My Tortured Soul: FV
©2008, WriteByMyself, All Rights Reserved.
Revision Date: 29 October 2008
Duplication and reproduction unconditionally prohibited without exception.
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FULL DISCLAIMER: This material is designed for adult audiences only and deals with mature themes. If you are under legal age in your place of residence, you should not access this work without your parents' permission. Parts of this work contain may contain vulgar language, disturbing images, and implied sexual activity, which may make many people uncomfortable. If you may be offended by any of this, you should not read any of it. I will not limit my writing to keep from offending those with narrow minds or weak constitutions.

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Dedicated to Beep, with love and affection.

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Preamble
Duplication and reproduction unconditionally prohibited without exception

It's time to tell a true tale. The names (both places and people) are changed to protect the innocent even though there are no guilty parties. My name is Derrick and I live in South City. I'm a writer. Yeah, I have another job that pays the bills, but writing is my passion. I like to write, and make people feel things and understand things they normally wouldn't. It's not an easy job, but usually it's rewarding.

You might think this tale is about me, but it's not. What you will find herein is a discussion about two of my loyal readers. You might think you will find it uninteresting, even downright boring, and not the least bit educational. You very well might. But I don't think so: this is a very special tale.

Unlike my other tales, this is unedited. Nobody has seen it but me. I wrote it, read through it a few times for obvious errors, and then prepared it for submission. I made one factual correction this evening after an Instant Messenger discussion. It contains no long disclaimer at the top, just one copyright line. That's to let you know how important this is to me.

This treatise is from the heart: my heart. I know going into this tale that I will lose the respect of many of you, the friendships of most of you. I also know this tale will make me popular with a group of people I don't particularly care for. I'm not looking forward to that, but sometimes a story needs to be told. People need to understand me, and that is what this is all about.

Those of my readers who have tried to get to know me, know I am a very private person, and getting to know me is an impossible task because I have walls that I've built over a long period of time and have the will to keep them standing strong. I'm not sure any of you have managed to crack my walls. At my age, I have quite a few decades of practice at this task.

Like I said, I'm private: very, very private. When you're a closet case writing for a wide audience you really need to protect your identity. There are a lot of crackpots. There are also a lot of well-meaning people who think being "out" is great and want to help you with a problem you don't even feel you have. Those people are the ones I'm afraid of. Nobody knows who I really am -- and therein lies more of this tale. That's why I have two identities: my real one and my pen name. Many authors create a pen name for online use and keep those two identities totally separate out of privacy concerns, and I am no different.

On that subject, and before I get on with it, I need to be honest: I suppose a dozen or two of my readers know my real first name: Derrick is a common name and I've revealed it to a few people but that's not a high security risk. Of that group, a small subset knows the region of the country where I live -- more or less. Of that group, I've revealed myself completely to just two people. I'm going to share with you how both of these stories came about: one old and one within the past month. This is a tale of and from my heart.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness." -- The Declaration of Independence of the United States of America.

Reader One -- Chase

The first reader I met is a special case. His name is Chase and he's from West City. He knows more about me than just about anyone ever could. I count him among my offline friends now -- he's no longer an online friend. It's weird, because at some point you no longer consider someone an "online" friend, but just a friend. I never know when that will happen or under what circumstances. It just does. It can take a few weeks, a few decades, or anything in between.

So you already suspect this tale has a happy ending. Chase knows my full name, identity, address, phone, and everything about me including a secret none of my other offline friends know: I like guys as well as girls, though not equally. It might not seem like much, but the older you are the bigger of a problem it seems to be. And to me, it feels like a huge problem. But, enough of that; I have to tell this story.

When A Very Wordy Novel was originally in serialization, I received the occasional fan e-mail. My readers don't tend to write me very often, so I always answer all e-mails regardless of content. When you don't get much, you tend to appreciate what you do get all the more. Which reminds me, write your favourite net-authors now!

This e-mail, though, was unusual. It was very intelligent, long, well-written, and had a lot to say -- most emails I get tend to be short, terse, and barren of detail or explanation. Often they exhort me to add more sex and make my writing more lurid, though I don't imagine most of those correspondents even know what lurid means. It also means they don't understand what I write, which as an author I find frustrating.

Needless to say, I wrote back to him in kind. One email led to another and soon we did a little chatting on AIM. Nothing exciting or even remotely explicit, mind you. In fact, it would be entirely safe to share our conversations with our grandparents or local authorities without any repercussions. We hit it off, though -- make no mistake about that. We talked about lots of things: big things, little things, common interests, and so forth. There was a real friendship that was budding from this.

I shared a few personal details first -- showing trust makes an initial relationship move forward easier. I never got around to asking his age, figuring he was a college student because he mentioned school so frequently, and many other things that led me to believe he was younger but not too young. You can usually tell by what someone's interests are, what they talk about, even how they talk.

Soon thereafter, we exchanged photographs -- nothing erotic, just regular photos then. I thought he looked a bit youngish for a college student, but I know the photo I sent him was three years old, so I didn't much think on it. Lots of people tend to send pictures that are a few years old. Psychologically you want people to think you look a little better than you really do, so you pick the most flattering one.

The bottom line was I really liked him. Chase was interesting, well-mannered, intelligent, well-spoken, and just the sort of person I like to be friends with in real life: something there is certainly no surfeit of in my life. I can count my good friends on one hand and have some fingers left over. I felt a positive connection. I trust my instincts on people and they're pretty good, too. I've not been badly burnt by trusting them -- though I've been badly burnt by ignoring them.

One day Chase sent me an instant message and said he was coming through South City on the way to meeting a relative in Resort City for either a fishing or camping trip: I don't remember the exact reason. It was his first real road-trip and I was along his intended route.

I'm not sure why I said yes because my answer to the ëCan we meet?' question, since I created this second identity, has been a steadfast and unqualified no to everyone who has ever asked without exception. And that answer is still etched in stone for the most part. As a rule, I just don't want to meet people from online. I have this privacy need that overrides everything else. But something made me say yes, figuring a meeting would be neat. Maybe it filled a need for a human connection under my pen name, but I wasn't getting any warning flags, nor did I have any reservations.

Something was very captivating about this young man. Having already agreed to meet him, I asked his age. I was floored. Sixteen. I panicked. I almost called it off, then I changed my mind and I made it clear nothing inappropriate would happen. I made it clear his parents should know what was going on before he should undertake such a meeting.

We talked on AIM some more, and then I started hearing more of his personal story. It made me care about him all the more. Chase had -- and has -- a good head on his shoulders, and like all people he has flaws, which he shared with me. It takes a big man to know his flaws, a bigger one to share them openly.

A week later, on a Saturday in March of 2002, just past lunch, he called my mobile number, which I had given him the day before -- honestly, I think I stalled in giving it to him because I thought I might change my mind. Soon thereafter, he arrived at my home -- I had given him directions when he was about ten miles away. It was time for my first meeting with someone who knew everything about me. Everything. No secrets: strangely liberating, yet utterly terrifying.

It was quite awkward at first, to be honest. I'd love to tell you it was a perfect moment, but that's not how it started. We chatted, talked, had dinner, went to a movie, and then went to bed: me in my room, and he in the guest room. We hadn't even hugged -- and I wanted to badly, but my sense of propriety was holding firm.

I am a moral person -- though certainly to my own standards of morality and no one else's -- and I won't take advantage of anyone who is not emotionally and legally ready. Though I must say, he was as emotionally ready as anyone I've ever met. More than I am -- even to this day -- for sure. Nothing happened then and nothing ever did: there is no story there. All the signals from him were mixed anyway, and only a fool acts on mixed signals. Caring for him and comforting him and helping him were the important things. I was not in this to be a predator or take advantage of this person when he was in need. This is where those evil predators come along: the ones you see on television. A kid looking for help turns to an adult who takes advantage. That, I was confident, would never be me. While my judgement in meeting a teenager wasn't the best, nothing questionable happened.

The next morning, I gave Chase a tour of our town, fed him, and sent him on his way. The last few moments were quite nice. Finally, there was a warm hug. There is a photograph that I put on my Flickr page (under my real name, not my pen name) for the entire world to see. It's got two obviously happy people in it. What a great picture since I'm not usually happy in photos. Our meeting was memorialized for eternity.

Over six years later, we're still friends. He's happy in a long-term relationship with a great guy his own age. We see each other once a year or so. We meet and see the current installments of the Lord of the Rings and the Harry Potter films together. We don't discuss books or our lives like we used to and I miss that. Sometimes I go to West City, sometimes he comes to South City, and sometimes we meet half way. We go to the mall, to dinner, sightsee, ice skate, bowl: all sorts of normal things.

Some people just make me feel good and Chase does that for me without trying. Recently, and to my great regret, Chase has started drifting away from me a bit because of some personal challenges, but we still e-mail and instant message from time to time. And that is the story of Chase.

This tale about Chase is to give you perspective into me and how I live life and what my morals are like. It has no actual point, nor does the next one. Don't read something into it that isn't there. Life doesn't always have a point or a purpose. Sometimes, it just is. This has simply been a telling of events in my life: raw emotions, unedited. That's what a wordsmith does: tells a tale that makes you believe you're experiencing it firsthand.

Reader Two -- Price

Week One
The second reader I have not yet met. In fact, I've known this reader less than a month, which makes the tale all the more amazing -- at least to me anyway. The tale starts much like the first one. I got an email about a story -- in this case, A Very Short Story, which is by far my least-read work judging by lack of any response. However it's been very well received by the few who have read it.

My favourite emails are from readers who say they identify with my characters and what they mean to them. Those are few and far between. Most emails I get aren't like that. It doesn't mean I don't appreciate them, but they don't intrigue me. In my tale about Chase, I talked about reader emails, so I won't do it again here.

Some of my stories tend to not resonate as stories, because they are designed to showcase the characters more than the story. I guess that makes them more character studies than stories. That's what I write: characters -- the story is just there so I can write about the character I have in my mind. The characters deliver the message and the story is a backdrop to keep my reader interested long enough to have my message delivered. All my stories have one or more messages that I make sure are delivered. Read into that whatever you will.

So, back to the story, I got this email -- September the 30th of 2008 to be exact or just shy of four weeks as I write this -- from someone who identified with a character in this particular story. In itself, that is not unusual, but this letter just said things in a way that made me take notice. I wrote back as I always do, answering the email, but I also did something unusual -- at least unusual for me -- and asked if we could continue to correspond. That's a big step for me. I do write back, but I never ask for anything because I have a pathological fear of rejection born of repeated bad experiences. But I did it anyway. I'm not sure what the driving force was at that moment: fate, destiny, or luck. However, one thing is certain, it was very out of character for me.

A second email arrived the next day -- the reply. I was nervous because I am always expecting that rejection, and although I take rejection with good grace, I always die a little inside. The reply arrived and, I might point out, it was complete with both good grammar and spelling -- though with dubious capitalization. It may not seem like much but that's something I respect (and a point Chase shares). Price, that's this reader's name, and I exchanged a few more emails.

Soon, I had an IM from the young man. Young man? Yeah, I usually learn from my mistakes so I asked his age up front. Fifteen. I don't mind talking to kids, in fact many of my readers are kids and they like asking me questions about why my characters do things and I'm happy to oblige them. So we pressed on talking, with that number fifteen in the back of my head like a nail in my skull.

The more we e-mailed and instant messaged, the more I learned. He lives in East City, about four hours away by car -- about an hour closer than West City where Chase lives. This kid -- and fifteen is a kid or a young man if you pretend really hard -- and I have so many similar interests. It was shocking to me. Our personalities were very compatible. I'd almost like to use the word ësoul-mate' but that's clichÈ and certainly not enough time or information has been shared to be sure. But it feels that way. I should have seen this is a red flag. I didn't.

Week Two
Most kids I know talk in SMS speak -- which I find abhorrent for use outside a mobile telephone -- don't read much, can't carry on an intelligent conversation that doesn't involve a video game, and so forth. There's nothing wrong with that, but I don't find it remotely interesting. I'm polite with that sort of person, but we'll never be friends online or in real life. For a true friendship to blossom there needs to be a common ground. Just reading a story I wrote certainly isn't one.

And then it happens, I do something I have never done: I make a stupid, careless mistake: inexcusably careless. I accidentally reveal a detailed personal bit of information. Maybe he tricked it out of me. I'm not even sure. And worse, though I'm mad at myself, I reveal a little more information before I stop. Am I that desperate for this young man to like me, to be my friend? It's almost pathetic and I'm quite angry with myself and mentally berate myself. Where on earth does a rare young man such as this that is so much like an adult come from? The more I talk to this kid, the more I like him. Jesus fucking Christ! It's wearing on me emotionally and mentally.

Price tells me a bit about himself too, more than he should. I admonish him for being careless, but that is, I suppose, being hypocritical in this instance. There are a lot of sick people in the world and just throwing personal information about is dangerous for anyone, but especially so for a kid. I picture the horrific news stories of finding a dead kid weeks later buried in the woods. I'm not that person, but he can't possibly know that. Never trust strangers, I tell him. I think he could find me, too, if he was inclined. He's smart and he's got enough information. That scares me a little, but as far as I know he's not made the effort. He's really intelligent, interesting, and has a fantastic personality. I've no idea what he looks like, and I don't even care.

But, I must be honest; I think I've fallen in love. I know it can't be, mustn't be. I didn't even remember what these feelings were like because it's been so long since I've had them. Hell, I didn't even recognize them when they started. And now that they have, I don't know what to do. I've thought of nothing else since. It's perplexing. I can't sleep now because it's all I think about. I think it's turning into an obsession of sorts.

Week Three
I'm not getting mixed signals. They're pretty clear and consistent. And, they're scaring the hell out of me because they're not unwelcome. Last time we talked, he threw out a double entendre, acknowledged it was meant that way, and then told me I should be aggressive and go after what I want. God almighty, how did this happen? I'm too old to be in love with someone young enough to be my son. And trust me, I've been careful not to be the one steering this ship.

I'm worried I'm becoming the person I despise most: someone who takes advantage of a kid. That's about as low as you can get. Only, I'm not quite sure that would be true in this case. I think he's more emotionally stable than I am right now. I've never been so confused about a relationship in my life. All those things I always promised myself I would and wouldn't do, have been turned upside down. I am not who I thought I was and I am ashamed of myself and disappointed in myself. I am not making excuses, because there are none. So, please don't think I am trying to make any.

Most molesters look for a kid who's an easy target: unhappy, distant with his parents, and so forth. Price gets along great with his parents, he's a good student, and is everything your typical molester would avoid. Does this make me an atypical molester? I think it must. I hate myself. I really, really do. None of this is his fault. You won't catch me blaming the victim. It has nothing to do with Price. Should I rebel against all I feel, and possibly rip him up with that rejection, or let this continue and feel ever more like a cur? My insides are torn asunder.

And be clear: nothing has happened and nothing has even been discussed about what might be in the future -- other than we do want to meet in person one day. But the feelings are there, and we discussed them. So far, it's a matter of waiting. He knows how I feel, he's not afraid of me, and he's not sent me away despite being given repeated opportunities. I'm not strong enough to walk away on my own. I suck and worse, I know I suck so you don't have to tell me. Trust me, I'm beating myself up enough for the both of us.

It's becoming apparent that in order to pursue happiness, I have to give up life and probably liberty because all actions have consequences: especially this one. "Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" apparently means I get to pick one and one only. It seems in this case, they are mutually exclusive.

It's during this time that he finally sends me his photo. My heart melts, but it really doesn't matter what he looks like. I already feel what I feel and the photo won't change that. Like most people, I can admire beauty in any form. But I've been friends with many young adults over the years with barely an impure thought ñ you can have one kind of love (agape) without eros. Not once did I have any desire to have a relationship with any of them. I've admired the sights, male or female, and gone about the business of being their friend or not. What happened this time? I have no idea.

It's painful to learn you are not as strong as you think you are, and worse you are not the person you thought you were. I am not trying to justify this because there is no justification. Nothing's happened and I'm perfectly willing to wait. If he tells me to wait until he's 18, 21, or even never I can accept that answer. But I'm not sure it's what he wants. And it's not what I want -- if I said I didn't I'd be a liar. But I will not force things or push things. He knows how I feel. I'm waiting for his signal as to whatever happens next and without that signal, there is no ënext'.

It's been a relief to be totally and completely honest with this one person, with Price. I've not told him one lie. None. I ended up revealing my true identity to him. He knows way more about me than I know about him. And that's okay because he has a weapon he can use against me. This is only the second time my closet door has been open. It terrifies me and excites me at the same time. I wish I could explain this better. I'm a wordsmith, for God's sake, a writer, and it shouldn't be this hard to come up with words but they are failing me in spectacular fashion as I try to write this.

Week Four
It's so hard to describe my emotions. I've lost sleep because of Price, lots of it. I've pleasured myself thinking of him. And it brings me great joy. And then it brings guilt. I love him so much, I have knots in my stomach. I feel like I'm defiling his purity, his innocence. I'm not eating right. I am distracted at work, at the computer, and it's interfering with my life. I know he understands what I'm feeling. I've explained it to him, and he's not been freaked out. We've talked about it at length. I've even warned him about people like me. I've explained how he could be manipulated too. I want him to be careful of people who would do that. I won't do that to him. I don't think I would do that to him. I hope I'm not doing that to him and just fooling myself.

I've made sure any point at which I might have any power or control over him has been neutralized. That may be my biggest gift to him: removing any chance I have of controlling or manipulating what happens. It's all in Price's hands. If he ever wants to ruin my life, he's got everything he needs to do it. I made sure of that -- a gift to protect himself from me if he should need to.

I want to hold him, comfort him. I want him to feel safe around me. I want to run my fingers through his hair, tell him everything will be all right. I want to let him know someone will always be there for him, without condition or qualification. Do I want to have a sexual relationship at some point? I cannot lie. Yeah, I do want it. Badly. But it doesn't have to be now or ever. I love him and that's all that matters. That makes me a weird sort of monster, doesn't it?

See, in real life people have emotions and they can't help those emotions. You can't stop your emotions: they are what they are. All one can do is control one's actions. And I will try. Except, I'm not sure I want to. That last sentence is a complete lie. I don't want to: there's no doubt I don't want to control my actions. When I started this tale, I was trying to explain to myself how I feel. Now I know it is love. Head over heels in love. There is no confusion. None whatsoever.

I won't make the first move. I can't. I simply cannot allow myself to do that, yet I don't think I'm strong enough to resist if he makes it. I should be strong, but I don't want to be. I'm using poor judgement. I know this. I'm doing it with eyes wide open. Fuck me, but I have no idea what to do, nor how to do it.

I love you, Price, more than anyone I've ever met. I'll give you my soul if you want it. Damn me to the eternal abyss of Hell.

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