I Live Every Day Like it was my last and dont give a f**k

I always have, lived every day like it was my last. Always meaning as far back as I can remember, which honestly, before 9 years of age there’s not a lot.

I was born in NYC to a mother and father who were both transplanted from Chicago. My dad grew up poor, a painter, resigned himself to being poor his whole life, almost proud of it. My mother grew up on Lake Shore Drive, surrounded by fine contemporary art, a well know father and never had to work a day in her life, an incredible ascetic flair.

At 4 my parents divorced. I dont really remember it, or anything before that. My mom re-married a shrink. We lived in nyc, a summer house in the Amagansett. When I was about 8 we moved to Ivorytown, CT, to a 200 year old, 21 room home on 2 acres. We stayed there for four years. My mother had a difficult relationship with all her children. When my brother was 6 according to her, because of my stepfathers insistence, she shipped him off to a place for hyper active uncontrollables, for boys that mothers didnt want to deal with anymore, outcasts without knowing why. To this day my brother, an empty shell of a man, blames my mother for his failure of a life, for allowing strangers to dope him up, for 2 years at an inconceivable age, banned to Bronxville, NY.

Now more about those first bouts of not giving a fuck, taking control of my life, good/bad decisions.

When in Ivoryton, with my 2 brothers, my “full” brother, a damaged, angry, lost soul, the other a “halfsy” product of my mother and stepfather. There was also a weekend stepbrother (from my stepfathers 1st marriage), whom started messing around with me at the ripe old age of 9 1/2, he was 14 1/2. We used to sneak to the “downstairs suite” to watch Saturday morning cartoons together. I wouldn’t really call it sneaking, as far as the rest of the house knew, it was innocent. Honestly I looked forward to when he came up, it felt good to be held, fondled, I had no complaints. We slowly moved to my “playhouse” which was pretty cool, a shed an acre back from the house. Getting too risky “in the big house”, the innocence of cartoons didn’t quite seem an appropriate background to hot and heavy petting and panting.

After a year or 2 of juvenile petting and kissing, I started going, every weekend to stay to my friends house. She lived had this incredible property with apple tree fields and this naturally built pool. She had one older sister and had just lost her stepdad to suicide. Her mother, on husband #3 who had a son, her weekend stepbrother.

Every weekend I would stay there and I would mess around with her stepbrother, she would mess with whomever the stepbrother had over that weekend. Always sleepover weekends, only the poor older sister, awkward, left out, watching us enviously as we laughed, cuddled, kissed. I smoked pot for the first time at 11, during one of those weekends. My girlfriend and I followed her stepbrother (and his weekend friend) into the woods one day. A manila packet was hanging out of his pocket, I grabbed it, he was really pissed. My friend and I knew it had to be something good,something we wanted, something so special he felt it had to be hidden, snatched back. We told them we would fink on them if they didnt let us join them. They had no choice. I also smoked my 1st cigarette at 11 one of those weekends. We stole a pack from her mother and smoked the whole pack in one sitting, both getting a little ill, both continuing the ritual weekly.

My 1st real “boyfriend” Stewart, came about on my 3rd year at sleep away camp. I played more innocent with him, I think there was only 1 real kiss, I was 11, I was hooked on him, he was so cool, name remembering is not my forte, if you happen to see a name of a past conquest, know that there was a special reason, said name was remembered.

Conquest, a funny, slightly arrogant way of me to describe past lovers. Yes, there were a lot of past lovers over the years and granted my stepbrother started it, he was the instigator, I’m nervy enough to call them conquests because to me they were. Lovers to me is a mutual want, level, playing field. I, on the other hand, I saw what I wanted and took it, there was nothing mutual about it, except maybe after the fact, when they realized they wanted more. I never really had any problems picking and choosing, I was cute, not a stunner but I’ve been told I have a sort of Je ne sais Quoi. It was easy, I’ve never really been shy. I was usually the instigator, didnt really dig guys coming on to me, I always needed, was turned on by the upper hand.

Four years in Connecticut during which time I experienced a naive sexual awakening, cigarettes, pot, my Mothers 1st bout of non-Hodkins Lymphoma which ultimately took her into a deep depression that lasted the rest of her life, my stepfathers increasing-debilitating alcoholism. After heavy petting, experimenting and extreme family dysfunction that went on for years, we moved to LA, I was 12 going on 13.

Los Angeles was a whole new world. We moved into a beautiful “Spanish” style home in Westwood and my mother and stepfather “re-did” the garage for my older brother to live in. I was always a little jealous of that, the freedom offered to him, easy to sneak out, private, like his own little house, not that he ever took advantage of that. My step brother would come out on vacations, our sexual relationship had ended, cant really remember when, if it was back in CT., or once we moved, not enough acreage for it to be safe.

I was miserable. Coming from a very small town small schools, where I knew everybody. I started 8th grade at Emerson Jr. High. Here I was coming from a school of around 150 kids to a school of around 3,000. Nobody said one word to me for 3 months. It was awful, I would come home after school, get our Sheltie Ben (thank God for Ben!) and just walk him for hours, sucking down my mothers stolen cigarettes and feeling sorry for myself. Eventually my mom contacted a neighbor who had a daughter, finally I had somebody, a friendly face in a crowd of self centered, self absorbed rich kids. She herself was a sort of awkward kid, not somebody I would normally hang out with but she had a great group of friends all of whom welcomed me with open arms. It was good, nice kids, very naïve compared to me. They got me started, the daunting task of becoming accepted in a world of plasticity. They were sort of part of the, I guess what we would now call the Geek squad, and as we all know Jr. High and High school is such a label based community… I was not a Geek, as appreciative as I was towards them, I knew in my heart, they were not my niche. I was a Stoner a rebel, they were nice awkward kids.

I’m not sure how it happened, the 1st time I saw him, but I knew he had to be mine, my 1st “real” love, David Moore. We both wanted, needed to crawl into our own little world together, to block out the craziness around us, to make our own little shell. We succeeded, we were inseparable. Every night our group would look for pot, ludes, anything that would give us a buzz, anything that would help us deal with going home for the night. We hung out in parks, the bowling alley, parties we were free to do what we wanted, we took full advantage of that freedom.

I was determined to lose my virginity before I turned 14. We were at a party and there was a garage with lots of kids making out, an empty mattress. We claimed that mattress and David without any foreplay managed to get in there, honestly, I didn’t really feel anything. Yes, I felt the love, the oneness, it was quick, real quick, we were surrounded by strangers. Sharing our 1st, not even realizing how special it should have been. It was awkward but we now confirmed our connection, our love was stronger then ever, we had become one and we were our own support, we didn’t need anything but each other.

This is only the beginning of my, as I said numerous conquests. Not enough room to continue. Gets a lot juicyer, I got a lot crazier, traveling around the world, global conquests-look for more to come