www.trailopen.com-schizophrenia / bipolar and reintegration; Britney Spears Reality Video as tool for reintegration / recovery, sexual fantasy

NOTE: In this chapter: Circa 1980. The main character; after achieving six-months sobriety after fifteen years of chemical-narcotic-post-hospital/psychotic riot, goes - against his therapist's advice - to an Adult-Video-Store to find an anonymous male in order to indulge (in the hope of satisfying) sexual imaginings he's having when alone as well as when he is being actively heterosexual. He is taken out of the sperm-streaked video booth and into the Spirit.

*Back From the Other Side, a novel that connects the soul to salvation by using the awareness of cutting edge Psychiatric theory, sexuality and madness to chart its course. NOTE: In this chapter: Circa 1980. The main character; after achieving six-months sobriety after fifteen years of chemical-narcotic-post-hospital/psychotic riot, goes - against his therapist's advice - to an Adult-Video-Store to find an anonymous male in order to indulge (in the hope of satisfying) sexual imaginings he's having when alone as well as when he is being actively heterosexual. He is taken out of the sperm-streaked video booth and into the Spirit. Chapter 21 – To Be or Not To Be* (.pdf download also available) “As I have indicated earlier, I think that the whole business of the homosexual entity as an explanation is always to be looked pretty firmly in the face by psychiatrists who attempt to effect any great improvement in the mental health of the patient. One should determine whether this entity is the organization of a definite integrating tendency that satisfies a need or whether it is a complex mental disorder in which the homosexuality is present because it so perfectly fortifies some abnormal mental process, some dynamism of difficulty.” “Clinical Studies in Psychiatry” (Harry Stack Sullivan) pp163-65 Chapter 21 – To Be or Not To Be This kind of behavior did not help my sobriety at all and I slip again. Six months of sobriety later, with a new job as a salesman, I am tempted again to believe bringing real-world experience into the world of my fantasy longings will somehow assuage these homoerotic longings; as if by doing so I could bring peace to my demons. After fifteen years of hedonistic riot, my new sober existence seemed grey and lifeless, as if life was hardly worth living. It seemed reasonable to find out what a quick sober liaison would be like with an anonymous male. I mentioned this to my shrink and was surprised to sense a real measure of disapproval. I was startled. I thought it was such an adult thing to do. I was being surprised a lot lately as the drugs were coming out of my brain birthing new perspectives every day. Nevertheless, the voice in my head luring me into my imaginings appeared too attractive to ignore twenty-four seven. In the past it had lured me into narcotics but its voice had been weakened by the light of awareness and my subsequent refusal to follow its siren song. But the allure of sober homosexual sex appeared to have the voice of a higher-powered lobbyist, appearing alongside my indulgence of sexual fantasies mirroring such behavior, and I believed I should ignore its demands to be served no longer. I married the idea that a “real” man makes his own choices regarding a spirit of adventure. There was almost a “poppa would be proud” kind of motivation to this entire “sexploration,” and I determined to go for it; eager for a radical change in consciousness without the use of drugs. I entered the adult bookstore and could sense a crossroads of higher energies coming together. A sense that something other than sex was approaching… sumpthin’s happenin’. Target acquired: a wild-eyed young man in his thirties, powerfully built. We made eye contact. He turned and entered a booth. In a moment the lime-colored letters lit-up above the door showing “Movie in Progress,” but the door remained ajar in a green light of invitation. I entered the booth, turned and locked the door, and sat down next to him. We watched the porn a few seconds in silence. Part of me screamed “run out, go!” “Here’s a few tokens towards the movies,” I said instead, first placing them on the video controller and, taking a trembling breath, placed a hand on his leg. Finding no objection to this obvious behavior, I slid to my knees. There’s always something unique and scary about a situation when two male strangers decide without discussion to have sex. It’s like we’re members of a secret society that accepts things like this, and those mired in the lower echelon of bourgeois normalcy could not understand our boldness to pursue these sexual satisfactions. We were therefore, a superior ilk, free and understanding; far-and-away more in touch with ourselves than those bourgeois goose-steppers. The almost hyperventilating excitement swept over me, and temporarily removed me from ‘self’ consciousness. I wait breathless, as an uncomplimentary image fills my head: not unlike a dog meeting another with its head lowered and tail wagging. Submitting myself in a kneeling posture for his approval, I am intoxicated in this, my suddenly realized and rebellious moment. His silent answer unambiguous, he takes out a circumcised firehose of such length and thickness as to leave me temporarily stunned. Within moments I had everything I could have asked for. A willing partner with impressive equipment, all systems appeared go, but after some initial moments, I could find no reason to be here doing what I was doing. I feel decidedly nonsexual and repulsed. It was like I was placing a piece of unpleasantly scented rubber into my mouth for no discernible reason other than to be submissive to this stranger. A voice in my head was telling me I didn’t want to be submissive to this stranger. Singular and quiet, it kept asking me, “What are you doing this for?” I had no answer... I could sense a desire to slip away into a submissive fantasy, but no longer had sufficient desire, energy or motivation to do so. Good-cop/bad-cop voices spoke up: he’s not superior to you, so why put his dick in your mouth? On the other hand, less clear but more muted motives hinted at the excitement and pleasure in submerging into slavish fantasy along with the appropriate behavior to keep such imaginings company. I soon stopped what I was doing to him. Instead of following the initial impulse to leave upon cessation of my oral service, I knelt to the side, vainly seeking to end my sexual frustration with an orgasm of my own. I tried watching the porn on the back of the locked door, and I began to wish I hadn’t even begun to do that, but had left instead. He likewise started to relieve himself. As I jerked off and started to excite, however, I was overwhelmed with the realization of pleasure within the goals of my sexual fantasy and, at the same time, a sudden sense of desolation and frustration should I just leave and walk back onto the street. I suddenly felt life’s emptiness swamp me, hopelessly sterile and frustrated compared to the “life” the here and now afforded me – and with my searching lust came a renewed urge to take advantage of what was in front of me. My very presence in the booth fed anew not only the increased temptation for my opportunity, but justified it (you don’t go into a whorehouse to play solitaire). What I was fantasizing of having in my own efforts to obtain relief was, after all, right here, and why not just get into it? There suddenly seemed such a promise to escape my uncomfortable dilemma, to complete a submersion into some “real life,” that my own fantasy soon crooned to imagine myself from a feminine perspective and here was a guy to be that way with. Not only to pleasure his huge apparatus, but a compulsion was sweeping over me now to complete the act all the way this one time sober. As the excitement of my own manipulation rose up within me, the pendulum continued to swing wantonly, and I commit to just do it all. I left my own jerking ministrations and turned to him. He was stroking himself as I placed my mouth over his huge rubbery head. He continued to pump his hand into my chin and I surprised myself how gently I placed my right hand over his pumping fingers, causing him to stop as a voice in my head sarcastically commented what a Hallmark bookstore moment this was. He withdrew his hand from his prodigious staff and I took over, sliding my fingers, adjusting my mouth and breathing – my will – into the blowjob. The moment the large ball of flesh filled up my mouth, the quiet dick-wilting communication of ‘what are you doing this for?’ began anew. If I pay attention to this voice I’m out the door and on the sidewalk, and I find myself remarkably concerned with what this stranger might think of me. The assumption that I owed this man my servicing was somehow allowed, and the way of escape was clear: accelerate into fantasy. As a submarine dives into the ocean depths, I sought out submergence into sexual fantasy as the haven from which to continue my operations. My dreamstate wasn’t currently at a sufficient level of intensity for me to totally submerge into. I needed a greater commitment. I could not continue this activity in my current state of consciousness. I sought to recapture that vision of lust lost within myself, that kind of high-octane energy that sometimes twists your body and makes you cry out loud when you climax by yourself. I was going to have to purpose myself deeper in his service – no, to its service – and leave any and all inhibition behind. I breathe in through my nose and slide the mammoth thickness down my throat, submissively dedicating to providing pleasure, and a complete commitment to swallow every drop of completion that will be offered. A uniting of the will and the behavior, I am holding deeper and deeper breaths in order to allow his huge beast longer time down my throat, I started to forget about technique long enough to merge with that young and beautiful female teenager on her first date, not really sure how she got here but wanting her date to be pleased with her. Guys really like this… This submersion into the imagery allowed my mouth to suddenly salivate to the point where I was giving off slurping sounds which I hadn’t remembered ever doing before. As I submerge into my own expression, I sense him submerge into a spiritual counterpart, and it appears what is being served in him is taking him over with such groans, cries and guttural sounds of pleasure that there is a heightening frenzy in the very air we breath. His moans are intoxicating, and my imagery more continuous in its ability to captivate me. With each slide down my throat, the wet travel itself is increasing the level of intensity in his cries and groans, and as the thick staff turns to wood the head expands with that final life of its own. I am in total submission as his jerking spasms not only begin to pour into my mouth, but his entire body convulses as it enters into the release with gasps and loud cries of pleasure. As the throat fills with the hot fluid, the tongue senses it as if it’s coming from every pore on that bulbous head. The back of the throat is flooded and hesitation is no longer an option. Swallow immediately. It’s so hot, salty and sickly thick that I only gag momentarily before completing the sickening act with a “you wanted this” from that previous quiet tone in my mind’s background. I try to tell myself it’s great, but somewhere deep behind the frenzy I’m conflicted to know that’s not true. I did, however, take it all, and this new dedication to service is just in time, for after swallowing the first load, there’s a huge second delivery. I was more into receiving it by then, for once the previous rebellion (urging me to spit it out and run from the booth) had been silenced and overcome, I now remain a more trained novitiate in his stead, and am settling into the silent, unmoving impenitent on his knees with the reality of a shrinking cock in his mouth. A series of dark rites emerge. Apparently I have earned them. Just as Jesus tells the parable of the man who first refuses his father’s request to work in the vineyard, but then goes, and is hence regarded as “doing the father’s will,” so I had at first refused the dark side’s entreaty, but had reconsidered and ultimately acquiesced to it. This commitment appears to deserve a reward; a certain baptismal anointing fitting for the occasion within this strange world of behavioral reality, temptation and the spirit. For as my date slowly withdrew his spent penis, a small pearl drop of fluid appeared off the tip. Swept up by my new and total commitment, I dutifully arched my face up a few inches, extending my slavish tongue to lick it off. Perhaps because of this dark and sudden Eucharist, his stick becomes a baptizing baton, with him wiping it slowly – still glistening wet with his sperm and my saliva – first across one side of my face, and then I, dutifully turning the other cheek, received its slow return benediction across the other side, completing the accolade. Dutifully thrilling to the silent scream inside my soul (‘something’s new here’), I was now swooning. In the spirit of the moment, I started to put into words my motivation to meet him the following week for sodomy. I heard the sound of my own voice and I immediately fell into shocked silence. “Your wife is so lucky to be able to...” I heard the sound at the same time I saw what I had expected to see: a facial expression telling me his wife doesn’t act as if she’s so lucky... But I also noted the surprise on his countenance which mirrored my own. When I had first told him of the tokens I had for our use upon entering the booth, I had spoken in my normal voice. Now I had that sing-song high pitched faggy whine of submission in my tone. That twisted vocal that people call effeminate for lack of any other term to define it. I had never spoken with this voice before in my life. I was suddenly in the spirit. I saw a landscape. I was in the landscape. “I” was the landscape. There was no consciousness of anything else. There was nothing that existed in my reality apart from this landscape. A territory of life played out in multiple dimensions. There were symbols for various places I would live, careers I would have, and people I would be close to. It had a topographical cross-section quality to it. It was like a baseball diamond in which the viewer could be in the dugout and actually see what was “below” the field and bases. If there was a tree, for example, where second base was, you could see the roots of that tree below the ground as well as the tree above ground. The height, width, depth – as well as present and future – were being presented to me outside of normal space and time. On the “surface” there were events: future people I would meet as well as future careers and places I would live which were mapped out on the upper plain. Underneath it all, where, for example, one could see roots, were all manner of symbolism for this sexuality. This subconscious world; this “under-foundation” was filled with emotional river-like deposits. I could see these forces generating this new tone of submission within my “new” voice. The submission would always be towards this sexual world, and the individuals I would use in this behavior were just beings to be used in order to use these forces. I understood that within the submissive, feminine quality of my voice there was an urge to constantly generate sexual response. Sexual activity would become the center of my life. I saw myself about to enter a universe made up of vanity and the constant seeking of sexual contacts, as well as mocking and condescension toward all who might disagree with its appropriateness. This would be a life-style centering compulsively around the penis, the anus, felatio, and sodomy, while the amount of kinkiness I would choose to allow myself would complete my individuality. No matter what my life’s accomplishments, the real dynamic sense of life would be felt through this sexual behavior delivered on these rivers of emotion. It was made known to me that if I uttered one more word in the furtherance of a sexual relationship with this man in the booth, I would be committed to this world. The decision was not made with my thinking mind. It was the soulish disposition of something much deeper. I didn’t say another word. Conflicted and scared, I remained silent on the floor, terrified and stunned, and was never more relieved than when he left. Was I fearful of societal condemnation or something far more significant? I wouldn’t touch a man again for the sixteen-year duration of my marriage. I knew it was time to return to my wife with a new and different perspective. The full .pdf chapter is available for free download To comment, email here ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *** Buy the novel that tears the covers of a sexuality never spoken of in "Back From the Other Side."

“As I have indicated earlier, I think that the whole business of the homosexual entity as an explanation is always to be looked pretty firmly in the face by psychiatrists who attempt to effect any great improvement in the mental health of the patient. One should determine whether this entity is the organization of a definite integrating tendency that satisfies a need or whether it is a complex mental disorder in which the homosexuality is present because it so perfectly fortifies some abnormal mental process, some dynamism of difficulty.”
“Clinical Studies in Psychiatry” (Harry Stack Sullivan) pp163-65

Chapter 21 – To Be or Not To Be

This kind of behavior did not help my sobriety at all and I slip again. Six months of sobriety later, with a new job as a salesman, I am tempted again to believe bringing real-world experience into the world of my fantasy longings will somehow assuage these homoerotic longings; as if by doing so I could bring peace to my demons. After fifteen years of hedonistic riot, my new sober existence seemed grey and lifeless, as if life was hardly worth living. It seemed reasonable to find out what a quick sober liaison would be like with an anonymous male. I mentioned this to my shrink and was surprised to sense a real measure of disapproval. I was startled. I thought it was such an adult thing to do. I was being surprised a lot lately as the drugs were coming out of my brain birthing new perspectives every day.

Nevertheless, the voice in my head luring me into my imaginings appeared too attractive to ignore twenty-four seven. In the past it had lured me into narcotics but its voice had been weakened by the light of awareness and my subsequent refusal to follow its siren song. But the allure of sober homosexual sex appeared to have the voice of a higher-powered lobbyist, appearing alongside my indulgence of sexual fantasies mirroring such behavior, and I believed I should ignore its demands to be served no longer.

I married the idea that a “real” man makes his own choices regarding a spirit of adventure. There was almost a “poppa would be proud” kind of motivation to this entire “sexploration,” and I determined to go for it; eager for a radical change in consciousness without the use of drugs.
I entered the adult bookstore and could sense a crossroads of higher energies coming together. A sense that something other than sex was approaching… sumpthin’s happenin’.
Target acquired: a wild-eyed young man in his thirties, powerfully built. We made eye contact. He turned and entered a booth. In a moment the lime-colored letters lit-up above the door showing “Movie in Progress,” but the door remained ajar in a green light of invitation. I entered the booth, turned and locked the door, and sat down next to him. We watched the porn a few seconds in silence. Part of me screamed “run out, go!”
“Here’s a few tokens towards the movies,” I said instead, first placing them on the video controller and, taking a trembling breath, placed a hand on his leg. Finding no objection to this obvious behavior, I slid to my knees. There’s always something unique and scary about a situation when two male strangers decide without discussion to have sex. It’s like we’re members of a secret society that accepts things like this, and those mired in the lower echelon of bourgeois normalcy could not understand our boldness to pursue these sexual satisfactions. We were therefore, a superior ilk, free and understanding; far-and-away more in touch with ourselves than those bourgeois goose-steppers.

The almost hyperventilating excitement swept over me, and temporarily removed me from ‘self’ consciousness. I wait breathless, as an uncomplimentary image fills my head: not unlike a dog meeting another with its head lowered and tail wagging. Submitting myself in a kneeling posture for his approval, I am intoxicated in this, my suddenly realized and rebellious moment. His silent answer unambiguous, he takes out a circumcised firehose of such length and thickness as to leave me temporarily stunned.
Within moments I had everything I could have asked for. A willing partner with impressive equipment, all systems appeared go, but after some initial moments, I could find no reason to be here doing what I was doing. I feel decidedly nonsexual and repulsed. It was like I was placing a piece of unpleasantly scented rubber into my mouth for no discernible reason other than to be submissive to this stranger.

A voice in my head was telling me I didn’t want to be submissive to this stranger. Singular and quiet, it kept asking me, “What are you doing this for?” I had no answer... I could sense a desire to slip away into a submissive fantasy, but no longer had sufficient desire, energy or motivation to do so. Good-cop/bad-cop voices spoke up: he’s not superior to you, so why put his dick in your mouth? On the other hand, less clear but more muted motives hinted at the excitement and pleasure in submerging into slavish fantasy along with the appropriate behavior to keep such imaginings company.
I soon stopped what I was doing to him. Instead of following the initial impulse to leave upon cessation of my oral service, I knelt to the side, vainly seeking to end my sexual frustration with an orgasm of my own. I tried watching the porn on the back of the locked door, and I began to wish I hadn’t even begun to do that, but had left instead.

He likewise started to relieve himself. As I jerked off and started to excite, however, I was overwhelmed with the realization of pleasure within the goals of my sexual fantasy and, at the same time, a sudden sense of desolation and frustration should I just leave and walk back onto the street. I suddenly felt life’s emptiness swamp me, hopelessly sterile and frustrated compared to the “life” the here and now afforded me – and with my searching lust came a renewed urge to take advantage of what was in front of me. My very presence in the booth fed anew not only the increased temptation for my opportunity, but justified it (you don’t go into a whorehouse to play solitaire). What I was fantasizing of having in my own efforts to obtain relief was, after all, right here, and why not just get into it?

There suddenly seemed such a promise to escape my uncomfortable dilemma, to complete a submersion into some “real life,” that my own fantasy soon crooned to imagine myself from a feminine perspective and here was a guy to be that way with. Not only to pleasure his huge apparatus, but a compulsion was sweeping over me now to complete the act all the way this one time sober. As the excitement of my own manipulation rose up within me, the pendulum continued to swing wantonly, and I commit to just do it all. I left my own jerking ministrations and turned to him.

He was stroking himself as I placed my mouth over his huge rubbery head. He continued to pump his hand into my chin and I surprised myself how gently I placed my right hand over his pumping fingers, causing him to stop as a voice in my head sarcastically commented what a Hallmark bookstore moment this was. He withdrew his hand from his prodigious staff and I took over, sliding my fingers, adjusting my mouth and breathing – my will – into the blowjob.
The moment the large ball of flesh filled up my mouth, the quiet dick-wilting communication of ‘what are you doing this for?’ began anew. If I pay attention to this voice I’m out the door and on the sidewalk, and I find myself remarkably concerned with what this stranger might think of me. The assumption that I owed this man my servicing was somehow allowed, and the way of escape was clear: accelerate into fantasy. As a submarine dives into the ocean depths, I sought out submergence into sexual fantasy as the haven from which to continue my operations.

My dreamstate wasn’t currently at a sufficient level of intensity for me to totally submerge into. I needed a greater commitment. I could not continue this activity in my current state of consciousness. I sought to recapture that vision of lust lost within myself, that kind of high-octane energy that sometimes twists your body and makes you cry out loud when you climax by yourself. I was going to have to purpose myself deeper in his service – no, to its service – and leave any and all inhibition behind.

I breathe in through my nose and slide the mammoth thickness down my throat, submissively dedicating to providing pleasure, and a complete commitment to swallow every drop of completion that will be offered. A uniting of the will and the behavior, I am holding deeper and deeper breaths in order to allow his huge beast longer time down my throat, I started to forget about technique long enough to merge with that young and beautiful female teenager on her first date, not really sure how she got here but wanting her date to be pleased with her. Guys really like this… This submersion into the imagery allowed my mouth to suddenly salivate to the point where I was giving off slurping sounds which I hadn’t remembered ever doing before.
As I submerge into my own expression, I sense him submerge into a spiritual counterpart, and it appears what is being served in him is taking him over with such groans, cries and guttural sounds of pleasure that there is a heightening frenzy in the very air we breath. His moans are intoxicating, and my imagery more continuous in its ability to captivate me. With each slide down my throat, the wet travel itself is increasing the level of intensity in his cries and groans, and as the thick staff turns to wood the head expands with that final life of its own. I am in total submission as his jerking spasms not only begin to pour into my mouth, but his entire body convulses as it enters into the release with gasps and loud cries of pleasure.

As the throat fills with the hot fluid, the tongue senses it as if it’s coming from every pore on that bulbous head. The back of the throat is flooded and hesitation is no longer an option. Swallow immediately. It’s so hot, salty and sickly thick that I only gag momentarily before completing the sickening act with a “you wanted this” from that previous quiet tone in my mind’s background. I try to tell myself it’s great, but somewhere deep behind the frenzy I’m conflicted to know that’s not true. I did, however, take it all, and this new dedication to service is just in time, for after swallowing the first load, there’s a huge second delivery.
I was more into receiving it by then, for once the previous rebellion (urging me to spit it out and run from the booth) had been silenced and overcome, I now remain a more trained novitiate in his stead, and am settling into the silent, unmoving impenitent on his knees with the reality of a shrinking cock in his mouth.

A series of dark rites emerge. Apparently I have earned them. Just as Jesus tells the parable of the man who first refuses his father’s request to work in the vineyard, but then goes, and is hence regarded as “doing the father’s will,” so I had at first refused the dark side’s entreaty, but had reconsidered and ultimately acquiesced to it. This commitment appears to deserve a reward; a certain baptismal anointing fitting for the occasion within this strange world of behavioral reality, temptation and the spirit.

For as my date slowly withdrew his spent penis, a small pearl drop of fluid appeared off the tip. Swept up by my new and total commitment, I dutifully arched my face up a few inches, extending my slavish tongue to lick it off. Perhaps because of this dark and sudden Eucharist, his stick becomes a baptizing baton, with him wiping it slowly – still glistening wet with his sperm and my saliva – first across one side of my face, and then I, dutifully turning the other cheek, received its slow return benediction across the other side, completing the accolade. Dutifully thrilling to the silent scream inside my soul (‘something’s new here’), I was now swooning.

In the spirit of the moment, I started to put into words my motivation to meet him the following week for sodomy. I heard the sound of my own voice and I immediately fell into shocked silence.
“Your wife is so lucky to be able to...” I heard the sound at the same time I saw what I had expected to see: a facial expression telling me his wife doesn’t act as if she’s so lucky... But I also noted the surprise on his countenance which mirrored my own.
When I had first told him of the tokens I had for our use upon entering the booth, I had spoken in my normal voice. Now I had that sing-song high pitched faggy whine of submission in my tone. That twisted vocal that people call effeminate for lack of any other term to define it. I had never spoken with this voice before in my life.

I was suddenly in the spirit. I saw a landscape. I was in the landscape. “I” was the landscape. There was no consciousness of anything else. There was nothing that existed in my reality apart from this landscape. A territory of life played out in multiple dimensions. There were symbols for various places I would live, careers I would have, and people I would be close to. It had a topographical cross-section quality to it. It was like a baseball diamond in which the viewer could be in the dugout and actually see what was “below” the field and bases. If there was a tree, for example, where second base was, you could see the roots of that tree below the ground as well as the tree above ground. The height, width, depth – as well as present and future – were being presented to me outside of normal space and time.

On the “surface” there were events: future people I would meet as well as future careers and places I would live which were mapped out on the upper plain. Underneath it all, where, for example, one could see roots, were all manner of symbolism for this sexuality. This subconscious world; this “under-foundation” was filled with emotional river-like deposits. I could see these forces generating this new tone of submission within my “new” voice. The submission would always be towards this sexual world, and the individuals I would use in this behavior were just beings to be used in order to use these forces. I understood that within the submissive, feminine quality of my voice there was an urge to constantly generate sexual response. Sexual activity would become the center of my life. I saw myself about to enter a universe made up of vanity and the constant seeking of sexual contacts, as well as mocking and condescension toward all who might disagree with its appropriateness. This would be a life-style centering compulsively around the penis, the anus, felatio, and sodomy, while the amount of kinkiness I would choose to allow myself would complete my individuality.

No matter what my life’s accomplishments, the real dynamic sense of life would be felt through this sexual behavior delivered on these rivers of emotion. It was made known to me that if I uttered one more word in the furtherance of a sexual relationship with this man in the booth, I would be committed to this world.

The decision was not made with my thinking mind. It was the soulish disposition of something much deeper. I didn’t say another word. Conflicted and scared, I remained silent on the floor, terrified and stunned, and was never more relieved than when he left.
Was I fearful of societal condemnation or something far more significant? I wouldn’t touch a man again for the sixteen-year duration of my marriage. I knew it was time to return to my wife with a new and different perspective.

The full .pdf chapter is available for free download

To comment, email here

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*** Buy the novel that tears the covers of a sexuality never spoken of in "Back From the Other Side."

Stop the endless loop of tormenting thought - Free: Observation - Exercise / Meditation ––– ABOUT US

Back From the Other Side, a novel that connects the soul to salvation by using the awareness of cutting edge Psychiatric theory, sexuality and madness to chart its course.

Chapter 21 – To Be or Not To Be