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Found 11 results

  1. Maybe this place isn't necessary, and people have said all that needs to be said in reviews. Or maybe not. Need to say something more? Here's a chance...
  2. Mikiesboy

    Compassion

    This contains some descriptions of animal abuse. If you're sensitive you may not want to read on. I’m reading a book called, Saving Simon by Jon Katz. Simon is a donkey and Jon Katz is a writer. He writes often about dogs. This is the first thing of his I’ve read. It is sad and horrible, yet uplifting and wondrous. Simon was abandoned on the farm where he lived. Left in what they thing was a hog pen, with no water or food except for what the small boy who lived there could sneak to him. Rescuers found Simon nearly dead, covered with maggots, horrible sores and hooves he could not walk on. They figured he’d had to walk on his ankles they were in such horrible shape. His teeth were rotting and he was in pain. They found lying down where they believe he had been for some time. As they treated him, they discovered that donkeys can scream. They rescued the poor thing, and took him Mr. Katz’ small farm. Katz and his wife Maria had had three other donkeys by that time and took Simon in. They nursed him back to health, well as healthy as he could be. While all that is lovely, the full title of this book is Saving Simon - How a Rescue Donkey Taught Me the Meaning of Compassion. What is compassion? What does it mean to you? 1. Merriam-Webster says Compassion is: sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it As I read this book and what Mr. Katz talks about I have to agree that with regard to animal abuse and neglect, the majority of us think it’s wrong. In fact we think it’s so wrong that we often say the perpetrators should be strung up, jailed, beaten or sometimes killed. Where is the compassion there? Why is it we can care so much for animals, yet have difficulty showing that compassion for the poor, the wronged, or even the farmer that left Simon alone, starving and sick? I know from my own personal experience there is little compassion to our fellow man. When I was on the street, I was yelled at, spit on, beaten, robbed, and unseen. No one saw a fifteen year old boy who needed help. I often wondered what they thought exactly. Did they think I wanted to be there? Mr. Katz, wanted to understand from the farmer, what had happened that would allow him to leave Simon in such a state. He went to talk with the man. However, the farmer was empty inside. He’d been through a lot; he couldn’t feed Simon any longer. He was losing his farm, couldn’t feed his family, things had gotten out of hand and it was easier to forget Simon. Katz asked why the farmer hadn’t just shot the donkey. The farmer replied he just couldn’t bring himself to go back there. He thought Simon was dead. Why is it, knowing how Simon was left to suffer, and what the farmer was suffering, that we have no compassion for him? All life on earth is connected. The only way to be truly compassionate is to free yourself from judging others. Only in doing that can we learn what compassion really is. However to do this, is a huge task and we are programmed to worry about our immediate world, for good reason. I judge, I read all of what was wrong with Simon and I hated the farmer. But as I let myself feel for him, I hated him less and less. If someone had shown him compassion, perhaps Simon may have suffered less. It’s a lot to think over but I’ll leave you with this: “Compassion is not religious business, it is human business, it is not luxury, it is essential for our own peace and mental stability, it is essential for human survival. – Dalai Lama XIV
  3. It was spring 1996 and I was on my break at work. The staff room was an old storeroom at the far end of the ward. A collection of old chairs had been arranged in a haphazard circle around an equally old coffee table. It wasn’t highly decorated, or even been decorated in years, and was barely comfortable, but it was a staff room actually located on the ward. Back then that felt like such a luxury. I was on my own there, so often I had to take my breaks alone so we could maintain enough nurses on the ward, but it had become routine for me. I was having a drink and catching up with reading that week’s copy of the Nursing Standard magazine. I was reading an article about sexual relationships between nurses and patients. Not something I had or would ever experience first-hand, but I knew of a few ex-colleagues who had had relationships with ex-patients and that always made me uncomfortable. In a text box, in the article, was a list of activities that could be classed as sexual molestation, if performed without consent. As I read down the list, I had a cold and horrible realization; I had been the victim of this, I had been sexually molested. Before then, I told myself that being sexually molested involved some kind of actual sexual activity, someone forcing you into a sexual act. This list contained activities such as fondling, kissing and groping of the genitals. Nowhere did it say that it had to be a full-blown sexual act. For too long, I had told myself that what happened to me hadn’t been any kind of sexual abuse, it was just one of those things that had happened. It was ten years before, the Summer of 1985; I was aged nineteen and I had gone to a Christian Arts Festival, a Christian version of a very down-market Glastonbury Festival. I had gone there with a group of young people, my age, from the church I was a member of. Unfortunately, the group didn’t run very coherently. Everyone agreed that we should all do the festival together but no one could decide what we should go to see and do together. There were already “discussions” over what events and artists we should see, and no one was interested in the theatre tents. But I was. I was just discovering theatre and the power of it, the joy of writing scripts. I wanted to see everything the two theatre tents there had to offer. By early on the first afternoon, I had given everyone the slip and gone off to see the plays and talks and to attend the workshops that I wanted to see on my own. I threw myself into a long weekend of plays and talks; most of them I saw on my own but that didn’t matter, I was used to being on my own. (Looking back on those plays and talks now, I find many of them naïve and simplistic, not many of them stand out for their attempt to discuss their subjects with any depth.) There was one play performed there that year called Skin Deep and I was determined to see it on my own. It billed itself as a look at twentieth century sexuality but its synopsis told me it was a look at being gay and Christian. I was so deeply in the closet then that I could not dare tell anyone else that I was going to see that play because the admission would have opened me up to far too many questions, so I imagined. So I went on my own. Looking back on it Skip Deep was very simplistic and a bit homophobic. It was about three young friends, a closeted gay man, his female friend and his male friend. The gay man comes out to his female friend and confesses he’s in love with his male friend. The rest of the play was the gay man agonising about being in love with his straight best friend, with different and stylised sections looking at attitudes to sexuality. The play ended with the gay man confessing his love to his male friend, only for the male friend to beat him up for doing so. The gay man then took an overdose and died. After his death, his female friend started a relationship with his male friend. Now I would have been repulsed by the play’s simplistic and rather homophobic plot. Back then I was swept away by seeing my own sexuality, and my fears about it, portrayed on stage. The gay character had killed himself, at the end, and I feared that that would be my fate too. I had been involved with the True Freedom Trust for over a year then and was trying to live by their philosophy, but it was a cold, hard and difficult life. I was also struggling to live up to their philosophy because the church I was attending then, back in Liverpool, offered me no place where I could safely come out to anyone. Now I was watching on stage my greatest fear, that being gay was a lonely and cold life and could cause my death. At the end of the play there was announcement that if anyone was affected by the play then the counselling tent was available. I went straight there. Of course it had affected me. In the tent I was introduced to a counsellor, a man, MC, who was “experienced” in what I needed to talk about. He soon told me that he too worked for True Freedom Trust but was based in the south of England. I told him about how I was feeling after watching the play and how disturbed and afraid I was that I would turn into the central character. MC responded by giving me a hug (now I would find that very questionable, but back then I was too naïve to question it). I was so desperate for the affection that I gave myself over to that hug. But MC didn’t stop there. He kissed me on top of my head and on my forehead. He caressed me and even rubbed his own erection, through his trousers, against my leg. I was too naïve to stop him, to even understand what he was doing, I didn’t even know this was sexual. But it all left me feeling so confused. I was supposed to be turning heterosexual, turning away from being homosexual, and yet I was getting very sexually aroused from MC’s actions. Why was this? MC encouraged me to keep going to see HM, at the Wirral offices of the True Freedom Trust, and of course I agreed with him. Then I didn’t feel able to question him, I didn’t know what else I could do. I left that counselling tent feeling very confused. My body had responded so sexually to MC’s fondling, such a strong and uncontrollable response. Why had that happened? Why wasn’t I changing? It all fed into my feelings of being a failure, that God had abandoned me, that God had actually turned his back on me, and I didn’t know why. Guilt quickly followed on from that confusion, I had done something wrong, somehow I had caused this situation and it was my fault for physically responding to it. I told no one about what had happened to me, I pushed that memory as far down as I could. Again, I felt it was my fault that it had happened, that I had placed myself willingly into the situation where I could be used. Then, that spring day in 1996, I was confronted by what had happened to me and it was sexual abuse, I had been molested, a publication that I deeply respected told me so. It hit me in the face. But I had to go back to work moments later, again there wasn’t the chance to talk about how I felt, even if I had been ready for it, but it played on my mind. A realisation that would not go away. It would take me longer to realise and accept that it wasn’t my fault. I had been a vulnerable teenager and MC took advantage of that; he should never have even hugged me. Now, looking back on what happened to me, and not attempting to justify MC’s actions, his behaviour was a deep indictment of how impossible it was to live up to the requirements of the True Freedom Trust. MC was a deeply frustrated man and the only way he could find any release for it was to grope men who came to him for counselling. This is completely unacceptable behaviour. As a nurse, I have looked after people who have been deeply upset. I have held their hands, placed my hand on their forearm or shoulder, but never anything more. To use someone who comes to you for help in the way MC used me is never acceptable. The True Freedom Trust’s teaching, that the only acceptable life for a gay man is that of cold celibacy, is wrong and dangerous. It condemns people to a cold and loveless life and to sexual frustrations that can cause people to act out in dangerous and even abusive ways. It took me so long to realise that. I don’t know what happened to MC. Years after my encounter with him, I was one of three men who exposed his actions in a television documentary, and this resulted in him being kicked out of the True Freedom Trust, but after that I do not know anything else of him. I hope he found freedom and stopped molesting other men under the guise of counselling them. Drew
  4. Trials and Tribulations Chapter 3 is now posted. A story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. Trials and Tribulations
  5. Life's curves I don't know, I get so confused sometimes. I listen to people talk, read stories (fiction, i know) and like all stories there's usually a grain of truth in them. They do came from someone's experiences. Like it's been said, there's nothing new under the sun. Years ago I admitted to a friend that being gay scared me not because of what other people thought, since I had been through so much already by the age of 27 to worry with opinions not my own. It scared me because I never saw any older gay couples and I didn't want to die alone. I think the fear of dying alone made me reach out through the internet to feel close to more people since I was limited at home. Through all the chemo, radiation, and other crap I had to deal with, I was always scared of dying alone. I mean I knew my parents would always be there for me, but I mean that someone, that special someone. Yet the more I learn about life, the more I feel alone. I don't even know why I'm writing this. I'm not in remission yet, but I should be soon. So, I guess I'm getting better. There's still the bone marrow transplant donor to find and do. But, things are looking better again. Yet, I also see now that I missed out on so much as a teenager. I think I would trade my life today to have had a normal life as a teenager. Making all the mistakes and finding the new experiences. I guess I'm making a fool of myself. Tonight I set up most of the night reading a long story on nifty and envied the characters, even the sad ones. At least they got to experience life. I guess after so many years of battling my battles, I'm starting to become a little bitter over it. I do treasure my online friends, even some of the old guys that pretended to be teens before they either literally died from old age or disappeared. Life isn't always fair, in fact, it rarely is. But, I have to have the hope and belief that if you pour yourself into life, in the long run, it's all worth it. I am however real enough to know that's not always true. And it saddens me to see people have to deal with the worst life can throw at you. I wish the world wasn't like that. And like I said earlier, I dunno why I'm writing this, but here it is, raw, unedited me. Please, if you feel you can't take anymore, it will get better. There's nothing life can throw at us that we can't over come or find a way around it, it will get better. Nothing last forever, including the bad times, it will get better. Reach out to someone, talk to someone, share your feelings, it will get better. Never ever give up, it will get better. There are organizations that are there to help us through the bad times, it will get better. The Trevor Project is just one of those, reach out to them, support their work, it will get better. The Trevor Project
  6. "Predators devour their prey. When the predator becomes prey himself, why should he expect mercy? What follows is the story of what happened when the tables got turned." For discussion of themes and topics. You can find the story here.
  7. Several year old story. No longer remember title or author, (not much help I know). One involved boy taking refuge in neighbors doghouse. One involved boy being nailed to cross in basement. One, boy locked in freezer for punishment. Perpetrator in all stories is victims father. Anyone remember. I've tried searching using archive with tags to no avail. If this is the wrong forum for such a question, mea culpa.
  8. Chapter 2 is now posted of my first story ever and I'm not sure if I have what it takes to write. It's a story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. Please read and let me know what you think about the first chapter of the first story I've written. Trials and Tribulations
  9. I intend this topic to be a general discussion of the story. I'll start with my hopes. First, I don't think I want or need to see a continuation of Chapter 1. Near the end, I had to stop a couple of times to breath and regroup. Before continuing I found myself glancing at the scroll bar to assure myself that I was almost done. I'm hoping for an honest portrayal of what it takes to bring Shade back from hell. I have high hopes for Dory, and would not be surprised if he guards Shade like a Doberman. This would force Dory to deal head on with the effects of Shade's abuse. I cannot yet imagine how he'll cope. I doubt Dory's had a challenge he could really sink his teeth into before (sorry ), so we don't yet know what he can do. How these two kids can be "adorable together" while they struggle over all of this is beyond me right now, but Nephylim will enlighten me.
  10. The story is finally here. Please leave your comments and suggestions on Casey and Jackson's Story. I always read and consider everything, good or bad. [sharedmedia=stories:stories:4631]
  11. I thought I should do this to get more exposure to my story. Fifth chapter of this story was posted yesterday, so if you haven't read it yet you haven't missed too much. You can catch up quickly enough. About the story - It is from the point of view of a guy named Austin Reyes. He is quite a looker - a small town boy, a funny man, a great friend and a loving son. His life used to be quite normal, working as bartender serving the patrons, earning a decent income and checking out hot guys secretly; that is until a horrible incident happens to him. He is raped and it all ends up being a mess after that. His mother commits suicide, he loses his job and is forced to flee away from his own home to hide from his molester. Ending up in a big city like Denver, Austin finds his life going back to normal. it gets better when a guy named Dylan Carver walks into it. Dylan is the hottest thing in the city and a porn actor by profession. They cross each other's paths and series of unexpected events begin to stir up the life of him... Let me introduce you to the characters: Austin Reyes - the main protagonist of the story and the narrator Dylan Carver - Austin's potential love interest and a porn actor by profession Liana Myles - Austin's childhood best friend, who takes him in when she finds him aimlessly wandering around Denver streets Amy Roerig - Liana's room-mate and friend, having only one thing on her mind - sex! Caleb Marshall - The son of the bar owner where Austin worked as a bartender. Trevin Murphy - Dylan's manager and his best friend. He is also a hot-shot porn movie director. Minor ones - Amy's friend Eddie, the truck driver Ben, Porn actor Rafe Here are the links to the chapters that are already posted under this story: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Please do leave a review to let me know of your thoughts. Don't hesitate to point out the flaws either.
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