th It was two months ago that I took my wife out to dinner for her birthday here in "little-to-no town." We were sitting waiting for orders to be taken, debating the authenticity of ancient Jewish language and writings. Suddenly, she vanished and a man replaced her image. This man was slim and possibly no more than 5'3". His oblong face was worn by life's harsh environment, porting a red-brownish beard that hung perhaps a foot down. His deep brown eyes were most observant, revealing a frightening sadistic stare difficult to mind, and one that troubled one's innermost cordial comforts. He wore a worn straw hat and a sweaty-soaked grayish top-shirt of sort. About his collar hung a dark thick scarf; protection against the sun's scorching beams in the fields. His stare clearly spoke his desires leaving nothing to doubt, although he was silent, and his behavioral "feel" had Spain written all over it--impossible to dismiss. I knew that this man, now my wife, had been my father, and our relationship had not been the best in terms of verbal and bodily respect. I had no mother. I was his youngest daughter who I felt was lazy and clumsy when it came to agricultural work, something that infuriated and brought his worst skeletons forth--but there was a reason for my lack of work impetus, I just didn't know it at the time.

This weekend, something happened that further clarified this lifetime. Cleaning up salvaged objects left in the garage from a recent flooded basement incident, my wife became overly bossy and strangely controlling until I reacted. As I reflected deeply on every aspect of my reaction, literally within minutes, I received a chat message from an 18 year old female stranger. She was, not surprisingly, from Spain of all places, showing interest in my website's content. Immediately, she sent several beach/bikini photographs and I felt this was more in-cycle reliving: pictures of her friends also, all females in bikini's, showcasing a supposed free and enjoyable lifestyle from her vantage point. I was lost, unsure what to think. But then she said two things, "No man owns me," and "I want men, not boys." Then, it became clear who these ladies had been, what role I played with them, and what my strained relationship with my then father was all about, accompanied by most graphic pictures.

Inner feelings: I felt awful strong despair, worthless, forced to silence and obey, anger, dirty, disgusted, abused, naked, steamrolled, treated as if useless and dumb. Felt a sense of obligation to provide bodily pleasure on demand as if my life depended on it.

Timeline/Location: about 1,000 AD shortly after Charlemagne's time when Moors occupied most of southern Spain. Clothing and weather effects envisioned were indicative of feudal Spain's north-central meseta agricultural wheat plains, semi-arid, possibly near Burgos in Castile.

Event: indication of abuse by father, and an eventual heated showdown with him where I was cast out of the house or I ran away--one of the two. In my lonesome wondering, I met "the wrong company" that promised me food, comforts, friendship, and riches through ... the arts of prostitution, possibly at the northern sailor coastal town of Santander. I'm sure there's more to see, this is just the beginning.

As a kind brother recently reminded me, "aren't you of Spanish descent?"

Submitted by: Roberto Gaetan on 05/26/2014

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