouble) devious exploitation of defenses against anyone reaching his sanctuary without his expressed approval, and direct assistance.

It was Andy who set the bar high for any of us mortals who had dreams of even a peek at a naked girl. It wasn’t that Andy was overly stingy or even mean spirited. Not intentionally. He just had what he had and believed it was natural as rain.

It was this quality about Andy that most benefited us mortals who went mentally slack jawed whenever he related his adventures of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” with his cousins in the tree fort. He wasn’t boasting or lording it over us. Just cluing us in to something we would all willingly die for just to hear it spoken.

And that leads us to my own single moment of hopeful salvation. Living long enough to truly see a girl’s genitals.

That moment when the Universe speaks directly to you, opens that magical window of opportunity where one stares into infinity and sees everything all at once. I mean, that can happen, right? I had reached the advanced age of nine, and knew so much more than even a summer ago, although I’m not completely sure what that might be if asked.

Cynthia Patterson sat in front of me in fourth grade. She had the same color hair as the good witch of the East in the Land of Oz. . . The color of honey and curled around the edges. Sitting in back of her gave me endless time to fall in love with the face of an angel, even though I rarely got to see it. It was good enough to imagine. Then came a most fateful day of my life, when the Universe answers pleaded prayers and opens that window just for your personal pleasure.

As an Air Force brat, life was spent mostly on base housing that adults called Cape Hart. Go figure. That set one apart from “town kids” who lived in normal houses on tree lined streets with the names of dead presidents, and parks named after dead town elders.

The park near the grade school had a swimming pool that opened during the summer months, when life became good. On one such glorious summer day while at the pool, the angel herself was sitting on her towel near the concession stand. Cynthia Patterson in a two piece swim suit. Have I mentioned the part about pure devotional love for this angel?

Having fifty-cents in my blue jeans meant ice cream for two persons, or two Cherry Cokes, or two. . . whatever my angel wanted. I don’t have much memory as to how I was able to navigate the three-hundred or so miles between my position at the pool and hers on the other side but it only took me, say… twenty seconds, perhaps finite hours, depending on one’s exact take on Einstein’s dictum of the special relativity of time.

I ended up close enough to Cynthia to put the important question of the century to her concerning her desire for ice cream on such a hot day. I also don’t remember what she said, or if she said anything at all. Her smile was brighter than the sun, which at the moment was making my eyes water from the sweat running down my face. Breathing came in short quick gasps and my heart was thumping to the intense drum beat at a rock concert. All I remember is her and I standing in front of the concession stand with ice cream cones in our hands, and staring into Cynthia’s eyes, as Dionysius having blundered into looking at the Medusa herself. There was no turning back.

The rest of the pool time is once again considered within the scope of time relativity, infinitely long, painfully too short. And that’s when the Universe spoke, Dionysius was offered immortality, Cynthia uttered the bejeweled words of proffered hope. Did I want to go into the deserted dressing room… “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”. . . .

Cynthia Patterson, in a two piece bathing suit, nearly naked already! offering me the Devine, the Ultimate trip to the stars. All I had to do was make some kind of sound, like okey-dokey… sure… yes, please, that would be terrific… I’ve been meaning to ask you…

Nope. Nada. Zip, Zilch. Just the idiot’s stare, probably with the bulging eyes of the town moron, and the slight nod of the head. I at least got that going.

Time floated by in delicious riplets, tickling the essence of one’s being. Possibly time simply stopped, ceased to exist as mortals know it. There was just an angel in a two piece swim suit, and me standing alone in a darkened dressing room. My ears ringing and body feeling the electric pulses coursing through me in unimaginable intensity. I don’t believe I was breathing.

“You go first… show me yours.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go on… let me see”

Unintelligible thoughts…

“Hurry up, before someone comes in!”

Slowly, possibly in an instant… I shamefully found my hands on the waste-band of my bathing trunks pulling with some urgency to begin the magical circle of shared awareness. Never having a thought to what might later be termed shrinkage enter my thinking at the time. And having done so, and not sure what the next step in the process demanded, stood transfixed like the simple dummy I later viewed myself.

The rest was a blur of immense bewilderment, shame and emotional betrayal weaving a spell of disillusionment upon hearing her panicked words of retreat when she blurted out…..

“Someone’s coming!...” Then darted out of the room, with me standing there in a shrunken state of shock.

There is a warning system in the male for impending shrinkage, sort of a electro-chemical pulse along every single axon that flashes through a man’s entire system in 8.3 nanoseconds before a RLM (Red Letter Message) is posted proclaiming; “every drop of blood has been siphoned out of your penis.” It takes 116 nanoseconds for that to happen. It has already happened before the extra blood reaches your brain. It takes over 500 nanoseconds for one to reach their “original face” or, that look you get just as you step off a curb without knowing it.

In any case, by the time you know you are standing there in full shrinkage, which makes your penis the size of a baby’s thumb, the second light goes on that you also are showing your original face and both horrors still have to sink in. That takes another 500 or so nanoseconds, which leaves you standing there stupefied until the full second is up, or you faint, whichever comes first. It’s optional whether the female pretends to ignore your condition or points and titters, in that annoying way.

The rest of what remained of my childhood is sketchy, or possibly obliterated by my want to merely forget. I was no Andy Pike. The window to the Universe had slammed shut on me whilst I was struggling to wiggle through in a vain attempt at personal glory. It wasn’t a bad childhood, as childhood goes. Just not vainglorious. I had been humbled.

As I said, I was an Air Force brat. That meant changes to one’s life whenever my father was assigned to another base. Which was with regularity. Almost a yearly routine. That set up my nomadic ways which persisted throughout most of my adult life.

Old, deeply engrained habits die slowly, or not at all, which brings me to my memories of my adult life as a single parent. However, those experiences were shaped inexplicably by certain events in high school, which directly shaped me in ways that aided in my remaining alive in spite of my deep seated naiveté. Thus I digress for the sake of explanation.


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g. Michael Handgis Photography

gmichaelhandgisphotography.com

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