Life is really a trip. Beautiful and strange all at the same time. Sort of like a supermodel throwing a cream pie at a donkey. Did I mention ironic too? I will get to the irony later. I really don't understand my own body. I will get to that too. Life is full of choices. I am looking at one now. I look down at my incredibly hard cock and know what I want to do. If a penis could talk, I am sure what mine would be saying at this very moment. I want to but I am afraid of getting caught. I know how ridiculous that sounds but you were not raised in a pastor's home. No self-gratification in this house, Mister. This is irony number one. I am sure I am one of the horniest people in the known universe and yet I am being raised by a man who crusades against masturbation. Who could possibly be against masturbation in this day and age? Father Hardass apparently. And we've talked about it too. He caught me once and threatened to kick me out of the house if I did it again.
He called me sick. Disturbed. Maybe he is right. So I tried to give up masturbation for comfortable suburban living. Just one problem. My now throbbing, erect hardness is not convinced of what I thought was a good argument. I can't tell if I am crazy and want to be sane or if the reverse is true. I think of Tara. Long, flowing dark hair…pale skin…her petite but incredibly well proportioned body. Irony #2. I am not supposed to be jerking off but I have three incredibly hot sisters who have a history of resisting being fully dressed around the house. Score one for Dad: God does hate me. I know thinking sexually about Tara is wrong but for some reason I just can't help it. She's just too damn sexy. Tara is the most naturally sexy person I have ever know. I swear it is just unconscious but she loves touching and being touched. Moving those sexy little hips with that incredible ass and…must…stop…perversion.
My hard cock is driving me crazy but I know that I am almost in the clear. Yes, I set my alarm for exactly 6:43 for a reason. Right on cue, the first rays of sunlight shine into my room, touching the top of my head. It is the most bizarre thing ever but the minute the sun comes up, I undergo what I can only describe as "the change." For starters, I get the most incredible shrinkage within the first 5 seconds of daylight. How I can shrink from full erection to the dying flower that is now between my legs is a miracle (of sorts). Bad news is that I will not be able to get hard for the rest of the day no matter what I do. This is not such bad news considering my father's admonishments. Then a wave of what I can only describe as weakness and tiredness sweeps over me. I have been like this all my life. It's been a real blast. Pop quiz: if you are the weakest male in your class at a school are you A) Dating Cheerleaders, B) President of the Student Body, C) A Football Star, or D) Terrorized for being weak. Really, you're guessing A? Try again.
Ok, that's enough light for me. I like it dark. I close the curtains and head for the shower. I was working the night shift at the local mini-mart but I got laid off. Now, I rent videos with the "Movies4Rent" outlet down the street. Man, I miss that night shift. I regain my strength and ahem, other functions when the sun sets. Again not sure why that is. I would swear I am some sort of vampire, if I believed in such things. Which I do not. Besides, I don't think I would make a very good vampire. Forget that I live in the International House of Crosses. Or my stepmother's garlic fetish. The problem would be the blood. I don't even eat meat. Still, my condition is a medical mystery. The doctors couldn't find any physical reason for my change so they think it is psychological. Great. At the time of the evaluation, figured I wouldn't mention wanting to have sex with my sisters.
I also didn't mention the dream. I have had a recurring dream since I was 12-13 about being what I can only imagine is some kind of vampire. Not so much the fangs or the wings or coffins. More the hunger. Passion. The incredible longing. It is hard to describe. For years, I could not remember the dreams but I knew it was the same dream. Every night. As I have aged, I remember more. Last night was the most I have ever remembered. Never saw anyone in the dream before a week ago. It was that woman again but this time I saw her completely clearly. She looked sort of like Rebecca (my oldest sister) but more elegant. Mature. Then again, that may be what Rebecca looks like now. I haven't seen my oldest sister for 3 years now, not since she moved away at right before her 21st birthday. A mission to Africa, she said. Going to save some tribe I have never heard of, she said. Lies. She wrote me six months after to explain her deception and said she was sorry. I can't blame her for leaving but I am still angry with her for not telling me. Why couldn't she have taken me with her if she was going to run away? The end of her letter was cryptic…something about seeing me again. What does that mean? This mystery is one of things on my mind as I run "Bonko goes to the Circus" through the cash register for some soccer mom every afternoon of my miserable existence.
At least Jenna told me in person she was leaving. Jenna. Jenna may be the middle child but she is definitely the rebel of the family. In a family of dark haired children, she dyed her hair blond. Then bright red. Then purple. Yeah Dad went crazy. I miss her sense of style. She is the only one of my sisters I got to see completely naked. She would think nothing of changing in front of me. That's just the kind of girl she was. Slightly smaller in stature than Rebecca but slightly bigger legs, breast and ass. And she never let big sis forget it. I miss their fighting and tearing around the house when Dad wasn't home. Rebecca was stronger but Jenna more tenacious both physically and in spirit. The one thing they both agreed upon is not liking Dad. Despite not getting along with Dad at all, she stayed until late last year. I still remember the day she left. I saw a look in her eyes I had never seen. Terror. Confusion. Excitement. She came home and frantically packed her things. I asked her what she was doing. I asked her to stay. I asked her to take me with her. She told me she couldn't and started to cry. She couldn't tell me anything but she looked me in the eye and told me she would be back for me. When? Soon. Whatever.
Now I am the oldest 20 year-old Tannen still living at home. I sit down to eat breakfast. There was a carton of milk in the refrigerator but it was empty. If it was empty, why did someone put it back? Ok, where's the toast? When you live a life like mine, you learn to tolerate living a life with so much mystery. Michael Tannen, Mystery Man. It almost rhymes. Screw breakfast, I'm already late for work. Dark shades, the happy "Movies4Rent" uniform…I look at myself in the mirror for one last check. I look like I ate bad sushi…in my case, normal. At least I missed Dad.
