New Update in Journal Therapy

 I have referred to the "incident" in a few posts. Looks like I didn't spell it out well enough. Here goes, I let life overtake logic. It only took a fraction of a second to make a near fatal mistake. I almost chose a permanent state of being to a temporary issue. For that dear readers I am sorry.

 Here is a link to my most recent Journal Therapy Update. I have made the same error twice before. This is not a mistake I plan to repeat again. 

 Zahir and the family have been as clingy as warm Saran-wrap. I think it is going to take a long time to regain their full trust again. The important thing is that I AM still here to try.

 Chase

It was a Good Morning

(***See note on bottom)

 Zahir had to meet with nervous clients this morning. He was about to call home for security to come get me to take me to my therapy session. It was a rock and hard place moment. If security came from the house I would be real late for session.

 Boss surprised us both when he offered to take me. He had an event with one of his wives in Al-Abdali and offered to drop me and have his assistant wait for me to finish, then drive me back to the office. No I am still not being left alone.

 On the ride we talked about recent events. He did ask what was in my head the morning of my incident. I didn't have a good answer. I still don't remember doing it. We talked about a lot of things, thankfully he has a very quiet car. He promised to help with my post graduate certifications. 

He thinks Z and I make a good design team. He says Zahir is a good engineer but a visionary architect. The boss thinks I have a better head for the physical engineering side of the building equation. He said, "The two of you are two halves of the circle." Not sure what that means but I like it.

 Looking back on "the incident:"

 I have told Aunt Meghan. She offered to fly over to care for me. She agrees that her parents don't need to know anything more than I was hurt but am healing. I got more than a few emails, and people here asking why... I don't know is the only answer I got.

 All I had to do was open my mouth and say the most difficult six letters in the English language, "HELP ME!" It is so difficult to admit you cannot do it all. It is so easy to push down the pain and paint on a smile. That facade eventually fails. It is easy to destroy, it is difficult to build, to create something that will last.

 I am so lucky, I have a network of love woven around me. They picked up the pieces and put me back together. I have a long way to go but I have a solid base again.

 Christopher


(*** About the opening artwork: Since Zahir insisted on me trying to wear my "birth name" I thought it was only fair I start calling him Pooh Bear... He is grudgingly tolerating it.)

Housekeeping... Answering Questions IV

I woke up before Z so,

It's that time again to open the eMails:

 Question (slightly re-phrased): "How does so much <stuff> happen to you?" 

   Smart assed answer: Magnets! 

   More accurate but non-provable theory: I truly believe some people either have misfortune drawn to them or they to misfortune (not unlike a magnet to metal).

I am gay and have nerd heroes. 
Is ANYONE really surprised?

 I think Austrian theoretical physicist Wolfgang Pauli had similar luck as I have. In addition to being a personal hero of mine, and a legend in the fields of theoretical physics and quantum mechanics. 

Pauli and his colleagues at the University of Göttingen often described the many occasions that very expensive equipment suffered technical problems only when he was present. It occurred so often it became known as "The Pauli Effect." It was also tagged as “The Second Pauli Exclusion Principle,” according to which a functioning device and Wolfgang Pauli may not occupy the same room at the same time. Pauli himself was convinced that the effect named after him was real.

 Funny side notes about Pauli: After Pauli left the faculty an incident occurred in the physics laboratory at his former University. An expensive measuring device, for no apparent reason, suddenly stopped working. James Franck, the director of the institute, reported the incident to his colleague Pauli with the humorous remark, "... at least this time you are innocent..." However, it turned out that Pauli had been traveling to Copenhagen and had switched trains in the Göttingen rail station a few hundred meters from the lab at about the time of the failure.

 At one reception this effect was to be parodied by deliberately crashing a chandelier upon Pauli's entrance. The chandelier was suspended on a rope to be released, but it stuck instead, thus becoming a real example of the Pauli effect.

    The short accurate answer: I don't know, it just does.

 Question: "What happened to the dog?" 
   Answer: Kaeleb shredded the styles between the window panes causing the top pane to shatter. He jumped through the opening to get help for me. On his way through his shoulder made contact with The glass cutting it deep. 

  Irony his name has different meanings based on dialect it can mean; "Dog," "Bold and strong," "tenacious and aggressive," and "Brave." I find he is "all of the above."

  As to your second question... Yes, I feel like shit.

 And we have another painful cluster of personal questions...
 
Q) <From a female reader> "Doesn't butt sex hurt..."
    A) Butt sex <snicker>. I have to give you a two part answer on this:

       1) First time YES. Although I was out cold, I was only 14 Cal was in his mid 30s. I don't know how many times he and my foster brother used me or who went first. When I woke and my head cleared in the hospital my bottom was throbbing. It took six sutures to repair the tear. The bruising and tenderness took weeks to fade.

       2) When Z and I chose to begin a physical relationship four years later, he took his time preparing me... LOTS of foreplay including lube and stretching finger play. By the time the main event came I felt nothing but a lot of pressure, then a lot of pleasure. Is this normal, I don't know. As we all know, I am not normal.

 The last few you have to remember, I only use the email account for two things. Either they took time out of their lives to: 

 A) Read a gay teen's blog.

(OR)

 B) Read my gay/trans stories on line...

 (I just cut and pasted: JUST AS WRITTEN... Ok I bolded some funny bits)

Here we go:
Q) "Are you sure you got the gay?" 
    A) Yes darling, I was injected and infected!

Q) "Your like a dude, Ya gotta like titties right?"
     A) <sigh> Yes, I am in fact just "like" a "dude." 

  Tell you the truth though, I have always preferred well sculpted pecs to women's breasts. When I was 14 I lusted after an older Cuban boy. I loved watching his chest ripple when he pitched shirtless. <oh drool> 

  BTW: Please review Your vs You're...

 Q) "You got one <penis I was born with> why do you need another guy's"
    A) I find they are like Lay's Potato Chips, "You Can't Just Have One ..."

 

-Christopher

I Cheered For A Bad Guy (Golly) (repost)

 "Why did your post come down?" Zahir likes to review my post for my safety. This time he thought I put Mohsen and Stacey in jeopardy. He asked (demanded) they and Officer Mike review what I said. Officer Mike said I was the hero not him, I disagree. He lost far to much helping me.

 We found out that I did not hurt Moe & Stacey. The last of five adoptions were completed this last week. Those boys and girls are the luckiest kids in Florida to end up in their care. The two of them are leaving Florida but not without "their" babies.

***

 Just finished reading a series on Nifty that touched my heart. I was looking  to see if Emri sneaked a story on line that week (he did). 

 I found A Throw Away Kid by Erastes, I saw the story title and was interested. The author (Erastes) clearly has some experience with the world of foster care. The way he mentioned the trash bag drag speaks to that (been there done that). 

 I don't like the pederasty genre (surprise huge turn off). This author however touched my heart because I saw a lot of my DCF life in his lead character.

 As I read the story I found myself cheering for the pedophile (his lover was 13, yes pedophile). I cheered because he was the lesser of all evils in the case of these boys. I have said before victims of childhood sex trauma initially fall into two camps generally. 

1. Non-sexual - Sex is evil and I will have no part of it. (that was me)
2. Hyper-sexual - Sex is just a thing needed like air (Kyle from the story) the line between sex and love becomes blurred to the point of non-existence.

 With a tremendous amount of love, understanding, (and yes therapy) "normal" can become more than just a drier setting again in regards to sex.

 The story touched chords with me during the hospital scene too. When my (DCF certified) rapist foster dad tried to choke me out because I was making too much noise while I tried to alert the guy at the door I needed help, the system almost killed me again. 

 DCF has agreements with specific (often overworked and underfunded) hospitals. It was Officer Mike who handed the (DCF certified) foster dad rapist his ass. Then he brought me back to life the first time that day. He explained to the paramedics that if I went to the (DCF certified) hospital I would end up in the (DCF certified) morgue. He begged them to take me to the closest level one trauma center (it was NOT DCF certified). 

 As a result of his good deed, my hero lost his job as a contract investigator for the state. The worst part was when the state took his law enforcement officer certification for his continued "interference" with DCF casework (my life). 

 The author hit another homer when "Kyle" gets labeled as a sexual predator by the agency. This is not as a result of a criminal charge or conviction but as a result of him having consensual sex with a foster brother. THIS HAPPENS, I have seen it. Once the agency THINKS you might be a predator; they re-home you accordingly without trial, review, appeal, and often without evidence.

 CPS, DSS, DCFS, DCW, DCS, DCF doesn't matter what you call them, they all SUCK at protecting kids. If you belong to these organizations I am not blaming you per se, I do however blame the rule books that govern the organizations.

 I bitch about the screwy age of consent laws in my home state (Floriduh). Age of consent is 18. But then they add a murky Romeo and Juliet sliding scale that is total tomfuckery. IF you are 16 or 17 you are "KIND OF" legal too based on the exact age separation of your partner. 
 In our sister states Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi they went with a clear age of consent of 16. Why? Because MOST people can make that choice then. Those states added teeth to use on those who prey on the mentally challenged. 

 At seventeen I had already graduated HS, finished more than 1 year of college, and I was very much in love with Zahir. I wasn't sure if it was erotic love but we did know the 11 years that separated us was insurmountable. 

 Before he returned to Jordan Zahir and his boyfriend David split up but Z could not pursue me. Even if I became an emancipated minor (recognized by the courts as an adult) I would still be off limits due to the age of consent sliding scale. A scale that said I could make love to guys 14-23 but could not bed the 28 year old who truly loved me. The man who rebuilt the empty shell of a person DCF hollowed was off limits.

 For the second time in my life someone thru the rule book aside to protect me. For eleven months Mohsen and Zahir hid me from DCF's radar. Mohsen told them during site visits that I was traveling celebrating graduation, exceptional performance in college studies, and whatever lame excuse he could come up with to hide that I was in Amman. Being an on-line student had value. We had a VPN that showed I was logging on to UCF from Miami, and DCF the bureaucracy slept.

 Rule-books rigidly followed have injured and yes killed the innocent. What we need are case flexible guidebooks. Ironically many GOOD DCF caseworkers say the same thing. 

 Some day I MAY write my life story, including the names of the DCF case workers and supervisors who failed me as well as those who genuinely tried.

Housekeeping... Answering Questions III

Well hell, here we go again. I got some of the usual shitty comments in the inbox...

No, Mohsen did not "pimp me out" to his boss. 

• Yes, in a very round about way he did make the introduction. He let Stacy use my love of numbers and math to draw me out of my shell and reengage the world by keeping the ranch's books.
• Moe did NOT like or trust Zahir around me... at first. Then again, MOE did not trust anyone around the children in his care. 
• If not for an IRS audit, Zahir NEVER would have met me. Does that mean the IRS "pimped me out" to a Jordanian businessman?
• Moe lost his parents to the genocide Saddam Hussein waged on the Marsh Arabs. Family is everything to Moe, all of us kids ARE his family. He was and is Daddy to me.

 No Zahir is NOT a pedophile.

• Yes, Z entered my life at fifteen. That does not mean we were having sex. He was still with his "boy," David a twenty two year old young man straight out of the Israeli Army.
• At age seventeen Zahir was my best friend and mentor. When he was promoted to the engineering department and brought back to Amman I became depressed to the point I wasn't eating. HIS family took me in to recover.
• He did in fact wait until I was of legal age in MY home state. Florida the age of consent is 18 and Florida is quite draconian in their prosecution. 
• The reason he waited three years... One, I wasn't ready. Two,  the age of consent in Florida is 18...  He did not want Moe and Stacy to get in trouble.
  

He is SO much older, don't you see he is manipulating you?...

• Oh WOW some of you are just dead inside.
• Yup, he is eleven years older than me. 
• He has NEVER treated me as a child with the exception of when I have been sick, and on the rare occasion I have behaved like one.
• It is called a May-December Romance. The first lady is twenty-four years younger that his cheetoness. Does that make him a... Never-mind bad example.

To those complaining that I should break my stories up into chapters...

•  My creative process is an exercise in bloviation. It is one continuous thought process until completion. Zahir teases me quite often about my attention span being short...  my countrymen would call it squirrel like.  
• The irony is once I AM on task, my attention is laser like in focus, to the detriment of all else.
• I have received an incredible amount of flame mail involving the length of my last story. I'm terribly sorry  some of you believe you did not get your money's worth. Oh wait I did it without charge.
•  I do owe my fans an apology. I should have  paid more attention on final edits. There are a couple of glaring errors. I was rushing to complete and screwed up. My world of numbers is a lot easier than writing.

Over-share on Google+...

  For those of you who do not follow me on Google Plus, I posted something which has garnered a few emails. Here is what I said.

•   "I have had a few people in my life recently comment about how busy, and driven I am. The two are not the same thing. Busy is the things that fill your time, driven is how you attack and complete those things.

•   I have been thinking 'A LOT' of how short life is. I understand the concept first hand too well. Technically I died at fourteen, for just about three minutes. I think it is part of why I am so driven. Life is a gift. I want (I need) to leave something good behind. 

•   I think HOW we live our lives is more important than just the number of years we are given. Our life is just too short a season to waste time."

  Yes, I did in fact die for almost three whole minutes when I was fourteen. It has been my experience when people hear this they fall into one of two camps;

1.  The what was it like, did you see heaven? 
2.  They expect me to have some arcane knowledge.

  Here is what I know, I don't remember a thing, and I don't think that's a bad thing. Here's why, faith requires us to believe in something beyond ourselves. Something beyond our realm of experience. To come back with something from "the other side" would defeat the purpose of faith.

  Aside from a hell of a lot of pain from being defibrillated, and the pain radiating from my crushed larynx, all I remember is a sense of peace. I cannot explain, it was a depth of peace that I have never experienced in my life. One that I was eager to experience again.

  Have I had a perfect walk since no. Due to the trauma: emotional, physical and sexual,  I attempted to regain that peace I felt, twice at my own hand. It took a great deal of soul-searching to realize if I succeeded then evil would be victorious.

  Just a morning thought as I burn Zahir's eggs. Time for Plan B... for breakfast.

Friday Funday

  We drove down to Aqaba Thursday night to finish something we started months ago, my jump certification. I was so excited I only got a few hours of shut eye. We jumped with a few of his Air Force buddies. They were up late reliving their glory days. I was drowning in testosterone, sexy hot muscled pilot/aircrew stew... Yum!

  Two of them are now national police. I feel sorry for them, they all have the same social media photo. A body in a uniform and something obstructing their faces. They are proud of their job but it exacts a toll. Most of the ones I have met are heavy smokers. They were polite but also stand offish with me. After I went to bed, I think Zahir told them my story and why I liked police officers. They were almost brotherly at breakfast.

  Someone emailed asking if I was heavy enough to jump... Not yet, I have to wear a weight belt. I took my last three student jumps in that damned orange training jumpsuit! It was like wearing a tent.

  It does serve a purpose, it is called a tracking suit. They are normally used for BASE jumping. Yousef uses them to give a student a little more control in the air, and the color insures they are seen in case of trouble. I asked if we could try BASE jumping next. Zahir replied loud and emphatically, NO!

  There was only one dark cloud, a Canadian tourist. Yousef had promised a friend to honor his booking of a couple for a tandem jump. The guy was bitching non-stop about having to be strapped to a dude like an effing codpiece. His girlfriend asked him how often would they have this opportunity in Havelock. The only reason I remembered the name of their town was that wished I had a lock for his mouth.

  He was quiet for a moment, then he noticed me. "Why the fuck does the kid get to jump alone." I could not compete with the wind and engine noise to fire back a reply, I just looked up at Zahir with sadness.

  That is when I discovered one of Z's police friends is a bit of a smart ass, "The boy is windsock. We use him to test the wind-speed for safe descent. We are on our second today, YOU wish to take place?"

  At 10:45AM I earned my skydiving certification!!!

  Yousef pulled a bag out of the plane and gave it to Zahir. Zahir then handed the bag to me he said it was a gift.

  He had a custom free fly suit like his made for me. Mine has grey panels like the one on the left. His is dark charcoal and black. I quickly put it on in the support van for our last jump. I pointed out how it drew attention to my bottom.

  He told me, "A thing of beauty should be framed."

  We are headed north to the dead sea. He booked time at the spa to get me all smooth and us relaxed to start the work week. I love this man.

Oh, Happy Day!!!

My Friday Started With A Voice From The past...

  I got a message from my very first foster mom. She posted something while I slept. A very vigilant Zahir saw it first and deleted it. He then contacted her and gave her my phone number and what time I should be awake. 

  I lost contact with Natalie years ago. She was the nice dispatcher who took me home for my first couple weeks in foster care. One of her colleagues shared a story of a Florida foster child who ended up in Jordan. After reviewing the opening of my blog she realized I was the boy she knew.

  She warned me that I was making a bit too much noise online. She was concerned for me.

  She told me she retired some years ago from Miami-Dade and is now a consultant for APCO. She said I share too much online. "You need to protect yourself over there."

Meet My Friend...

  Baba took me out for dinner. My comfort food is dogs from "Wazzup Dog." Baba's is "Shawarma Reem." It is a family owned chain, but he is fond of the one on second circle. Shawarma is sort of like an Arabic gyro. It is made up of spit roasted and marinated lamb, beef, or chicken meat, a dollop of sauce, pinch of onions, scoop of diced tomatoes, rolled up in a pita... oh and salt, lots and lots of salt. Not exactly heart healthy but so tasty. 

  Baba introduced me to his former student/research assistant as his adopted son Chase, and I learned his name was Nurshah. While we ate in the circle I swear I could hear the guards teeth grinding. Security guys hate open spaces. 

  The joy of eating in the circle for me is no one talks to me. My voice cannot be heard above the traffic noise. I settled in and began eating my sandwich in silence as the men talked.

  There was a young man with Nurshah. He was silently eating as well. I was shocked when Baba said to his protege I would be attending Baba's physics class in the winter. He went on to say he hoped I would eventually move into Nurshah's old roll.

ASL mute draw "A" to mouth

  Nurshah asked me a direct question. I turned to Baba signing that it was too loud, I was mute. That was when I learned the irony of Hazeem's name, as he translated my ASL for Nurshah. Hazeem (Thunder) has a powerful booming voice. We had a quick exchange in ASL. He made my least favorite observation, "I deaf, U dumb..." Baba gently corrected him in ASL with, "Boy prefers M-U-T-E." He knows I hate the term dumb.

  Nurshah asked again if I was a math major, and excited by the universities physics program. I signed back I was just an engineering student, and auditing Baba's class. When Hazeem spoke my words Nurshah laughed and replied so was he when he met the professor. He gestured towards Baba with three fingers. One does NOT point with one finger here, and NEVER directly at a thing or person.

  Nurshah and I chatted back and forth. It was so weird being talked to like an adult, or at least a big kid. We discussed how my path shifted from bioinformatics to a straight engineering degree. I realized Nurshah was a fellow uber-math-nerd as he explained bioinformatics to Hazeem. After a while, it felt as if I was being interviewed.
 
  Fifteen minutes in,our sandwiches were gone. I had a "light bulb moment," maybe I am dumb. I asked Baba, "Why are we here?" He tried for a moment to feign surprise at my question. I told him it was clear I was the focus of this meeting. Why here where I was weak.

  I discovered I was being interviewed by BOTH Nurshah and Hazeem. We walked to a quiet coffee shop and continued our discussion. Turned out Nurshah was not just a former student, but was on the University's admission board. 

Hazeem is a teacher as well. He teaches deaf children, and runs a deaf mute support group. Long story short I will be learning TWO languages Arabic and Levantine Arabic Sign Language

  Baba announced we would be celebrating the return of his son from business in Iran and invited the two men to join us for dinner Monday.

  On the way home Baba encouraged me to get involved with Hazeem's support group. It would be good to meet people like you, maybe your age.

Now We Are Cookin...

  When Baba and I returned home I started my cooking lesson. I had finished making the humus and a veggie tray for mese and I was helping Mama dice onions and veggies for ara’yes. She suddenly announced "Knife down, lesson over!" I obeyed and was about to ask what I had done wrong, when strong hands grabbed my waist from behind me. I have become used to it. The men in the family will often move me out of the way to get what they need.

  I turned my head to see who was man handling me and where they wanted me to move. I made an excited squeak sound as I spun collapsing into Zahir's chest. "It is not Monday!" I was shaking like an over stimulated chihuahua as I wept happy tears into his shirt. He told me he passed on the farewell celebration to get back to me.

  His parents welcomed him home. Then they brought him up to speed, praising my good behavior.

We made it as far as the new sofa. He commended me on a wise purchase, firm yet comfortable. I woke up in our bed. He had our meals brought to the outer room. Then he would bring them in. I didn't realize how fun it could be to spend 24 of 30+ hours in bed.

SO HAPPY!!!