Naked Window Exposed Revelations - book by Antonio Cassone

In his fourth published work, Antonio Cassone continues his memoir book series with 'seasons three and four.' The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations picks up right where it's predecessor Opening the Naked Window left off. This story continues the journey full of joy, love, pain and loss that goes with it and the storyteller reveals himself more so than ever before, with a bearing of the soul. The premise of "what if your life were a weekly television drama series" continues where chapters are episodes and installments in the continuing series are referred to as seasons. As you get deeper into the tale, you are taken through an intense world, where reality can be a bit stifling yet learned from nonetheless. This revealing character analysis and self-examination cascades boundaries of sexuality and race, leaving only one thing to come to mind: our humanity...

Available in both Paperback and Kindle Editions HERE

Happy Mother's Day (featuring an excerpt from my book 'The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations')

It has been awhile since I shared an excerpt from the books within my memoir series. For some reason, turning 40 this year is making me miss my Mom something fierce this mother's day. Sure we had our rifts, but with that being her holiday and my Dad's birthday having been on May 13th, we often celebrated the two events together - and one thing about my mother, she always tried her best to make holidays, special occasions and birthdays special. So, Mother's Day has always been full of wonderful memories. That is, after all, what I have of my folks. Not many photographs (long story), but memories galore.

Speaking of photographs...the one of 'a mother's day' rose was one I took yesterday afternoon. I first noticed this beautiful rose blooming yesterday morning, when I was out back on the phone with my friend, Pam, who is like a second mother to me, I took some photos then, just as the sun was rising...the light hitting it just right. Then I went on about my day, edited some videos, had a photo shoot and during our shoot it began to rain, then after he left it rained some more. By the time I decided to take a break, it had just stopped raining and I went outside and happened upon this rose again...fresh, after the rain. A beautiful sight...

The excerpt is from books/seasons three and four, The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations (released as a combo through Create Space, an Amazon Company - details below) - it is Episode/Chapter Two from the 'season'/book four Revelations portion...Enjoy a slice of my life story.

~

from The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations by Antonio Cassone; Revelations - Episode 2: Sweet Grandma Sharon

Then this sweetness my mother had, that was in her persona all her life I am sure - it just needed to be given a chance - seemed to trickle down to my friends and our neighbors. Anya always referred to her as Grandma Sharon. So did Pat's daughter, Theresa, and later in life Theresa's son would be spoiled with gifts Mom could hardly afford. My friends were suddenly not rushed off the phone if I was away at work or doing a show. Sometimes she knew of their life events before I did. Then there's the amazing sisterhood she formed with the women of her church group and the many young ladies she mentored late in her life at a shelter for abused teenage girls, who sought the mean streets of the inner city for whatever they needed to survive. These were facets of my mother that made me admire her more and more and it was a side my siblings either never got a chance or took a chance to see.

*

All of us were guilty of putting the weight of our problems on Mom's shoulders.

I felt so bad that I lost my mind one day with her, gained her respect despite having showed her hardly any in the process and was literally her right arm man in the last few years of her life. We became each others sounding boards, each others pal, each others 'Judy' in aggressively charming chatter that we proudly called conversations of love. She ended up being voted Mentor of the Year from that program that helped the teenagers by the very people she provided so much relief to. She ended up being voted in as Chairperson of her church group. Yet, in the eyes of my siblings, James and Anne especially - she was a stone cold bitch, damned for sins committed and repented on ages ago.

*

One day, I was going through one of my frustrated-I-couldn't-get-Keithen moods and had been running about a dozen errands between the bank job and my weekly show at Sam's Tiffany's Lounge when I got another nagging page from my mother, who ultimately only needed me to pick up yet another item at yet another store. Well, when I got out of the car to call her on a payphone, I locked the keys in my car. I was livid beyond repair and James was the only one available to come and call his insurance to come and unlock the car for me.

"She is such a [expletive deleted for this post] b*tch." I hollered at him with a borderline snarl.

I lost control and only fed into what his thought-process was of her. When I would catch Anne on the phone all I did was complain about my tireless running for Mom. Sean surely heard more than enough of my complaints about Mom, as well. So, I only fueled the lining of their arguments and sealed the alibi for their own constant placing of blame on Mom for their own mess. I was venting, but I only enhanced their already damaged relationships with her.

Then I would see her doing what she grew to do the best. Deep in prayer with a newly widowed friend from church, while I painted my face for the gods for that nights show. Writing numerous greeting cards with words of inspiration to either a girl she mentored or a client she sold beauty products to. My mother was priceless in that regard. I mean, when you ordered from her you not only got the items, but were met with a ton of samples and a greeting card to boot. I couldn't stay mad at her for long, but all my siblings heard was trash. I took the blame for my part in their views on her long ago and I learned to excuse them of some of their blaming her in time.

*

Mom would fret over any of us at any given time, especially as the years went by. Her deep sense of detachment from James and how he felt about her made her so sad sometimes. One day, she told me how hurt she was that she did him such harm to his spirit, more so than anything else. I would tell her to talk to him, to ask for his forgiveness. She would try to help him out when she could with either a phone call or a nice card, but I felt that their damaged relationship was beyond greeting cards and ten minute phone calls. She did try, though.

She would appreciate Sean for his stepping up to the plate to help me out. He eventually moved into the flat above us and he did lift the burden slightly off my shoulders. I was grateful because at least someone would be around her. She never ate properly, either by choice or because we were low on funds. If it were between a meal and her cigarettes, the cigarettes would surely win the battle.

Anne ended up committing yet another petty crime, which I am sure she had done before due to the complex demands of her habits. One time she got caught and ended up in jail. Mom was devastated. That really took a lot out of her, seeing one of us kids go to jail. It opened her eyes in a huge way. She got even more protective of her grandchildren. When Anne got out and was bouncing in and out of rehab, she got fiercer in her line of questioning towards my sister, which surely didn't help Anne's views of her from the past.

Anya was wonderful to my mother. She would have made the most excellent daughter-in-law for her if I could keep my lustful eyes off of men long enough to even take notice. Both women respected one another almost to a fault and Anya would come over to help her out. She shared with Anya that to her I was a lot like my father insofar as my taking care of her. My mother learned to look past my complaining and see that I was really compassionate to her constant health problems, growing lack of appetite, and worry for her family and need to show the world as much love as she could muster.

One night Maria called my mother with a life event and she consoled a tearful woman, who was surely on the brink of doing herself harm. Maria would always tell me what a wonderful soul my mother was and how that one conversation alone spoke volumes about her character. My mother talked to her like a sister, with the respect given to a dignitary. My mother saved a lot of desperate people near the end of her life.

*

I was still so in love, or so I thought with the idea of Keithen and I being in a relationship. Despite his booming relationship with the other man (that's how I viewed it), I still showered him with gifts and compliments, but none of it ever made an impression. My mind on him began to take away from my line of sight regarding my mother's health. She, like my father had before her, began to stop complaining. Instead she would share such things with her church sisters. She once told Irene that she felt like she was slowly "slipping." She shared with Genevieve that her energy was very low some days and she felt the need to sleep later and later. She told Mary that her body was "failing" her immensely.

There were signs to the drama that would soon unfold, but I had only two seasons - a fun autumn and a bittersweet winter - to share with my mother ...and I was none the wiser.

*

Sweet Grandma Sharon

The gentle hands knitting a blanket so soft to my skin

The firm grip of a respectful handshake or a loving hug

The beauty of the true love she felt for each one of her kin

The soft patter of her toe tapping to sweet music on kitchen's rug

The look in the eye making you her equal

No matter your age or life's position

She gave from her heart so deep and full

No matter your color or religion

She transcended what she dished out or served

By showing the way to so many she called her beloved

Challenging herself all the way down the road of life's crooked curve

By giving of her spirit to so many she had shown love

The hand on your shoulder complimenting a good deed

No matter your creed or sexual orientation

The sound of her giddy laughter that tugged one's heart with a squeeze

No matter your way of dress or conversation

The gentle hands comforting an ill loved one so soft to my skin

The firm grip of a pinch when a joke was told or a sweet hug

The beauty of genuine forgiveness she sought from her kin

The soft patter of her toe tapping to sweet music on kitchen's rug

-----------

The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations by Antonio Cassone is available for purchase through CreateSpace, an Amazon Company. Click here for more information.

Prepared Awareness (Excerpt 1 of 5 from "The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations")

My memoir series continued with a combo of books (seasons) 3 & 4 in The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations. Remember the premise: What if your life were a made-for-television drama series (or, in my case made-for-cable)? It is where the books are referred to as seasons and the chapters are episodes ...from my life story. Here I bring to you a passage from Season 3, Episode 1 Prepared Awareness.

~

So, one stormy Saturday afternoon the beginning of October that year, as I sat in Tiger's lavish apartment overlooking Grand Circus Park...I had a moment. It came crashing down on me quick and in fierce fashion. Tiger was cooking another fabulous meal in the kitchen and I was in the bedroom looking out the window, suddenly it dawned on me that my father was definitely going to die and very soon. I felt so childlike. I wanted so much to be a kid again.

As difficult as my childhood was, as much as I felt belittled and put into a petrified state on that yellow school bus and all the pent up sexuality and hands touching me when I didn't want them to and wanting to touch when I couldn't; in that instant I wished for it all again. Even though I really was ready, I didn't feel ready for that bitter truth. Sure, my mother would be somewhat okay financially. He made sure she would, but I would still have to be the one. Be the man of the house. Can you imagine how I felt in that one moment in time?

Crippled.

Devoid of any kind of wit.

I was so glad that Tiger didn't walk in on me and disturb the moment. True friends have a way of knowing when to give you your moment. Lord knows, my father had passed the baton of manhood to me years ago. It happened one spring morning when he was going through man-o-pause, as I like to call it. Oh, for days he was really giving Mom a hard time and even though, at first, it was from years of pent up frustration, but as much as my mother could have been a hindrance she was a blessing - especially to him.

They had a very strange and strong love for and with one another. It is a love that I have envied in my adult life - to be that into one another, at that level of intensity and it not be based on sex. It was purely spiritual and very emotional for both. They would laugh, cry, yell, cry and laugh during a fierce argument or an intensified conversation, but it always ended in laughter. My God, it was like watching a dance seeing the two of them. So, when things started to go in another direction for a bit when I was like sixteen, I didn't like it.

The fire had happened, so there was that added pressure and you already know my mother didn't work, so a lot of the financial burden rested on his lap. However, he enabled that behavior and my mother did keep our home together, paid all the bills, took care of his business, saw that his clothes were cleaned, cooked memorable meals. Sure, I was given a lot of tasks to do, but she made sure between the two of us he wasn't bothered by much of the house issues. And as time went on and she got out of her funk, she got better at being a wife and mother. That's the woman I wished my siblings would have witnessed coming into her own.

So, this one particular Sunday, we were all preparing dinner in the kitchen and my dad was getting a little out of hand with disrespectful comments to my mother and she'd fire back, but after while he just went on and on. I just sat there wanting to punch his lights out. Hey, she had her flaws, but he was talking about my mother! So, I asked him what his problem was. Well, he wasn't having any of that and before I knew it we were toe to toe in the kitchen ready to box. My mother was beside herself, trying to break us up. Honey, we ended up in the pantry and I wasn't giving in.

I told him I was too big to whip, so now what? He didn't need to talk to her like that when he helped to make her who she was. He needed to get over whatever uphill battle he felt the need to be battling at the time. I told him maybe pimpin' some prostitute might put his house in order, if he was thinking about steppin' out on Mom, "then do it and be done with it, but you better never let her find out about it." We were choking each other, practically wrestling - neither willing to let go.

"That's the problem, I can't...I won't do that." He said he had always been faithful to her. There was no physical release for him. There was no getting past her comments anymore and the romance just wasn't where it was before. Then we were just standing there in the pantry talking about their relationship like I was a sex therapist. My mother was disgusted and said she was disappointed in both of us.

"You, Tony, I can actually kind of understand, but you..." With one look she left the room and the wuss was back. He went right after her and they worked out whatever the hell that was about. I often wondered about my father trying to get with some younger chick. I mean this was right on the heels of Aunt Priscilla and her little discovery from hell, so it was on the subconscious at least. I just stood there bewildered and once I composed myself, I finished peeling the potatoes.

About an hour or so later, my Dad and I were on the front porch laughing and carrying on, comparing boxing scorecards. He said I was his son, indeed. He would stick up for his mother, too. He said he bet I thought he had lost his mind. I thought I had disrespected him. He told me, far from it - I gained his respect. See, where he came from it was almost commonplace to go a few rounds in the garage with Uncle Steve, who practically raised my dad and uncles after my grandfather had a crippling stroke and eventually died. Then we went on joking and talking about the Detroit Tiger's game. It was weird and delightful all at once and he was okay towards my mother after that.

So, fast forward to Tiger's bedroom October 1995, I stood there quietly crying to myself that my father would be gone soon and I would have to prepare myself for that fact. It's not like I didn't know. I mean he had been sick for such a long time, but it just came crashing down on me right then and there. What was I going to do? I certainly wouldn't be able to chase my theatrical dreams without his support. At the time, my mother was very supportive, but there was a little something holding her back. He, on the other hand, was all the way in my corner. He wanted me to fulfill things he only dreamt of doing on the stage. Too bad he wasn't able to share in the little success I was having at the time.

So, as time went on over the next week and a half I carried on. I watched my mother labor over taking care of him. When he was coherent he spoke gibberish most of the time and we would get a nervous laugh or two on his behalf. Her lady friends, Mary, Irene and Genevieve were all great sounding boards. My brother, Sean, started to come over more and more and that was good to see and good for me to have a sibling on my side. I went to work. I went to rehearsal. I even had a date with Blue. And I had a date with Ken.

They were great for the body and emotionally it was nice to just lay in bed with a man, any man and both did their best to provide a chest to lay my head upon.

Usually, sex with them was fast, hectic and raunchy to the hilt - which was fabulous, Mary, but then - at that time - they just provided much needed tenderness. It was very natural and not what I expected from either of my booty call, (expletive deleted for this post) buddies. They both told me I was much more to them than that. I had personality. I was deep. Intense. I told Blue I didn't need any more responsibility right then. He told me, as he caressed my shoulders ever so gently.

"Just go with it. Be prepared. Be aware and you will know what to do next. It will just come to you, man."

Like my mother said, help - whether financially or fundamentally - comes from the sources we least suspect and Blue's mere utterance helped me tremendously.

My eyes were wide open and I was seeing the forest for the trees for the very first time.

I was becoming...

_________________________________

The Naked Window: Exposed/Revelations 2-in-1 combo is available at Amazon CLICK HERE and other fine online retailers.

When Will It Ever End? (Excerpt 5 of 5 from "Opening the Naked Window" - Book 2 of the Memoir Series)

I bet you thought I forgot to post the fifth/final segment/sample from book 2 of the memoir series. No - as promised, this passage takes place in book/season two, chapter/episode 20.

~

July 31, 1995

My dad was unusually chipper when we awoke that morning. He nonchalantly told my mom and I that his mother, Grandma Cassone had passed away and it was like he had seen her like one would see an angel. I was red with anger. I never felt much like an outcast until I dealt with my father's uppity, extended family and I wasn't looking forward to yet another 'Cassone funeral.' I grew tired from a very young age of all the weddings and funerals and weddings and funerals and weddings...you get the picture. We were the only ones who remained behind in Detroit. Aside from my Uncle Don and Grandma Cassone, the rest of them pretty much seemed forgetful of their own humble beginnings. I knew in my hardest of hearts that when it was my father's time, Mom would force me to keep in touch with them. However, I found them all to be a bunch of fake asses and they made my stomach turn on many occasion.

So, we'd be going to yet another funeral and I was certain there would be high drama. You see, Uncle Rosario was the 'black sheep' of the family, had a very bad gambling problem that took all his money and in time sent him crying to my parent's front door late one night. He wanted to stay with us and I heard a bitter, yet understanding display of words from my father. My father wanted nothing to do with Rosario's problem, not Rosario himself, but his problem. I ran into Rosario a few months before Grandma Cassone's death and he told me to tell my father he didn't have a little brother anymore.

My father being the soft hearted man he could be would have been devastated by the notion, so Mom and I decided it would be best to keep that little bit of information from him. What gives, though? Would Rosario not speak to him at their mother's funeral? It would surely be the measure of his manhood if he could over look my father's rejection of him, which my father viewed as helping Rosario more than hurting him, but sock-it-to-me if Rosario didn't utter one word to my father at the funeral or the social that followed. I was quick to inform him he didn't have a 'weird nephew' any longer.

My father was a wreck at the funeral. He just writhed in pain. Mom and I would have even preferred if he hadn't gone, but we knew better than to fight him on it. Hell, it was actually something he wanted to do. My brother, Sean, was great to Mom and I then. He drove us to the funeral. He was the only of my siblings that my dad's extended family took to. Again, aside from Uncle Don and Grandma, my father marrying my mother who had children from a previous marriage was a complete and total no-no. They nosed down at us every chance they had, like my mother was the whore of the Amazon or something. It would really get to me after while, but my mother was better than all of them.

I would be so proud of her, even when I was too young to really figure it out. At all those weddings and funerals, she would always be the one sitting next to Grandma Cassone laughing and carryin' on like two Judy's. And out of all my numerous male cousins it was I who danced with Grandma Cassone first. It was tradition for the youngest grandson to dance with Grandma first. I would laugh to myself thinking they would try to look down on us, but they couldn't be blind and surely saw we were what the backbone of this family was made up of. Hardworking. Middle class. City folk. Not white collar, rich suburbanites - that's what they worked for and became.

I swear if my writing ever takes me anywhere and I get rich and remotely famous one day, I pray I don't ever forget where I've come from, because it can happen. When it does...it's sad. I didn't know my Grandpa Cassone. He died when my father was just 16. However, from all the stories my Dad told of his father, I am sure he would be spinning at the sight of how the family treated us. Not Grandma Cassone, though, she saw beyond the simple mindedness. My siblings were like any of her other grand children. They got Christmas cards with the rest of us. I truly believe there was an unspoken respect for my mother in her eyes. Kinda like those who are last are first.

So, there we are at her funeral. My dad was a wreck. My brother, Sean, and I kept making faces at one another, which made me almost burst into laughter. We would always do that sort of thing, to break the monotony and I was sure my Aunt Donna remembered the time I embarrassed her at my Uncle Steve's funeral. Uncle Steve, like so many men in my family, had a bad history of heart disease and stroke. He had seven heart attacks and when he died; my mother broke my heart at how sad she was. She really respected him and what he had done for his family over the years. He kept them real. This was some years before, when I was just a boy and I remember he was the one that practically raised the family with Grandma Cassone, when Grandpa Cassone got sick and eventually died.

I remember Uncle Steve and I having a very deep conversation about Meryl Streep. It's funny how I remember that so vividly now. He could see I had some sort of talent for acting and he told me to make something of it. Then he went on and on about how great this Meryl Streep would be. It strikes me funny because this was like back when she was in The Deer Hunter. He had an insight about everyday people too, that he got from Grandma Cassone for sure and Uncle Don and my Dad had it too, but the rest of them... You already know. So, Aunt Donna and I were praying by Uncle Steve's casket and it was quiet and I started trying to sniff out this scent that came across my nose.

"What is that?" I said sternly.

Aunt Donna, my Dad's sister-in-law said, "Oh, you must be smelling my perfume."

Then I said, slowly (which added to the hilarity), "I thought it was formaldehyde."

After Aunt Donna and I shared a hysterical laugh, right over Uncle Steve's casket mind you - we thought he would actually bust a gut with us; we were carrying on so much. She 'thanked' me and I never lived it down. You know how something was once funny, but every time you see them and they tell the story again...it isn't funny anymore. So, she of course just had to tell everyone the story over and over again.

What I noticed so much at Grandma Cassone's funeral was what all my dad's siblings obviously did not want to see and that was how sick my father was. Aside from Uncle Don's wife, Aunt Sandra, asking probing questions you would have thought my dad looked normal. That was so not the case. He had to walk with a walker and with my brother's and my help. My mother seemed a bit rebuffed once we got to the car, to go to the cemetery, at their sudden case of nearsightedness. See, what our side of the family is made up of...by the time we got to the cemetery we were all practically in tears from laughter, my father included. I would always throw a sarcastic remark out there to get laughs and Sean was always certain to practically do pratfalls to get a snicker or two - that time he had burned himself with the car's cigarette lighter, trying to get it for my mother.

So, there's my mother bitchin' about my dad's family, my dad trying to talk her down, then I throw out a snarly insult and Sean's screamin' and hollarin' because he burned his finger and didn't quite know where on the car floor that hot cigarette lighter went to. We just all started to laugh and we were once again perceived as the 'weird ones.'

Which was fine with me...

I'd rather be weird than snooty any day of the week.

________________________________________

Opening the Naked Window and other books by Antonio Cassone are available at Amazon >>>>CLICK HERE<<<< and other fine online retailers.

Father's Day (excerpt 3 of 5 from "Opening the Naked Window" book II of the memoir)

Here are passages from book/season two of the memoir series, chapter/episode 17: Father's Day...

~~~~~

What my lives in the theatre, work and school provided was a huge relief from the reality we were facing with my father's steadily, deteriorating health. Oh, but wait - there's more...my grandmother, my dear understanding and giving Googles was seemingly going through the same exact ailments as my father. My mother and I also had to look after my great uncle Ralph, Googles religiously fanatical brother - a World War II vet.

So, I got very little sleep and my mother kept me busy, as I was sole runner for all involved, yet I somehow maintained enough of a business sense to get The Ecstasy complete, rehearse for both The Extravaganza and Lonely, while squeezing in a few much needed dates in between. That was a time when those so-called 'booty calls' meant so much to me, because it provided a great escape from the realities that were haunting me - even if I hadn't realized their pressing reality at the time. Blue and Ken were both great sounding boards for me during our late night, pre-dawn trysts at your local motel.

You see, as I came up, people like Dad and Googles, and even Uncle Ralph seemed indestructible. Sure, I am not stupid, I know people die, but I don't know ...I always thought I would have many years with my loved ones. You know, be blessed like some of my friends, who don't seem to know what they'll be missing when they talk negatively about their parents or grand parents. I shrug my shoulders and shake my head in disbelief when I hear such nonsense because in the scheme of things; we are so pressed for precious time and life is indeed short. Short in a sense that I was brought up to find good in everything and everybody, to pay attention to the details and to accept people for who they are.

A lot of my adult life, I would look at these people who are blessed to be well into their forties and fifties, yet pained by caring for an ill parent or better yet by having their parent's still in their lives. They don't know where I have been and while a friend of mine told me that was a sick way to think, to be jealous of such, I beg to differ. Yet that is the way of the world. What is a burden to one may not be a burden to others and so on. I just wish people could see what I went through. How I felt such a great sense of loss and sunk into a deep depression, - not once or twice, - but three times in my adult life. I am finally finding some sense of joy, but again - IT is a process.

The philosophies were instilled in me at a very young age by my parents, who for the most part, gave all of us kids our share of rough love. Looking back I don't think I would be the person I am today if it weren't for the foundation they laid for me. My father would get on my last nerve, always making me apologize to my mother when we'd argue. Hell, I only argued with her because she raised me to speak my mind. I did so with a sense of jurisprudence and with much conviction. She'd tell me if I thought something was wrong or someone was wrong, I should expose it. And I exposed my parents more often than not to their many oversights. However, my father explained to me one day that my mother also needed to be respected and she in turn would learn to respect me in time. He predicted that she and I would become "Judy's" or the best of friends.

Like he was gonna die or something... get outta here.

*

After many rigorous tests, trips to specialists, chiropractors and many painful, painful days there was a light at the end of my dad's tunnel. That year on Father's Day morning, bright and early at 6:30 am I drove my dad to the hospital for an MRI. I tell you, that was something that probably should have happened month's before, but I digress. What a way to spend Father's Day, which was a day he and I shared many fond memories over the years. That year, we had planned to go to breakfast, the Tiger's baseball game then meet up with Mom for dinner. We went on with our plans and I am glad we did - now.

My father labored through his soon-to-be revelation of a test.

Then we shared a nice breakfast and went to old Tiger Stadium. It was at the ball game that I witnessed my father found some comfort, at least for a little while. For some reason, unbeknownst to me at the time, I really paid attention to his every move that day; his singing the National Anthem and Take Me Out To The Ball Game, his enjoying a hot dog and beer, his telling me the differences in pitches, as he did so many times before, but this time it seemed to be worthy of a listen, his banging the empty seat next to him to cheer the home team on. He recalled how he and I celebrated the Tiger's winning the World Series in 1984 and how he was so happy he got to share that with me in his lifetime. He got to escape for a change and it was a wonderful memory.

*

On the flip side of a good memory...

Two days later, my mother received an urgent call from my dad's doctor. They were to go into his office bright and early the next day. My mother, at her most dramatic I am sure, mustered enough information from Dr. Jeffries to get him to agree to see them that evening. My mother had already grown tired of waiting until "tomorrow" for what she could find out today and spare another night of lost sleep due to worry. Her husband was in pain, whimpering like a damn child and she was downright angry about it. She wanted to know what the hell it could be that a simple blood test or x-ray couldn't pick up. What exactly was it that was making her 'bear' act more like a cub every day?

CANCER...

It was official.

My father had lung cancer; more tests would reveal that it was small cell carcinoma. The reason he was in so much pain, more so than usual for his condition, was that he had huge massive tumors, which had collapsed two of his vertebrae in his spine. Surgery was needed to prevent paralysis. This was very bad news. My mother and I thought my father had passed his highest threshold for pain already, but we would soon find out he hadn't even reached the halfway point.

*

GUILTY...

I was for not really being there as much as I could have been for my parents. The more I heard about my father, the more I saw him suffer, the closer his surgery got, the more I dove head first into rehearsals. I drank myself stupid many nights trying to cope with my biggest fear, which was not so much my father dying as that seemed to be the inevitable. I saw the situation as hopeless and yet I failed to really let the reality of all the implications his impending death would have on my mother and I sink in.

*

One night, I came home and Dad had fallen out of bed. My mother couldn't do anything, but pace the floor and wait for me to get home. My beeper had been blown up on the drive home... The Extravaganza with Miranda's big debut was in three days and I was exhausted from all the energy I was forced to pump out on cue at a moment's notice from any taker at hand. So there I was, lifting my dad off the floor. The bulky weight of him, fighting gravity it took all the strength and patience I could muster to get him back in bed. It was exhausting. My father was crying because he felt ashamed for being so damned helpless. It was heartbreaking.

Then, I no more than caught my breath and my mother told me she hadn't been able to get Googles on the phone. She wanted me to go up to her flat and check on her. I took a chunk of chocolate cake up to her - not realizing what grim reality I was about to face. Upon getting up to her flat, I soon realized that Googles had also fallen. This was becoming more and more of the case and normally she would be able to crawl to the phone or pull herself up onto her bed. That time, on that day of all days, she had fallen down – hard - and couldn't get up. Now, I remind you she was a stickler for her pride and she had soiled herself. She was more worried about that disparaging fact than anything else. I mustered up enough strength to dig in, pick her up and carry her to her bed.

After all, I thought about what I had done to her credit card accounts; this was the least I could do. Guilt is a (expletive deleted for this post)! It will make or break you and will give you the strength to do the unthinkable. You see, I was always trying to do things for her to atone, but this was way beyond anything I had in mind. I will never forget how she clung to me and cried at her rescue. She seemed to have so much to work on with her very soul, at such an old age.

Things were happening way too fast for all of us, and as I changed her soiled nightgown and looked away in respect of her pride, I thought, "What the f--- am I going to do?"

Not "why me?" Never "why me?" That's not good enough for where I come from, from what I am made of, but "what the f--- am I going to do, Lord?"

*

It was the night before The Extravaganza and my dad's tumultuous surgery would follow two days later. I was in quite the foul mood. Gary was kind enough to serve me drink after drink and with each passing cocktail the bitter bitch inside me showed her blistering cold face. I was outdone. I felt a bit betrayed that Diva Kingsley wouldn't be doing my makeup. There I was going through all of this shit with my family and she was no where to be found. I was on the brink of becoming what she was - a female impersonator - and didn't have a clue all of what it took. I still viewed the whole idea as an asinine joke. I still looked down on the likes of them unfavorably, due to Tiger's rejection of me.

I thought back to all the men I did oral favors for, but here I was practically in tears, sweaty and full of stage funk wondering where my favor was. When would I shine? When would a man love me? Just love me. Not want me to f--- and suck, just hold me and love me. I thought about how I had treated so many men so kindly, either with a kind word or gift or deed and how they mistreated me in return or just didn't take notice, or hell even dismissed me by making me feel invisible.

Yet, I wasn't invisible when I was deep throating their manhood.

I certainly wasn't the man my father raised. Or was I? I had so much to say to him, but I couldn't bring it out. As expressive as I can be, again when it was for something or someone important. I was practically speechless and now that night before the opening I was drunk by rehearsal's end. I was drooling, sweaty and enebreated. Allen would be working the door the next night, yeah my third ex. He has been very supportive of me. He had the nerve to look down at me and tell me how disappointed he was. We went to the bathroom and in my drunken state, I pretty much told him to go to hell. I told him that he didn't have a clue what I was going through.

I mean, people go through shit, but I had so much thrown on me at once and all he could do was scold me and make me feel bad. F--- him! I couldn't believe he did that. He always had a way to make people feel common next to him and he wasn't going to make me feel stupid, not that time. I told him he was kicking a dog who was down and to leave me the f--- alone, save it for Marshall (- his new lover of over a year). Then, it turned into an argument that wasn't about what it initially started about. Has that ever happened to you? It's very powerful, if you can manipulate it and I did. It was wonderful.

Instead of hugging me and being a friend to me in a down moment, he thought he would just let me have it.

Well, I wasn't having any part of it and people in the cast and crew were both shocked and appalled at our fierce argument.

None of them could believe I had gotten that drunk on the set.

To hell with them all, I thought.

It was MY show, with MY money and MY ideas and it was MY father who was dying and MY grand mother who was sick and MY mother who was increasingly needier and needier and I needed some f---ing attention!!!!

And I got it, oh boy did I ever...by the time I left them all I had pissed most of them off and had showed my definitive ego.

As I cried in my car, I was afraid I was too drunk to drive home.

I actually questioned myself on whether they would show up and do the show the next night...

and you know what...

{in a whisper} I didn't give a damn...

_______________________________________________

Opening the Naked Window is available for purchase at Amazon >>>>CLICK HERE<<<< and other fine online retailers.

Photo: a restoration I did of my father's high school graduation picture.

Journey from Within/Foreshadowing (Excerpt 2 of 5 from 'Opening the Naked Window' book 2 of the memoir series)

These passages are from book/season two, chapter/episode 7: Journey from Within & 14: Foreshadowing...

~~~~

I have found, especially in my dealings with men, that my expectations have usually been too high. I tended to live in a fantasy world for a long time, until I woke up one day and found out that when push comes to shove: It doesn’t really matter. In the scheme of things, I really could care less. I know what I have to offer to a man or a friend or a family member. Finally, I know who I am and NOW I don't give a fat rat's ass whether you like me or not. How can one NOT like someone who is so damned agreeable all the time?

*

A co-worker's husband recently stumbled across one of these episodes and was angered at the fact that I originally titled my work Chronicles, as such a title should tell a story of Biblical proportions, of a religious nature. Honey, I am here to tell you that it has been judgmental people like him, he who is far from being a saint himself, I am certain, - who have TRIED to hold me back and keep me from keeping my eye on the prize. I am here to testify that my life has been a journey of Biblical proportions - nothing short of a religious experience.

I have danced with the devil, been through loads of shit, only to come out shiny and clean in the end. I have suffered greatly due to unwise decisions, but I don't regret any of it. I feel blessed by all the lessons I’ve learned from a very young age. I have survived time and time again. Now, you tell me, God doesn’t touch somebody blessed like myself - having overcome all the obstacles I have overcome? Please. People have called me a whore. My response – YES! And a blessed one at that. I have been called a FAG, fagot, (expletive deleted for this post), bitch, slut, dinge queen - to my face mind you. I prefer writer/ poet/actor/director/producer/female impersonator/humanitarian, but I digress. I have been laughed at, mocked, poked at, joked about, but mostly ENVIED. Why? Because unlike a lot of people I have crossed paths with - I know full well who I am and that I have a purpose and a place.

I learned a lot of this after my break up with Tiger. He taught me many valuable lessons. You see, years later I realized that Tiger was not the problem with my failed relationship with him - or any other man for that matter. In fact, he and I remain friends - close friends to this day. Talk about steadfastness... After all we went through and all that was said – (we'll come back to that, bear with me as I am on a roll) - I learned just from that fact alone, by looking at my self, my own infidelities and lack of self-esteem. I haven't been in a relationship since then, and the sad day I realized I had never actually been in one was tough, but I finally realize that most men in my lifestyle - or at least in my town - can't keep up with me. The one's I attract usually are there to hold me back in some sort of way.

You see this has been a lifelong experience of constant soul-searching and seeking out the right path. I am so sick of these evangelicals worrying about my soul, as if they're any better than I am. Right. If I am going to burn in hell, it certainly won't be because I am gay or have had relations with men. They are quick to quote the Bible, but slow to realize their own shortcomings - or as I like to call them shortfalls. Basically, people are full of shit - generally and rarely are there those like myself who really, truly give a damn about matters of the heart and soul. Because when push comes to shove people are out or in for themselves.

When I tell you that I have backslid, nobody has done so like me, but I have always found the God in it somewhere. It's kind of creepy the relationship I have with my inner Jesus. He really has a bigger sense of humor than most people give Him credit for. You see He lives in me. I wouldn't have survived all of what I have if He didn't. So, when people's husbands come across my words on a page and pass judgment I take it very personally - it's like you almost want to strike up a debate and educate them about a few things. Why? If I had a dollar for every time I have wasted my breath with the likes of him, this book would be a made movie by now. Besides, I know for sure I will be looking for those precious breaths on my deathbed one day (hopefully not any time soon), to tell somebody how beautiful God is and how grateful I was to live the life I was blessed and put on this earth to live.

*

There was a good friend of mine named Kenneth Dickerson. He and I did shows together in the late '80s. He was an immensely talented actor and musician. He even got a recurring role on a TV sitcom. He was also a very sexual individual. His music, acting and sex were his quests in life. While we never got involved sexually, I was naive and scared to death of him at the time when we were close friends.

We lost touch after those shows. I was working various jobs, doing shows with Why Not Productions and trying to get my schooling together. He moved to California to work and live with the band Mazarati, did TV and film, then joined the Navy -- more men. At first, I missed Ken tremendously, but in time he became a good memory always in my heart.

From time to time, I'd fantasize about he and I being lovers and vowed that if we ever met again, we'd throw caution and everything else to the wind and get naked, wild and wet together.

Well, as it turns out, we all live in a small world. There I was working an office job at the college I went to when I came across his name, address and phone number. We were going to the same school. Excitement filled my heart and suddenly Kenneth became the forefront of most of my thoughts and emotions. First, I pulled up his computer file. He wasn't in any classes that particular semester, but excelled tremendously the prior semester in computer science. Then I pulled his hard file to see his photo. He looked so different, so handsome, and so manly -- that's when I learned he was in the Navy. Hmmm.

For days, I held onto his address and number. Finally, I called him; oh...the number was changed to a non-published one.

Damn.

Well, I decided to write a letter. It was brief. I just told him what I was doing and what I'd like to do. I sealed it, mailed it and prayed. After a few days, I tried to put him out of my mind. I figured it had been so long. He probably thought I was nuts.

Then...a week later, the phone rang. It was a cool, cloudy, lazy Saturday afternoon and I was home -- alone. I answered the phone. It was a voice...deep and sensual, almost alluring. The voice asked for me and I responded. He proceeded to ask me about Kenneth. "A jealous lover?" I thought. Oh, how cute! But much to my dismay, a lover Ted was not. He was Kenneth's caregiver. Huh?

Stunned.

I found out Kenneth was a dying man.

Sweetest Jesus, not Kenneth. Not Kenny. I had plans.

Well, Ted offered to take me to see Kenneth. He said all of his friends and even his own mother had deserted him. Only his younger brother came to see him, but couldn't stand the sight of him.

I took his offer.

On the way to the hospital, he kept telling me to be warned of what I'll see.

I couldn't imagine. I'm like: What's the big issue?

To my misfortune, I soon found out.

I could not believe my eyes.

I could not bear what had happened.

AIDS had ravaged him beyond recognition.

He looked like the covers were enveloping him.

His eyes were big, larger than him it seemed. His face sunken in, he looked sullen.

He looked old.

He looked ...like a dead man breathing.

Sick, sick ...sick. He was the epitome of sick.

I sat there. Ted left me alone with him, in the room. At first, I said nothing. I watched him, watching TV.

Then he turned to me and said, "Can you stand it? If not, you can leave. I won't stop you. Everyone else has walked out that door."

I refused to concur and proceeded to tell him about my shows, our shows, his music, school, life, sex, my crush on him. I talked to him about everything, except AIDS, death and sickness. Those were obvious and impending. Why ponder on it? What would the point be? He told me about the Navy, when he was raped, his TV shows. He looted in the 1992 Los Angeles riot, got a week's worth of groceries -- he was proud of that. He didn't care about the laws he so followed all the time, then -- he figured, a great injustice had been done and he wanted a piece of the pie. It made sense when he put it like that. His last movie was to be in the carnival scene in Poetic Justice. He was so proud to be cast, but he was too sick to do it.

We reminisced about the show we worked on, Why Is That? and how much money we made for that organization. He explained why he moved to California: to escape his stepfather, who had molested him. He said he actually agreed to accept the step dad's advances to save his little brother from the same torment, but he wouldn't be able to save him now. He said he knew I wanted to have sex with him back then, but we never had the opportunity (he would have been my first experience).

Peculiar. He recalled us being alone in my room, but he was worried my father would come upstairs and catch us. He didn't want to disrespect my parents. He remembered being quite fond of my mother.

After an hour and a half, he couldn't eat, was irritated and messed the bed. He was like an eighty year old baby-man. Unbelievable. As I kissed his hand and looked at those humongous eyes of despair and exhaustion, I thought a body is just a body -- a loan from our creator.

Two days later, I went to my doctor for my yearly physical and got tested for HIV. I always get tested at my annual check-up and encourage my friends to do the same. But this time it was different. I've known HIV+ people. I've known people who had died from AIDS. The HIV+ people are still alive, healthy looking, but this time it was personal. This time was the first time, of too many times in my life, I have witnessed somebody dying or somebody affected by this global killer with no conscience.

Ten days later, on October 14, 1994, Kenneth died.

Ted called and told me.

Silence.

A hush came over me.

I thought of nothing else.

When I got my negative results that following Monday, I cried tears of relief.

Sure, Kenneth was promiscuous.

He'd be the first to admit it, but only because he was abused and lonely.

I was angry!

Not at Kenneth, but at God.

So much hurt in his life -- misery.

What a way to die.

Ravaged! Skin and bones...

All because he made unwise decisions?

Not to hurt anyone, but to not be lonely...to be loved.

I prayed to the very God I was angry with.

I argued with God.

I said, "Hey! I've been there. Lord, you know I have had my share of dates...men, SEX!"

"I have even paid for it!"

"I've done it on the railroad tracks, in the bed, in the alley, in a car, even in a church. What about me? Is this gonna be my way out of this f***ed up world YOU created? To wither down to nothing? A mere reflection of one's self. Kenneth's clock just had to stop now. He was only 25 years old. 25! Pissing and shitting all over himself. Dying and lonely...all alone."

Ted wanted me to go to the funeral, but I couldn't.

Ted said, "You're not the first one to walk out that door."

But that's not the way it was going down.

It was too much.

It was like I went from an overjoyed high to an ultimate low.

Little did I know that one year to the day after Kenneth died, my father would die and my insanely naive life as I knew it would change...

...Forever.

____________________________________________

Opening the Naked Window is available for purchase at Amazon >>>CLICK HERE<<< and other fine online retailers.

Ruffles Get Feathered (Excerpt 1 of 5 from 'Opening the Naked Window' Book 2 of the memoir)

As promised, this week I will be sharing 5 selections from book two of the memoir series. Remember, the premise of how I tell my life story is 'what if your life were a made-for-television drama series?' Or, in my case: made for cable! It is where the books are referred to as seasons and the chapters are episodes. This installment contains passages from season two, episode 5: Ruffles Get Feathered.

~~~~

Well, well when did the dry well run? Where did I wrongly go? And how did my ruffles get feathered?

*

The answers to those questions would take a short while to come to me and while I was afraid that my so-called relationship with Tiger would come to an end, it was inevitable. We were lying to one another. He never acknowledged me as his lover, while I spoke as though we were living in wedded bliss. He was the cream in my coffee and the fact that it had very little to do with sex meant the world to me. I finally found a man I could love, but my sexual desires would creep up from time to time and there didn't seem to be anything I could do to control it.

I was vivacious back then, still kinda am, but then I steeped of sexuality and didn't care what anybody thought about it. I had a certain way of walking and a certain way of talking. I was a lot lighter in weight. I wasn't a smoker then. I seemed a lot healthier in my voluptuous physique. I would pass guys on the street and they would stop to talk to me to see "what was up?" Of course, these were men I would not usually approach, but they would come to me.

One spot I went to almost every Friday after work, while I waited for Tiger to get home from work, was Shopper's Lounge. This little bar was in the downtown theatre district and a few blocks away from work and a few blocks away from Tiger. So, it only made sense to stop through there to wait for Tiger. I became a regular at this long-standing gay bar that was quiet and relaxing by day and raunchy to the hilt by night.

You could stop through there on a hot July Friday night and smell the sex permeating from the bathroom stalls and the music would be loud as steel in what was no bigger than a shoebox setting. Yet, during a quiet afternoon on a get paid Friday, where a handful of us 'regulars' of the day would get together and drink the strongest cocktails in town. They were served up by Natasha, the coolest bartender I ever met to this day. We would sit and listen to music on the jukebox and talk about the day’s events or what was going on in our personal lives. A lot of them had friends who were dying or had died of AIDS. It was the first time I actually started to witness people grieving over such losses and it struck me hard.

I thought I was lucky when I got my first negative HIV test results, due to all the restroom romps, alley trysts and car dates. As I write this, I can think of dozens of other incidents I could tell you about when I had sex with a stranger or paid a hustler for their time. Time gets muddy, too. I know I cheated on Tiger a few times, but with whom exactly I couldn't tell you.

What I can tell you is after while, I saw less and less of Tiger.

We still had our Sundays, but they even were shorter in length.

*

I was excited with anticipation. The large capacity trash bag was filled with little trinkets, books, cards and what nots for Tiger's birthday. I was so excited. We had been together over a year and despite some shortcomings (what relationship doesn't have them), I was happy. He came to pick me up. My mother was even excited at all the little gifts I'd give Tiger and the cards. There was hardly a week that went by when we were together when I wouldn't send him a card. Hell, I had to show my affection for the man somehow. I was really trying, at that point, to not fool around. I figured I would clean my act up and devote my self entirely to him. After all, who's to say he didn't know I had stepped out on him with Allen and Lafayette - both of which were extenuating circumstances – and God knows who else.

We got back to his apartment, before going to dinner and he looked so awesome in his blue jean outfit - the jeans fitting him just right. He wore his cowboy boots, too. His sense of style drove me wild, especially at that time because we hadn't been intimate in a while. I wondered about this all the time, but I was going to be good and supportive to my man, nonetheless. That's what we're supposed to do when we are with our one and only. He was overwhelmed with my gifts. We shared some wine and then it was time to go out to dinner - his treat. See, that's the kind of man he is, treating me out on his birthday.

We stood by the doorway. I felt awkward because I wanted to kiss him, to hold him and make love right then and there. It felt like the right thing to do. He kissed me, looked into my eyes and asked what was on my mind. On my mind, I wanted to get on my knees and give him some oral pleasure right where we stood, but that's so not my style - believe it or not. Instead, I said nothing and we went out to dinner. See, and I was kicking myself for that all night long because I don't know if he would have tried to stop me or not. You're probably wondering why I would have even thought that. Well, you see that's the vibe I got from Tiger at that time, but I was blinded by my emotional attachment to him.

*

March 19, 1993

We were about to embark on our strategy for promoting The Ashley Correspondence. So, I set up a special meeting between Tiger, Arkadiy, Anatoliy and I. We met for about an hour, made sure we had our ducks in a row, had no idea how big this production would be and what standards it would set in the local theatre district - I was just a small little company with no name and most of what I learned, I learned from my dealings with Why Not Productions and they had upped and moved to New York. So, I was going about this practically blindfolded and a little gagged.

That's why the timing of Tiger's little "talk" with me was both a negative and a positive. Before we got to the meeting, he said there was something he wanted to talk to me about, but he would wait till after the meeting. Why was he being so serious?, I wondered. We went on with the meeting and I anticipated his "big news." The meeting happened and we no more than got into the car and I asked him about what he wanted to talk about. He nervously laughed, as he started driving, because I was an almost too eager beaver. It was like you really don't want to know that badly, do you kinda attitude.

I was excited about the meeting and how the production was going and he was finally ready to tell me what was on his mind. He said he hoped we would still be friends, but obviously I viewed "us" in a totally different light than he did and he just felt awful, but he thought I should know he was seeing somebody else. Brandy was a female impersonator who did shows and he was afraid some of my friends (most notably Diva Kingsley, who had seen them out), would tell me before he had a chance to. He had been seeing this Brandy a lot and thought we should move on and just be friends. He never wanted to hurt me; he knew how much he meant to me...

I thought I was going to vomit. I fell very silent and almost into an instant state of depression. He said since we would remain friends, he would still support me with and work on the play, but these new "developments" would probably change the outcome of the play's story. (Ya think?!) Wow! What a well-prepared statement, I thought. I wanted to cry, but didn't dare give him the satisfaction. I just remained completely silent the rest of the ride home. I didn't even say good night to him and as I got out of the car he just sighed.

What the hell?

Did he think I would be delighted at his "news?"

Did he think I would just go quietly into the night?

Did he think he could just cut me loose and be free of me?

Was I some kind of joke?

I would show him.

He would see.

And as far as the script changes because of new "developments" - YES!

There would be changes...you're got damn skippy there'd be changes.

Who the hell did he think he was?

-----

Opening the Naked Window is available for purchase at AMAZON >>>CLICK HERE<<< and other fine online retailers.

Cover Photo by: C.A. McKenzie

Cover Design by Andi Galpern of idreamofdesign.

...And Deeds (Excerpt 5 of 5 from "Looking through the Naked Window," book 1 of the memoir)

These vignettes are from chapter/episode 23... in book/season 1 of the memoir series.

____

In my sordid, sometimes triumphant life there have been many deeds. There have been the dirty deeds and then there are those wonderful acts of kindness. They're nice when on the receiving end, but even more redeeming when on the giving end.

~~~~~

Lance, my first, so-called ex-lover has been on my mind a lot lately. You lovers of the world know what influences those first loves have on us, be damned what they did in the past. Hell, we all have a past. I know I certainly do. Over the years though, during our multiple episodes of being high profile guest stars in each other's lives, we have always come back together and picked up where we left off. Remember when I said I left Lance originally, because I wanted to feel something for my mate. That was a half-truth then, which has snowballed into my very own personal foolishness.

You see, all along I really didn't want to feel. It was always too sexually charged. If it wasn't an explosive and head-banging (literally) experience, I wanted nothing to do with it. That was then, so when Lance and I were going together I became bored with him and his comfort zone, as far as our relations were concerned. Then, we can't forget Jimmie, who took the whole sex thing to another level. He became boring due to his constant repetitions. Allen was always a buddy. So, there you have the first three of my relationships. I remind you, they were all one-sided and as I told my dear friend, Pam, recently, as I toked long and hard on another ruthless cigarette... I, yes, I have never been in a true relationship.

I have lived a lie.

~~~~~

I wrote Lance a letter about a month and a half ago. It’s been about three years since I had seen him and I was wondering how he was doing and I will admit, I missed being with him. Sure enough, he got the letter and we got together for a very nice, intimate evening. I have seen him twice in the week and a half surrounding the holiday. Yes, before and after Thanksgiving, I was having a little more holiday cheer than I had anticipated and it was wonderful. Why? Because, of the differences. Now I like the familiarity. Now I feel like being ...familiar.

~~~~~

It was funny having all the company I had over the holiday weekend.

It felt good, but whenever somebody ate something or sat down or touched something, I'd say. "Oh Pam got that for me" or "Diva did that for me."

Not that I hadn't realized it before, but what would people like me do without kind people in our lives and their acts of kindness and good deeds.

We would be naked.

Pam, Diva and people like Colleen and those at my church, St. Leo's, like Mary Ann or Angela; my friends like Shad and Marshall and even people like Tiger - they live the Beatitudes from the Bible. None of them are particularly 'religious' people, although a couple of them go to church and participate in their community a lot more than some of the others...it doesn't matter. It is the simple fact that they all have one thing in common. They have very little themselves, but have enough of the "Spirit" in them to give what they can, do what they can for those of us who had or have found themselves in a tighter spot in life.

~~~~~

Don't get me wrong; I have been a giver all my life, but primarily for all the wrong reasons - usually, to impress a guy. Because, you see, for as many men as I have considered lover there have been those who are "friends" past and present whom I have wanted quite desperately, but never landed that proverbial lay in the hay. Not that it would have been a big deal, but it was just that I equated love with sex for a long time. I have a lot of love for these guys to this day, but it hadn't reached its fullest potential because we hadn't done the deed, as it were. My dealing with them has been a major part in my turning point and responsible largely for where I am now in my life.

~~~~~

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Little does he know, even though we never 'related' with one another, he is one of the reasons I now keep a low-profile on the night club scene. When you see how people act and hear what they say about him after he walks past their fake grins on their false countenances, it makes one like me think - "I never want to be thought of that way." And I have maintained that respect over the years. As big of a whore as I was in the past, I never carried myself as such. That's the difference between him and me. Call it an educated read, but when you call it like it is seen and when we become honest with ourselves, honey, and you figure out - well, that's not somebody you'd want to be with anyway because sure it may be a cool sexual experience, but at what cost and while it may be a big deal to you we all know it means next to nothing to men like him of the world.

~~~~~

I have also learned that deeds always outweigh any act you put on or any string of words you can put together in a perfectly created phrase.

-----

Looking through the Naked Window: The Restoration Chronicles (Volume 1) is available in both Paperback and Kindle Editions for purchase at http://www.amazon.com/Looking-through-Naked-Window-Restoration/dp/1484950933/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

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Acts (excerpt 4 of 5) from "Looking through the Naked Window" (book 1 of the memoir)

These passages are from episode 21: "Acts"

~~~~~~

Tiki and Natalie had since witnessed the birth of their beautiful daughter. They were still living their thugged out fantasia, but something was about to put a damper on the whole thing. He no longer worked at the mail sorting company and I had since quit for the eighth time and was simply going to college and working my college work study job and at the burger joint. I got a call from an ex-co-worker, who told me he saw Tiki on a crime show, stating he was wanted - make that Most Wanted.

Well, you know me; I simply got in my car and drove over to his house. I had stayed away for about a year because I was steady with someone else and besides I thought whatever fling he and I had was over and done with and left him to his Natalie and their baby and their common-law wedded, parental bliss. Ah, but how things suddenly change. Natalie had gotten a little selfish with the daughter and was spending more time at her parent’s home.

Tiki and Gramps argued more and more. Tiki was almost psychotic when he discussed Natalie and his grandfather to me, when I came over unannounced. That is unlike me. I usually always call first, but I knew Tiki needed someone to listen to him and he was very happy to see me. Yes, very happy, very drunk, twice as high and extremely horny. Little did I know, I was not only in for a long night (that was actually a good thing, as I needed a long night at that point), but it would be the last time I would see him for many, many years.

~~~~~

I cheated - and I cheated - and I cheated.

Yes, I admit it. Hell, I've gone this far. Why not own up to all of it? Why hold back now? Shame forbade me from telling this before. Not only because of where - that was bad enough, the symbolism, but because of my ability to conceal it from my lovers, family and friends. Nobody ever knew, nor would they if I weren't telling them right here and right now.

If you haven't figured out my memoirs by now, it is an attempt to wipe my own slate clean. I know I am not the most perfect person in the world. Who is? I don't think, my dear friend, you realize how addicted I was to sex. Even now, I have to watch myself. I doubt you could, nor would you really want to, put a finger on how much of a slut and whore and sinner I have been. Guilt... Guilt has pretty much been the ruler of my life for a very long time. It comes from not only being raised Catholic, but from the acts - the many acts - I have committed in my life.
I only scratched the surface with my mother about it. I couldn't get too much past her, though. I think she prayed for my soul enough for ten lifetimes, God bless her, but I have still lived with my guilt and my snowball, my avalanche of lies and concealment of my whorish lifestyle. I made gay people look bad, because not all of them are as much of a ho as I have been. However, I have come so far from that now that it only makes sense to apologize for my shortcomings and ask for forgiveness.

Repent.

The men - they didn't care. That was part of the problem. I am not pointing the finger, but boy did they partake in the situation at hand and had no problem with it whatsoever. Oh, the sins that line ones soul runs deep and grows ever wide. It surprises even me the memories I have of the many tricks of the trade that took place in the auditorium at that holy place. I took advantage of that situation, pure and simple, and nobody ever knew...

Or did they...?

*

Were the hall's lined with eyes
Yes, the eye of God
But His eyes looked upon me with mercy,
And I looked away in shame and cried...

~~~~~

He was a man on the run. He had issues. Plus, he didn't want to start something with me he couldn't finish. He said I made him feel uncomfortable. Not discomfortable, but uncomfortable in a way it was bad for him. He didn't want to "start up" something with me. He was very angry with himself and started berating me at that point. I was like what in Sam's hell was wrong with him?

It wasn't me and even though I did I shouldn't have taken it personally, but he abruptly ended our visit and pretty much threw me out of his house. He told me I should stay away from there for a while that he did something, but he couldn't help it and that he would surely be arrested soon. I couldn't imagine what he could have done and how things could have fallen so quickly into the shit hole he found himself in. Whatever it was, it was serious and, even he said, I wanted nothing to do with him.

He was right.

A little time passed and before I knew it he was calling me collect ...from jail.

I said, "What the hell have you done?"

-----

Looking through the Naked Window: The Restoration Chronicles (Volume 1) is available in both Paperback and Kindle Editions for purchase at http://www.amazon.com/Looking-through-Naked-Window-Restoration/dp/1484950933/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

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