So how did things go?

Well, I had a lovely time.  I enjoyed a nice lunch watching the ducks and geese.  I fed the fish twice, and saw way more goldfish than I’d ever seen there before.  I even caught sight of a catfish with his curly little mustache.

No one showed, of course.  Not that I expected anyone to.  Still, it seems almost a shame to waste having worn a perfectly sexy little thong.  Not that anyone was about to get a look at it, but it’s nice to enjoy wearing fun things all the same.

And on a hideously un-sexy turn, I managed to use my time in the sun to finish writing a letter to my mother.  Which is kind of a big thing.  Let me explain:

Dad died when I was seven.  Mom just kind of folded in on herself.  We never really had a great relationship.  Even if not especially once I’d grown up.  Lately though my sister has been making more headway getting Mom to open up than I ever could.  So sometimes Mom writes an email.  It maybe bounces back and forth a couple of times before becoming a lame duck.

This time, she wrote a letter.  A real honest hand-written snail-mail-delivered letter.  It was a nice personal touch.  So of course I had to write back.  I kind of like writting letters the old way.  Email is convenient, but writing letters are enjoyably personal.

Anyway, in her letter she commented on how it makes her sad that we never really got to know each other.

And I agree.  It is.  And it’s amazing headway towards having a real live mom.  I mean, growing up, she used to give us (my sister and I) almost no attention, because we were “normal”.  We didn’t need her love as much.  The foster children were the ones that really needed her.  So they got most of her attention.  So it’s nice to start having a mom I can talk to.

But … what can I really say?

I mean the time she found out I was Wiccan, she damn near disowned me.  Granted, I wasn’t even trying to come out to her about that.  She dropped by my apartment for Thanksgiving.  I’d accidentally forgotten to hide my altar.  (And by “accidentally forgotten to hide” I mean that it was such an every-day part of my life, that it simply hadn’t occurred to me that I had to hide it from her.)  For months after that fateful Thanksgiving, I had random members of her church emailing me in an attempt to “save” me.  And for years we couldn’t even talk about my religion, because to her, “Wicca is not a valid religion.”  And according to her, I’d become a witch just to hurt her.  (Her being the good born-again Christian.)

My being Wiccan certainly had nothing to do with who I was or what made me happy.  Not in her eyes.

It was a big setback for mom-hood.  It was very depressing.

So take that, and now multiply it by “Mom, didn’t you ever notice how weird I was as a boy?  Didn’t you ever wonder, when the family spread a rumor that I was gay?  Well, guess what?  I’m a woman born in a man’s body.  I’m not your little boy.  I’m your little girl… trapped in this ugly prison of flesh.  And it makes me feel better to wear women’s clothes and prance around in panties.  And I have dreams of taking it up the ass from a strap-on because it’s the closest to sex as a woman I’ll ever get unless I have a doctor chop my dick off and turn it inside out.”

Sure, she’s getting better.  But how do you even come out like that to dear old Mom?  You just … don’t.  Not until you know she can actually take it.  And even then, maybe not until the surgery…

I dunno.

I’m sure other moms take these things in stride.

Just as I’m sure my mom really doesn’t want to know why I can be so quiet about myself.

She doesn’t want to know that I probably could have been declared clinically insane for years, even if I am better now.  She doesn’t want to know that I wish I’d been born the woman I am.  She doesn’t want to know that I saw ghosts and spirits for years.  She doesn’t want to know that I was so empathic that in a way I was an unintentional psychic vampire, that I’d literally take on people’s negative emotions and the knowledge and understanding of them at random.  That I’d pick up on some kid across the playground at school who’s father beats him while mom drinks and pretends to not notice.  That in that moment of picking it up, I’d hurt as much as he did.  And could in that instant look straight at that boy and know exactly who it was I was picking up on even though I had no idea who he was.  (Thank the gods I learned to suppress my abilities over the years to where that doesn’t happen anymore.)  She doesn’t want to know about the times I tried to talk to pastors, counselors, and even shrinks, about any and all of my “Issues” just to try to find answers, only to either end up afraid of what they’d do to me because of their behavior after I told them just small parts, or to end up insulted by that empty look (or worse, the patronizing one) as they try to understand in theory, but have no way to personally relate.

She doesn’t want to know a lot of things.  So of course I can’t tell her!

But I can’t tell her there’s just nothing there to tell either, because that’d be a world-class lie.

I don’t know if I did the right thing or not, but I told her that I just don’t talk about me because there’s a lot that the world has taught me is not safe to share.  That it’s a big can of worms to open that you can’t go back from.  I feel bad about it, but, honestly, what could I say?  I wish I could tell her that I’m a perfectly normal guy, have only missionary sex, go to church once a week, donate blood regularly, and aspire to become a senior executive of a software firm.  But I’m not any of that.  I’m … complex.  I’m scary.  And at times I’m still really fucking confused with where my life is and where I should be going with it.

I’d love to have a mom that I could just talk about this kind of stuff to.  In theory I can talk about this all to my wife.  And I love her for that.  But there are just some things you feel weird talking about with the person you have sex with, even if she is my best friend.  Not that it wouldn’t be equally weird talking about these things to Mom either.  But at least you don’t have to look into Mom’s eyes while you make love.

And, okay, I’ve officially creeped myself out enough for one day.  No more talking about Mom.  And definitely not in the same paragraph as sex.  Ick!

But, so, anywho, this would be where having friends would be handy.  Like friends that have similar issues.  You can separate and compartmentalize your issues and deal with them with various individual sources, but you still need friends with similar issues who understand in order to do even that.

So, yeah.  A day in the park.  It was nice.  But it still doesn’t help me escape my life or sort anything out.

So I’ve decided to take some time to get out.  I’m going to spend a day in the park.  There’s a nice spot over a bridge where I can usually feed some goldfish.  I make a game of it, since the ducks come over as soon as food hits the water.  The game is to feed the fish without feeding the ducks.  Not that I’m trying to be mean to the ducks.  Really, I’m a nice guy.  But the park rules state no feeding the water fowl … but say nothing about feeding the fish.  So, there you go.  Besides, I like fish.

I used to have a nice goldfish tank, so long ago.  I still have the tank, in storage.  I just don’t have the room to set it up.  Small house.  And it’s not a priority.  But I used to have a wide assortment.  Calico fantails, black moors, koi.  It was actually years before I got one of the plain ordinary garden-variety goldfish.  He was cute though.  So I guess I have a thing for shiny carp.  They’re cute pets.  They beg for food.  They swim around.  I dunno.

Anyway, point being, I’m going out to the park today.  But it’s not just a fishie social call.  In theory it might be a human social call.  I invited the local folks from Adult FriendFinder to come out and enjoy the nice sunny day.

I’m expecting no one to show up though.  For starters, you don’t have sex in a public park.  I’m not really interested in sex with AFF folks.  You just find more open-minded people at AFF than you do at, say, a church social.  Some make good friends.  But so there’s not much of a draw to the AFF nature.  And then there’s that weird little detail that almost no one in AFF does anything in person.  I don’t understand how it works because you can’t have sex if you don’t meet at some point, but it’s a general truth.  Hold an event, get confirmations from people, and maybe half show up.  Maybe.  Usually more like a quarter.  Of the people that confirmed their attendance.  And in this case, no one has said they’ll be coming.  So half to a quarter of zero is … zero.  Hell, just to keep the numbers right I’m almost tempted to not show up!  (Just kidding.)

But so, yeah.  I’m doubting that I’ll actually be making any new friends today.  But what else can I do?  At least I’ll enjoy the time at the park, feeding the fish. 

So I guess if I remember to, I’ll tell you all how the day goes after I get back home.  Because “after all is said and done” doesn’t really work if you don’t do and say.  Or something like that…