The Beginning Point, pg 1.

Did coming from a broken home and the severe lack of parental guidance contribute to this, with out a doubt. I can honestly say I don’t remember ever seeing my parents in the same room ever let alone either of my parents nude or having sex. Like many children my age, my first exposure to seeing people nude was in the men’s public locker room. On occasion I would catch a glimpse of naked men as I hurried through the locker room to the public swimming pool.

When I was twelve, my mother’s ex con boyfriend she met while in between her second and third marriage, talked me into playing poker with him. I told him I didn’t know how. He said not to worry, he would teach me. We went to the spare room that had a couch, sat down, and he started showing me how to play poker. After a brief explanation and a few practice hands, I quickly won all the change he had. I said proudly, “Now what do we bet?” His reply, “Our clothes”. I laughed and said okay, because I was winning, so why not? Again he lost quickly, and soon he was down to just his underwear. He again lost, stood up and off came his underwear.

I didn’t know what to think. I looked at it and he asked me if I wanted to touch it. I stood up, told him no, and left the room. Within a matter of days I was living at my father’s house in another state because of an on-going custody dispute between my parents. l was never physically molested by my mother’s boyfriend, and I never saw him again, so I never told anyone about it, until now. It was really insignificant in comparison to what happened next and the direction my life would go.

Literally within days of being exposed to a man’s cock, I was exposed to a woman’s nude body. I will refer to her as Jen my stepmother, but bitch or cunt would be more appropriate, and I never accepted her as my step-mother.

Jen was definitely her own woman, to say the least. She could drink and swear with the best of them – she also might have been bipolar, with a touch of anger management issues. The first time I had seen her was at a bar with my father during one of my trips to Denver for visitation. He gave me quarters for the pinball machine to keep me busy while he hit on the barfly Jen. I had no clue at this time I soon would be living with, and trying like hell to survive, hurricane Jen.

Jen came into the marriage already preloaded with three kids of her own. The old man, my father, already had a routine by this point – Jen worked graveyard shift and he would go to work before she got home, then not come home until she left for work. He was rarely home with us, but when he was, he was either drunk or sleeping.