Rising Up From The Ashes

Soon after I turned 18, I waited for my parents to leave for work one morning and, as soon as they were gone, started loading my car full of stuff and moved out. I had no intention of telling them where I was going or how to reach me.

I expected them to pitch anything I left behind but they did not and a couple years later I went over to remove the rest of it. At that time, I noticed a couple of my favorite things were missing (they were faves but not necessities; they didn't go with the first time). I suggested there was another box and was assured that I had everything. I figured the items had been tossed and were gone for good.

This morning I was informed that the non-existent, missing box had surfaced over the weekend. 20+ years later I got my goodies back. Yearbooks, animal knickknacks, and my very favorite, my old jewelry box, full of treasures.

Mom decided to take a peek.
She wishes she hadn't.
Sure, I have always loved jewelry.
The gaudy, sparkly stuff
and there were a couple rhinestone necklaces and some flashy earrings.
But, more importantly, it housed my skull collection.
Lots of skulls, from lots of critters, amassed from years spent out in the woods.
Oh yeah, and my penis whistle that says, appropriately enough, "Blow me," on it.
and I have been



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oh, for the record, it was not my behind that needed assistance to squeeze into a pair of shorts. Other than my corsets, which I need someone to help lace up, I am able to wiggle into all of my clothes just fine, even the latex and rubber ones.