Thank You Karma, I’ve Been Patient


So, I was working at the club last night, bored to the point I was actually on the verge of falling asleep standing up. Then, a ringtone begins to play on my phone, one I have not heard in many years, “The Bitch Is Back”, when I look at the screen to make sure it is who I think it is, I see ” The Cunt” is calling. Before I get into this wonderful conversation, let me remind y’all that in just over 15 years, I have spoken with my ex on the phone 4 times, and in person twice. Needless to say, we are on less than talking terms, much less being cordial terms with one another. But she called, which had to be hard for her personally, and now I am wasting my time “writing” about her cuntness while sitting here in my shop with better things to do, like scraping the duck shit off of my 50 year old iron bench so I can refinish it later. Oh Yea, the phone call.

When I first saw who it was I did smile a bit, but only because I was hoping she was calling me to say “I’m sorry” and “you are right”. It makes me smile because in 12 years of marriage and all the years since, I have never heard those words. Oh well, I better see what she wants so I don’t have to listen to a lengthy voicemail. It started off polite enough, almost like she was reading a prewritten script or something. I know I am the last person on Earth she wanted to be calling. Like normal, she talked and I listened, this is just the way it works, she wants something I have, and I just listen. This time it was different, this time there were a couple of ” pleases” there and a bit of gratitude in her voice. I had to pull my phone back twice to make sure who was calling me. Very strange indeed. So, what does she want? Well, that’s complicated. So you understand better, I need to take y’all back to when we were getting divorced because it would appear she made a few boo boos filing her taxes and now she has an appointment to discuss the discrepancies.

Anyway, part of the terms of our divorce were for her to receive proceeds from the sale, rental, or lease from the house we once called home. It always struck a nerve with me because this house was only in my name. But whatever, community property is what it is. The market to sell was very soft, so, with the aid of a realitor, which I paid for 100%, we put it on the market to rent. Now, I remind y’all, by this time I was out if the Air Force, living in Houston, and this house is in Alamogordo New Mexico. Within a month of our divorce a military couple were signing a rental agreement. Since I was still paying for the house, each month there was about $500 remaining, which I was oblidged to split with my now ex-wife. I made sure I wrote a paper check each month for ease of keeping the records straight. After around 3 years of the same couple renting the house, I received an offer to purchase it, cash. Seems the housing market was on the rise there. I purchased the house for $57,000.00, put another $10k into it, and at the point when they made the offer, I still owed the bank roughly $18k. What was their offer for this 2900 sq ft, 4 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath house? $98,699.00 plus closing costs with immediate move in. Without thinking, I agreed to the sale. But the cunt would not see half because I protested the decree and proved she never spent a penny on the house, the judge awarded her $20,021.09 payable over the next 16 months.

OK, so here is the problem, never did she report any of the proceeds from the rent or the final sale as income or a source of revenue when she filed her taxes. Oops. So, as it stands, she is claiming ignorance, and she has been given 30 days to prove she shouldn’t owe over $56k in taxes, penalties, and fines. She has been trying, unsuccessfully obviously, to do this on her own, leaving only a few more days before the 5th of August rolls around. Like I told her, I am not giving up any information without written proof she needs my information. When I asked what I get in return for graciously taking time out of my life to copy all the shit she needs, she offered to take me out for steak. I told her, in that case, when she shows up at my front gate to pick up her package, because I refused to do everything for her, for her to leave enough time for dinner. After a long, very dramatic pause, with a sigh, she agreed to meet with me on Saturday.

So, why am I helping the cunt? Its easy, I don’t want her mess getting on me, because trust me, she would find a way to suck me down that rabbit hole. Meanwhile, in exchange for the documents she has requested, my lawyer has drawn up documents that she must sign which release me from any obligations, financially or otherwise, and it includes a detailed inventory of all the documents so if push comes to shove, I can show I provided up, above, and beyond everything I could. No sign, no copies. Luckily for me, I keep the records of my past life neatly tucked away in a small three drawer filing cabinet. Lucky for her I packratted all of this away or she would be fucked and she probably doesn’t like prison orange anyway.

You want funny? As she reads along with you here today she is realizing that I truly don’t give a fuck about her situation and that this life lesson is one that will soon be forgotten by her because that is just the way she is. Yes, she reads my blog, only because my daughter sees to it on occasion for some reason. In the end, my dearest cunt, I can only thank you because you gave me something to do with my time and gave me something special to write about today. See you Saturday. Remember not to be sad in your time of need because, like always I am prepared, something you never took the time to learn.


Where Not To Find Relationship Advice


No, I am not a relationship expert. No, I am not going to give y’all relationship advice. No, I am not trying to confuse you. I personally hate hearing relationship advice and I don’t give it because I don’t know what is rattling around in another fucker’s skull. With that being said, I got a rather lengthy e-mail from my #1 hater (fan/stalker) explaining how I can have a better relationship with my wife since I’m such an asshole. I won’t glorify her ignorance of my marriage by sitting examples but it made me sit down and think of the top five (5) people nobody should take serious relationship advice from. Finding people to give you advice on relationships is like finding people who want a free lunch; everyone has something to say about relationships just like everyone likes a great free lunch. Some of this advice is good and should be filed away in your subconscious for safekeeping, but most relationship advice isn’t so fucking good and should be taken the same way you’d take an article written for international woman’s magazines, with an enormous grain of salt. I don’t think it’s not that people intend to give shitty advice on relationships, rather, the advice is poor because the people who are giving it are either not qualified or they have ulterior motives. With that being said, there are five people (or types of people) you should stay away from when the advice on relationships starts flying.

1. Any and all television personalities. It’s important to remember that they are, above all, entertainerss with that being their number one goal, to enyertain. Entertainers care about their ratings, not about your relationship. If you’re looking at these shows as a model of relationship behavior, you’re barking up the wrong tree so much that you’re not even in the right forest. So while these shows and these people may occasionally offer a pearl of wisdom, remember that it’s Hollywood.

2. Your never-married aunt is another person whose advice on relationships is best to avoid at all costs. People who have never married often can’t help but harbor a certain essence of bitterness or misplaced desires. This isn’t to say that every single person in the world is bitter, but many who have dated for years and never gotten the ultimate reward are like professional athletes who have never won a championship: they are bitter about their lack of a ring.

3. Your seven-times married aunt is one more person you should avoid getting relationship advice from. On the opposite side of those who’ve never married are those who change spouses like most people change cars; when their husband gets too many miles, they trade him in for a younger model. These people can also be bitter because even though they have married, they haven’t done it successfully. But the biggest reason not to seek out their advice for relationships has to do with them not really knowing how to make a relationship actually work.

4. Your ex, never trust your ex to give sound relationship advice. Logic tells us that an ex might have insightful advice that you can truly use. They know you, they know what went wrong, and they know what you could have done to make your relationship work. Logic tells us this, but human behavior tells us the opposite. If you and your ex are truly friends (and don’t just pretend to be in front of the children), no longer harboring any feelings for one another, then an ex might actually be your relationship guru. But if your ex has feelings for you at all, be it love, anger, or hatred, they may purposely sabotage you instead of helping you. Sometimes, it’s just too big of a risk to take. Plus, isn’t that person you ex for one or more reasons?

5. And for the love of whatever diety you pray to, do not take relationship advuce from any comment sections of the internet or from unsolicited e-mails. I was once told that the internet can be a wonderful place for advice on relationships, but it has to be the right area of the internet. What is the “right” area of the internet? Should we just Google it?  The comment section of web articles is not a good place to get advice on relationships or anything else. These sections are filled with baiters whose main goal is to get a rise out of people. They do this through racist, sexist, homophobic, religious,  and other offensive comments. They cause people to do two things, lose faith in the happily ever after, and lose faith in humanity in general.

Which is why y’all are here, right? Expecting me to drop a pearl of wisdom by accident? Well, don’t feel fucking stupid or misled, I mentioned at the beginning this was to help shed light (both serious & funny) on some of the people we might have in our lives. Want my advice? Do whatever works for you and piss on everything else. The end, that’s all the advice I have. As well, that is the only advice I will ever need. My relationship may not look perfect to you but it works perfectly for us.

Reviewing The Lack Of Common Sense

hate-mail-1Before we begin with today’s collection of complaints, suggestion, and requests for me to fall off the face of the planet, I would like to remind readers that if you are “sensitive” to the world around you then The Sting Of The Scorpion is not the blog for you to be reading. One should review the “Disclaimer & General Information” for The Sting Of The Scorpion and when y’all do the first paragraph reads as follows. “The Sting Of The Scorpion and my other pages are personally operated and maintained by me, Scorpion Sting, based on my opinions, beliefs, and observations. While you are at any of The Sting Of The Scorpion blogs I am not in any way responsible for your feelings or if you get offended in any way, since it is your choice to be here. I will discuss a wide variety and scope of many things, both popular and unpopular. Content using adult language, situations, and subjects, implied or outright, can and will be seen here“. Yet, many people believe I need to cater to them specifically. Some examples will be discussed in the paragraphs below.

So, let us begin, let us explore what I find as a complete lack of common sense and a complete lack, by some readers, to be able to adapt and overcome themselves. First of all, I mention this all of the time here, I’m not here to please you. If you get pleased while you are here then that is  bonus for all of us. I write, post, re-post, share, and commentate on a variety of subjects and that is just the way it is around here. Unless you pay the bills or sleep in the bed next to me at night your negative opinions of me and The Sting Of The Scorpion really carry very little weight. But, as always, complaints concern me a bit and “deserve” to be addressed. In the past, I would lay people’s e-mails, home address, phone numbers, names, blogs, websites, and so forth out so others might be able to share something with y’all. But, this isn’t the hall of fame for fucktard pussies. Y’all know who you are, I know who you are, and you should know I really enjoy fucking with y’all. More on that a little later.

Let’s begin with the language I use here. First, what is considered the bad words I use regularly. My absolute favorite word is fuck, it has so many colorful uses. In fact, I felt inclined to write a post on different ways to use the word fuck so people could study up at “How To Use The Word “Fuck” Properly“. Why? Because Fuck – The Only Word That Can Be Used As A Noun, Verb, And Adjective! In the fucking end,  the fucking thing I really fucking like about the English language is that you can fucking put the fucking words “fuck, fucked, and fucking” every fucking place you fucking want. Fuck is a word I use allot because I want to. Deal with it because it probably only gets worse as I get older. For all of y’all newbies I just want to tell y’all to buckle up and hold on, that is the one piece of free advice I offer. Yes, I know I don’t have a Rated G mouth or vocabulary. Yes I know that I’m not Christian ears friendly either. But, the offended fucktards keep coming back which really bewilders me in the end. Why return? Why subject yourselves to the “abuse” that y’all think I spew? Anyways.

Yes, I speak about adoption, my family, my journey, and the history of “ME” in a candid way here. Why? Because it is who I am. I don’t represent anyone in particular, just me and how it has been happening for me. Yes, I know not everyone has a “success story” and many will never know their roots. What do you want me to do, apologize because I was lucky? That’s never going to fucking happen because I have nothing to apologize for. Speaking of which, speaking of apologies, I think the fact that I can speak about my son being a bipolar autistic child openly would be appreciated, but no, this is supposed to be some kind of a dirty little fucking family secret. Well, it’s not, he is our son.

Yes, it’s true, I do talk about religion, God, Christianity, heaven, hell, and sheeple. Are these not all things that surround everyone every single moment of every day? Whether you have these things in your life or not they are still there, everyfuckingday. Yes, I find the fact that there are those who cling to ideas and fairytales that make no sense to me personally a point which I feel I need to write about it. I really don’t give a fuck what your beliefs are or why you have them. However, I do find it humorous when readers tell me I’m going to hell for blasphemous comments I make. Hell? Really? Again we can ask what this “hell” that is spoken of, but no matter what there will never be an answer to what hell is now will there? Who knows, maybe I’m already there if there is a there that is called hell.

Yes, it is correct, I do not have a political orientation. I do, however, know what I do NOT like. Y’all are correct, I don’t like our president, in my opinion he is the pure definition of fraud. Yes, I post different things here reflecting different political opinions. Does this make me a white supremest and a racist? apparently it does because that is the two most popular words I get called. How convenient the president is a black man and now those who disagree with his “politics” are labeled racist. I’m happy he gets your rocks off but that doesn’t mean I need to like watching it happen. I also write and post quite a bit about the government and it’s continuing quest to spent everyone’s money in a fashion which only seems to suit themselves. Yes, I know, it has been going on since the beginning of government, but I’ve only been around for what it has become now. Our government is full of fraud and frauds and I’m not okay with that. For those of y’all convinced that I only see our president as a failure because of his color then you just might need to pull y’all’s head out of the oven before it’s too damn late.

Yes, lately I have been writing about the cunt who is my ex. And? Have some compassion for her and her mistakes? Fuck her, she made her bed and got caught fucking someone else in it. I don’t ask you to walk in my shoes, I just ask that you pull your head out of your ass so you can see that some people are just cunts. Now, don’t get me wrong, I find the soap opera she calls a life very entertaining to say the least. She proves everyday that her status of cunt is well deserved. I have no compassion for her or how her life has turned out, zero.

Over the last couple of months I have welcomed many new followers. Why do they come? No matter, they have decided to follow, I won’t judge them for their lack of taste. Maybe everyone here is just looking for a little “strange” on the side. Speaking of which, I have found that when I re-tell the stories from when I bartended at a full nude strip bar that some people think that some of it is “too much information”. I can’t help it, life is graphic, life is colorful, life has nudity in it, life has sex in it, and life has people in it. I can’t sugar coat life for anybody that’s just the fucking facts. No, I’m not very politically correct, it’s not in my DNA. One more piece of fucking advice, just be who you are, just live your life, get over yourself if needed, pull your head out of your ass if needed, get outside to live life, and remember that somewhere somebody loves you. Other than that, y’all’s e-mails and comments are always welcome here. They may not ever get posted, but they are always welcome nonetheless.

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When We See The Light Under The Door


When we see the light under the door it peeks our curiosity to the point where we have to accept the consequences and just open it. What if we have our hand on the knob but can’t bring ourselves to turn it, for fear of what’s on the other side? The fear of the unknown can be far worse than the thought of seeing everything is as we left it. Sometimes though, even though we may be really afraid, all we need to do is open the door just a bit and let the light come flooding out. It’s certainly not as frightening as throwing the door wide open and finding out there could be anything behind that door! But just a crack isn’t so daunting and the light it lets out enables us to see so much more than when the door was closed. In fact, we may be amazed at how much light is coming through that very small gap. Once we’ve opened the door very slightly, our eyes adjust to the new light level and then we may be able to open the door even more. We forget how daunting it was just to walk up to it and how much energy it took to put our hand on the knob. But now it is open and this is where we begin the story of husband coming home after being deployed to a far away land only to find that all of his fears are coming true and are in front of him.

The husband frequently wondered what went on behind the closed bedroom door when he was away for long periods of time. After he had some years in the Air Force under his belt he had heard of many disappointing returns that were less than the anticipated celebration. He always comforted himself with the knowledge that his wife loves him enough not to be caught off guard by loneliness. That only happens in other marriages; in those marriages where there are already underlying problems and the love has began to fade. The husband always made it a point to remain committed in his marriage and walked away from situations which might be considered compromising. The husband did this faithfully without question every day he walked out the door of their house. He was always comfortable knowing that his wife would be there to greet him with love each time he returned. As time rushes by and he began to be separated from his wife more, he finds himself consumed with fear that maybe his time has finally come to be the one who is disappointed when opening the door.

The husband had seen many things in his life, from the gruesome to the absolutely beautiful, but nothing prepared him for what he was about to witness. This time when he saw the light under the door he could hear noises, he could hear voices, and he was hearing sounds of a struggle. The husband did what came naturally, he whipped the door open with such power that it was hard to keep it from embedding itself into the wall behind it. He saw two people on the bed in the master bedroom, both frozen in a test of time to see who would move first. The husband wishes what he was seeing was not so, but when he blinked and re-opened his eyes what was happening became even clearer. He stood at the door waiting for something, anything, to help him make sense of the scene in front of him. But there was nothing, the moment was frozen in time, the faces were almost expressionless in their disbelief. The husband reached for the door handle and then pulled the door closed. He needed a few moments to clear his mind because he was in the process of making some decisions that will change his life forever.

Now that the husband had opened the door he saw firsthand that things were not at all normal. Now he can’t imagine seeing anything different and now he is having a hard time trying remember how he was feeling before he opened it. Is he mad. Is he sad. Is he sorry. Is he crushed. Is he calm. Is he in pain. He is mad, the emotion he feels is pure anger. The husband waited patiently sitting in his chair in the living room for the door to open again. In his own mind he had waited an eternity and was willing to risk opening the door again. As he arose from his chair the door swiftly opened up. Following the door opening came two bodies, one he was familiar with and one that he wanted to kill. In reality, he had it in his mind that they were both moments away from taken their last breathes on planet Earth. But wait, his wife is choosing to speak, she tells the husband she can explain. He thinks to himself a question with a grin on his face, how can this cunt explain why she was just caught with another sitting on her chest with her legs spread wide with his dick in her mouth? This should be good. Now he wonders why he opened the door in the first place.

While the husband stared through the couple he apologized for what was going to happen next as a consequence of the mistakes they have made. The husband produced his pistol, up until this point only destroying paper targets, his Desert Eagle was his favorite, he imagined the holes it would make in his new targets. He imagined the mess he would have to clean up after words. He imagined a quiet place in the desert where every creature there would devour every last bit of the evidence. The husband commanded that the couple kneel before him and beg him for his forgiveness. They both kneeled in silence of words but the crying was deafening even though it was but a whimper. At this point the husband announced his unfaithful wife that from this day forward she will only be referred to as a cunt. With that being said he put the pistol to the head of his wife. He sat there, remembering their wedding vows, thinking how it will be til death do us part. He pulled the trigger, click. He watched as she pissed herself knowing that the gun was not loaded. In one backhanded swing he struck the head of her lover. Her lover now is on his side, unconscious, bleeding, not moving or crying any longer.

Soon enough the base Security Police arrived. unsure what happened, the Security Police separated the husband from the situation and removed him from the house. The husband watched as the ambulance came to take care of the wounded lover. The husband knew his marriage was over the moment he saw the cunt fawning all over her lover, assuring him that her asshole husband was going to pay for what happened here tonight. Fuck it, the chips have fallen. The husband spent the next ninety days in the county jail under the charges of domestic abuse. He was also charged, by the Air Force, with assault and battery of an Officer. All charges were later dropped and removed from record by request of the Officer. How nice. Within a few months the husband and wife were no more, the only evidence the husband had of his failed marriage was the devout love from his young daughter. The husband was awarded full custody of his daughter as the courts believed the mother to be a bit unstable.

Moral of the story? Be careful how bad you “need” to open closed doors. Be prepared for whatever is behind the closed door. Finally, never kill anything in rage, not even a cheating cunt of a wife. Why ruin your own life because of someone else’s stupidity? If you haven’t guessed yet, this story is my own. At first the gun was loaded, I had every intent of putting them out of my misery, then I gently removed the clip and placed it in my pocket, these few moments assured me that I might go to jail that night but I will not go to prison for the rest of my life. The reason for me telling this story was because I have touched the subject off and on of my ex, I thought it was time everyone knew why she gets referred to as the cunt.

A Moment In Time Became A Memory

Originally Posted 28 January 2013

Remembering yester-year seems to happen to me more often than not in my life lately. I don’t think I am trying to figure anything out; I don’t think I wish to re-live any specific event, but something seems to trigger a lot of reminiscent memories for me. Perhaps, as suggested by my wife, I have too much “down time” and my mind begins to wander. Maybe she is right; of course I will never admit that she might be right, that would be marital suicide. Just so happens that this story I will be telling shortly has it’s memory sparked quite a bit from different sources and for different reasons. It happens when the subject is brought up directly, mostly brought up by my father, it happens when someone asks or talks about my dayglo orange Volkswagen Thing, or about when my ex and I were inseparable while dating. It is all true, I did drive a VW Thing and we did date 3 years of high school, dated 2 years of me being in college, and we did get married, stayed married for 12 years, divorced finally, and she is now my ex. We were together for a long time I suppose, some might say, myself included, that we were never really meant to spend our entire life together, some might say we should have never been together in the first place. But, those are not the answers I seek to share here today. I have made some promises to some friends, one who is even a doctor, that I would share my own personal story of a bizarre trip to the emergency room way back in the summer of 1984. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of any sort to share. Even if I did it might be just a wee bit too graphic. So, anyway, here we go.


Back when my ex was my girlfriend it wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven. I knew of her, but one could say she wasn’t my type. My freshman year in high school I “dated” a few different girls on a regular basis. Part of this was because I had a car and a driver’s license. Both of which were unheard of for a freshman at that time. How I got both is altogether a different story. We will leave it at the fact that I had both and they were my ticket to having more fun than the average freshman. In fact, not to sidetrack from the story, I lost my own virginity on the hood of that VW Thing. Anyway, I met my ex while I dated her younger sister, younger by a year in case you are interested. She used to give me hell because she knew we were out drinking and doing things to each other that are better left unspoken at the dinner table or in church for that matter. Soon enough my sophomore year started and I was talking with one of my friends who happened to also be one of my ex’s friends as well, they have been lifelong friends, I was the new person to the “group”. My ex wouldn’t give me the time of day as girlfriends tend to talk about things and I have done most of those things with most of her friends. What can I say, I was addicted to sex, not love, not romance, just raw emotionless sex. No commitment, no flowers, no cards, and no bullshit strings attached. I always had two things at my ready disposal, alcohol and my car. From my gathering, I never thought any of them ever had a problem with my “arrangement”. Well, not until they started dating for real, then the things I got to do were their dirty little secrets. As I write this I remember always waiting for the “I am pregnant scenario” to unfold, but it never did. Then one day, out of the blue, I was trying to con my way into a date with my ex. I not only got the cold shoulder but I also was on the receiving end of some real choice words. Such a mouth she had! I never pursued anyone like I did her. It was way beyond lust, it was way beyond being told no, it was deep and I started developing feelings for her the more we talked. We actually became friends, in private of course, because in public and in front of her friends she was a complete bitch to me without warning. But when we were away from them, she was nice to me and I was nice to her. It was all but a very confusing game we played. To this day I still don’t completely understand it.


We did begin dating, very traditional dating. I would pick her up from her house, I would sit and talk with her parents, we would go to eat or to see a movie or go to the mall, always making sure she was home by 11 p.m. on Friday and Saturday nights, the only two days I was allowed to take her anywhere by her parents. Whereas I didn’t have a curfew, not even on weekdays. My parents had an unspoken rule about my curfew which was I continued to keep my straight A average in all classes and stay out of jail. I did both with little effort. We dated for a few months, 3 or 4, and our relationship really developed, she would even hold my hand in school and in public, she would kiss me no matter who was able to see it, and she was nice to me always. She alienated most of her friends because all of her spare time was spent only with me. Her sister had a softball game one night during the week, a late game, didn’t even start until 8:30 p.m. or so. Her mom said we could go see her since it was a play-off game and also because it was 4 blocks from their house. That night was misty with light rain on occasion but not enough to stop any of the games or delay them. I went to pick up my ex at her house. I had to wait for her to finish getting ready so I sat and talked with her mom for a bit. When my ex walked out I was knocked out with how she looked. She normally had a real “preppy” look, always slacks and a blouse of sorts or a long skirt with a blouse. I had never seen her in anything else, ever, never before did she dress it down. But on this night she chose to surprise me, she was wearing some skin tight Levis 501 jeans and a t-shirt with her sister’s team on it. Want to talk about impressed, that doesn’t even begin to describe it. So we get in the car to go to the ball park and she looked at me and asked if I liked her new look. She explained that it was because of me and a few comments I made about her dressing like an old lady all the time. It was never said to be mean or to actually be taken seriously, it was always me just joking around. She told me why we were driving that her jeans were so tight that she was unable to wear any panties. Yea, they were that damn tight. We parked, walked to the field her sister was to be playing at, got a couple soft drinks, and went to the top of the bleachers to sit. We sat there to watch her sister’s team wipe the field with the other team sealing the deal for their place in the championship coming up. Her sister came to where we were and told us that she was going to get a ride home from a team mate’s mom and for us not to worry about it. After a short conversation she went back down and left.


My ex and I sat up there on what had become cold and wet bleachers for a little while after everybody left. We watched the entire cleanup and the shutting down of everything as we just sat there and talked. We were making plans for the summer coming up since she knew I was going to be home this summer because my dad had died in his accident the summer before. It was a touchy subject with me so she didn’t bring it up much. Our plans included trips to the beach and the local lakes and such. She had mentioned that she wanted me to help her pick out a new bathing suit and how she was looking forward to me being there. She was talking about a few things that night, it was different, she was opening up to me and at the same time re-assuring me that our relationship was indeed sincere. By now they had turned the field lights off and almost everyone that was there is now gone. It’s time to go; I don’t need to get either of us into any trouble for being too late. We stood up and began to make our way down the bleachers. About three quarters of the way down she lost her footing and slipped. I was right beside her, had ahold of her hand, and when she fell her hand was yanked out of my own. When she fell, she landed in a fashion which she ended up straddling the bench seat portion of the aluminum bleachers. She let out an instant scream; she was in pain, serious pain. We both got her back on her feet so we could get off the bleachers all the way. She was bleeding real bad, the crotch of her pants quickly became dark with blood. It was hard to see, she sat on the last bleacher bench and guided my hand to where she was injured, when I pulled my hand back it was covered in warm blood. We still didn’t know exactly what got cut so we walked to the restrooms so we could assess what happened. By now the blood was very visible and it was coming on strong. Once we got her jeans unbuttoned it was still unclear where she was bleeding from. I imagined sliding her pants down one day, wondering what I would see then, but had no idea that the first time I slid her pants down that it was going to be to see where she was injured. It was very severe, she didn’t have a cut or slice, she had a “rip” in her skin, more specifically, she had ripped one entire labia majora and it was bleeding profusely to say the least. I pinched her bloody labia between my thumb and forefinger to try to stop the bleeding, she looked as if she was going to black out. I wadded up some paper towers to hold on it, gave her instructions to hold decent pressure on it, and I left to go get the car. Due to the nature and arrangement of the ball parks I could only get back so close to the restrooms. When I went back in to get her she was standing in a giant puddle of her own blood. I wadded up more paper towels, held them in place, and we tried to get her pants back up, buttoning them was impossible. When we got into the car it seemed like she was beginning to bleed heavier, so I took a towel I had rolled up in the back seat and we stuffed that down into her pants. The command decision was made to take her to the emergency room and go from there. It was a rough ride for her, every motion the car made caused her extreme pain.


When I pulled into the emergency room I helped her out of the car and we went inside. She was immediately taken to the back for assessment. I, on the other hand, got to stand out front where I got the 3rd degree. My story, for some reason, was beyond belief and I was all but called a liar and a rapist. Her parents arrived soon enough, as well as my own parents, and the deputy sheriff. Everyone had questions; both of us were talked too multiple times by multiple people. I was liar and she was covering for me somehow or another. That’s neither here nor there, but it made me feel very “low” as if somehow this entire situation was my fault. Her family asked me to leave because they didn’t want to deal with me at that point in time, I would be dealt with later and I wouldn’t like it. Meanwhile, the drama was happening at the front entrance. Seems the blood that had been dripping out the floorboard drain holes had begun to puddle up and became very visible, enough that cops were called to check it all out. My car was seized as evidence and towed off. I was taken into police custody for questioning. After all the paperwork was done I was released into the custody of my parents, who still didn’t believe what happened. The following morning, as I was being taken to school by my dad, we drove by the park, which at that point had police and crime scene investigators doing their thing. (Did I mention she lost a whole hell of a lot of blood?) Later in the day the story was in the local paper, which in the article asked the public to step forward with information on what had to be a homicide. My called the crime stoppers number, police came to the house, went to my ex’s house, and finally sorted it all out as being one long connected event that took place the night before. I was not allowed to speak with my ex by her parents for an entire week; my own parents were forbidding it as well, but for different reasons. The only reason I got to speak to her was because she had returned to school. We were able to talk then. She told me while she was in the emergency room that investigators ordered the rape test to be completed. When they figured out she was still an intact virgin then that too passed. She got 17 stiches total starting from the lower (anus side) all the way to the top of the labia majora ending inside at that point. (Sorry, it’s kind of hard to describe.) The stitches were done “neatly” by the surgeon yet she was told that one day she might have to have plastic surgery for cosmetic purposes as he did not know how it would heal or how it would scar in the end. She went thru a hell of an ordeal but she remained with me because we both knew that the rest of them were full of shit. What was told was what happened, nothing more, nothing less. Later that day, she offered to show me her stitches. Between the stitches and the bruising I was hard pressed to even think what I was seeing looked like any vagina I had ever seen. In due time the stitches came out, the swelling went away, and the bruising went away, but the scar was staying for life. After 30 days I got my car back. About the same time both sets of parents eased up and agreed to let us continue dating. From that point forward one of my favorite things to do was to simply trace her scar with my finger tip, she never seemed to mind, dressed or undressed.


Years went by and we were married and soon after along came my now oldest daughter. When she was born it was hilarious because the mid-wife had a lot of questions about the scar, still visible as an indention in the skin. For fun, I will share what I consider a “funny ha ha” about my ex-wife. When we were in the process of getting our divorce, she had moved in with her boyfriend, and I was packing up all of our personal belongings so I could give her hers. I came across a card, on the envelope was the word “Scar” and the paragraph written inside started with “Scar, blah blah blah……” and was signed by the jackhole she was now shacked up with. I thought to myself, wondering, as I have done on some other occasions since, with a simple question. Does she think of me each time someone sees her scar, does she think of me when someone inquires about the scar, does she think of me when another man touches her scar, does it still tickle, does she tell the story? Of course, I will never know, but I have always wondered. Anyway, that’s the story. Sorry I was unable to present y’all with a visual representation; if I had a picture I would sure share it.