Torn by Lust

By John Celebrity

If you stumbled on this book by its cover or title... good, I hope you read it. I believe you will not be disappointed. We cannot read each other’s minds. So I have left mine on these pages. These pages contain the life of extraordinary circumstances that few if any have ever experienced. You will enter the subconscious mind of an ordinary man with an unordinary life hidden from an ordinary world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Celebrity
• Release date: Dec 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310697944

John Celebrity

Johnny is a likeable guy. In high school he was friends with the stoners, cowboys and even the glee clubbers. Socially a good listener, he always fit in. He was athletic playing football and racing motorcycles. He never strived to be the center of attention. Yet he always wanted to win, and winning was on his side. He never asked to be molested at the age of 8, but he was. He didn’t know the pictures and slides he was given afterwards was pornography until in his teens. Through the years of growth, triumphs and hardships, porn was always at his disposal. The steady growth of lust matured into his early 30’s. He was not aware of its dominance over him. His life was full, married to his childhood sweet heart. They lived a true story book romance. But Johnny would find himself deep in the grips of a force greater than himself. Only Bonnie his wife knew he had a problem. But she was clueless to the severity. Johnny secretly owned hundreds of xxx videos. Not even Bonnie knew. He visited the strip clubs weekly spending hundreds on lap dances. He mastered the art of self-stimulation taking euphoric pleasure to unknown heights. He could drink all day and into the night and get up and be at work at 6 am. His personal life was in perfect order as his inner battle raged out of control, eventually crashing at the age of 42, ending in rehab. All Johnny’s internal battle with this force created an unusual personality. He views life in a different way than most: a lot of times amusing and sometimes not. Johnny has lived through several life threating situations and dangerous surgeries. Driving hundreds of miles intoxicated, he survived a horrific car accident. Then at the height of his disillusionment, a cop stopped him for not having a front license on his truck. He was several hours drunk, but the cop gave him a fix it ticket and said, “You be sure and drive home safe now!” Not even that free get out of jail pass slowed his thirst for lust. Johnny’s journey through life is truly remarkable. This book is written in every sense possible so that you can experience a life that was...torn by lust.

Book preview

Inside My Head

This story is about a little boy who grew up to find he had an invisible inner partner who gave him a tortured and twisted view of the world—a view that forced him to live in the shadows with dreadful behind closed door secrets. Those secrets permeated his soul and filled his mind with lustful visions that sang and danced as a perverse melody, sweeping him into a desire to partake twenty-four hours a day.

I decided to write this book for the sole purpose of giving something back to the world in which I will leave no children. I believe my journey through life has been far beyond ordinary, and my hope is that it might bring you this reality: Life is filled with complex joy and pain. But you can manage through the good and the bad.

If you find that life is too hard to face, that the odds are against you, or you ask yourself, why is this happening to me? Then, let me tell you my story. Afterward, you may view life from a completely new perspective.

Monster - a large ugly terrifying animal or person found in mythology or created by the imagination, especially something fierce that kills people.

(Encarta Dictionary)

The Monster's House

Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock.... Drip...drip...drip...drip... The antique clock clicked in rhythm with the broken faucet my uncle was too lazy to fix. Batted humming from the speeding vehicles serenaded the Arizona moonlight as weary freeway commuters found their way home. A lonely dog howled to the deaf ears of the city's sleeping citizens.

Across the dresser, a faint light blinked 2:32 AM. The alarm knew I was there. The room was chilly and musty—darker than sin. I felt so lonely, but I was not alone. Even with my eyes open, I could not see my toes. I was restrained to the mattress. I suppressed the urge to scream and chose instead to fall into the recesses of my mind. This is only a dream, I told myself. Ensnared and unable to move without force, I found time to be standing still. I lay helpless in my cousin's grasp. He was much older than I and far bigger, recently returned from the Vietnam War. There was nothing I could do.

Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock....

Besides, Stanley loved me like a brother. Never angry or mean to me in any way. He taught me how to shoot a gun and bait a hook with a worm. He never asked me to do anything I did not want or like to do. But why is he touching me down there? I don't want to touch him. Is this some sort of a lesson? Embarrassed and ashamed, I was utterly lost.

My head churned light and fuzzy. My stomach was about to erupt. I scoured my mind for pleasant memories. I fell short, recalling only the unpleasant: this happened before. My parents have left me here several times before, always on the weekends. It was because my dads drinking problem. They did not want to fight around me. But I've heard them fight late at night when I was supposed to be asleep.

At eight years old, I didn't have an identity yet. The adults were the supreme authority in my world. They held the power to dole out good and bad, pain or no pain. At my uncle's house, there was rarely anything but fun and good times; that far outweighs the incident from a couple of weeks before. What we had done had not hurt. I was not even sure it had happened. The morning after it happened, while I sat at the breakfast table with my aunt and uncle, Stanley stumbled in, punched me in the arm like he always did, and cheerfully said, Hey, asshole! as if nothing happened. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe it had been a dream.

This most recent sleepover began like the others. Stanley and I tore up the grass with the riding lawnmower all around the front and backyard. Stanley could wheelie the lawnmower. He'd drive it in reverse and then slam the transmission into drive, simultaneously pulling back hard on the steering wheel. I had seen him flip the mower all the way over and break his arm. We always did crazy things around his house. His mother was constantly screaming, Stop that, Stanley. You're gonna break something again! As if he were my age instead of a grown man.

So that night, I hadn't a care in the world as I fell asleep in Stanley's bed. After all the crazy fun he and I had together that day, I was exhausted. In no time I transitioned from reality into one of my familiar dreams....

I was free falling through an endless blue sky. I loved the rush of wind caressing my face. My descent seemed to last forever...until black thunderclouds appear. I dropped like a wounded bird.

I lay in numb silence, the serenity of weightlessness was gone. I was alive and unharmed, lying on my back. But it was too quiet... I heard breathing. Was I awake or asleep?

I heard the familiar Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock mixed with a cadence of short breaths, huhh, huhh, huhh. I clenched my eyelids as tight as possible, willing to believe I was still in a dream...but someone was lying next to me. Stanley. I assure myself that he was asleep like he has been before.

Then he wrapped one arm around my neck and, with his free hand, reached down and methodically stroked my penis. I lay frozen as time smoldered. Maybe if I didn't open my eyes he'd quit rubbing me...or maybe I just needed to wake up from this nightmare. If I woke up, surely the ending would turn out more favorably.

I began to choke from his arm on my neck. It forced me to acknowledge that this was no bad dream. Please, let me go back to sleep and start over.... Please.

Stanley poked and prodded my body without mercy. I felt like a rag doll. Without speaking, Stanley took my hand and moved it to his crotch, up and down on his rubbery penis. I opened my eyes. It was so lonely, dark, and cold there, I wanted to scream.

The clock relentlessly churned: Tick-Tock.

Stanley stroked me faster and harder until I had the feeling that I was going to urinate. That happened the last time, too, until I leapt up and ran to the bathroom, where I couldn't pee after all.

This time, Stanley stopped. There was a long pause that persuaded me he was through. Okay, I'd passed the test. I didn't pee on him. It was finally over. Yet he was still holding my hand, using it to slowly stroke himself.

Tick-Tock...

In the darkness, Stanley moved his sweaty body off mine. What was he going to do? Then he caressed my genitals as if they were his own. Warm saliva spilled from his lips as they surrounded my erect penis. All the while, he held my hand and used it on himself, now faster and harder. Then he wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me down, forcing my head between his legs. Limp and torn by innocent confusion, I thought, why am I doing this? I tried to swallow him with my small mouth. It was strange eating something without chewing. I choked and fought back vomit.

My mind had no place to deposit this experience. Reason escaped me. My legs stiffened. My lower jaw clinched my teeth together grounding them into the sides of my mouth. I was in control of foreign emotions swirling through my body. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I didn't want Stanley to see me like this. I was just seconds from peeing all over him—if I did that, what would he do to me? I can't do this. I can't deal with this again.

I sob like a newborn. You have to stop. Stop! I'm going to pee on you, Stanley! I rolled off the bed and ran to the bathroom, my penis slapping my thighs like a metronome. I slammed and locked the door behind me, sealing myself in the protection of a locked room. This time, I couldn't help but make noise, couldn't keep from bawling. Why is my head spinning? And why am I as hard as a stone down there between my legs?

I straddled the toilet and tried to pee, but it was not working. Bewildered, I turned and sat down in silence for what seemed an eternity. What was the purpose of being hard like this? Why did I have such a strong urge to pee but couldn't? Befuddled, I felt my penis. This was a part of my body that I have never give any thought to—why was Stanley so interested in it? Why was I supposed to be interested in his also?

Maybe leaving the bedroom wasn't the right choice. The hair on the back of my neck began to bristle. Surely any moment now Stanley would come get me to finish the lesson. What was I going to say? What could I possibly tell my aunt or uncle? I could almost hear them: What's all the noise you're making? Are you crying? Why are you naked Johnny, what's wrong with you? Where's your underwear?

What am I going to tell them?

The room began to shrink around me to the tempo of drip...drip...drip...drip... That dam broken faucet.... Louder and louder churned the clock—Tick-Tock—counting down to my judgment. Someone was coming. Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock. They're coming. Tick-Tock.... Shhhh. Listen.

(Clocks never sleep—they see everything.)

It was taunting me, that clock. Teasing me. Just you wait! Tick-Tock.... You're gonna answer for what you've done! They're here! Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock.... Knock-Knock.... Tick-Tock..... Knock-Knock.

Knock! Knock! I stood there paralyzed on bare feet. Was that a knock at the door? Maybe the clock was playing tricks on me. No...No, it means I had come to the end of my rope. I was in big trouble.

I reach out and clench the icy doorknob. I opened the door a crack. A one-inch wedge of light from the nightlight sliced through the darkness. The hallway looked barren. My shoulders relaxed. I was safe...for the moment.

I exhaled one long breath like a spent marathon runner. I walked into the dim light of the hallway. The floor tiles seemed to move under my feet as I tiptoed towards the bedroom. A harmony of guttural snores filled the air. The adults, bears were sound asleep.

I stood before my cousin's room trembling as if a lynch mob might be on the other side, waiting, waiting for me. The hangman wanted to size up the noose for my neck. But I was just a little kid. Bad men were hanged, not little kids like me.

Suddenly I heard it: Hey, look over here! A tinge of courage welled up in me. I turned and and saw the tattered living room couch. It called to me: Come here. Stay with me. Don't go back. Don't!

Courage welled even deeper, giving me the strength to go back and get my underwear. I found them on the floor near the door. I pulled them on and dug out a blanket in the hall closet. I retreated to the consoling warmth of the couch. I acquired a new friend.

Yet I lay there confused and anxious. Why was everyone else asleep? Surely someone heard me run to the bathroom, crying. Was this part of growing up? I don't want to get anyone in trouble. Should I go back and wake Stanley and tell him I'm sorry for snapping at him and leaving his bedroom like I did?

I covered my head and contemplated excuses for my behavior. I drew inside my skin, my comfort zone. I had to make up a plan to get out of my dilemma. I could do it. I was always making plans for things.

The fact that I couldn't urinate made me doubt my decision. Maybe the overwhelming feeling I experienced when Stanley was touching me was a good thing. Maybe I'd been wrong for making such a commotion over what happened. Besides, he hadn't hurt me. Maybe I was supposed to appreciate the attention. Well, no matter what lesson I was supposed to learn, I was not sleeping in that room anymore. No more.

I couldn't sleep. At any moment, my aunt or uncle would wake up, use the bathroom, see me out here, and ask, What are you doing sleeping on the couch?

What would I say?

Oh, Stanley was doing things to me and I was afraid I was going to pee on him. I was too embarrassed to go back to his bedroom, so I decided to sleep out here on the couch instead.

The clock and I counted the minutes until morning.

The Monster is Born

Why were you sleeping on the couch? my aunt asked, as she slid some hot steamy bacon onto my plate.

I hesitated, breathing in the heavenly aroma. Stanley tosses and turns too much. Sometimes I wake up and he's asleep on top of me. He's so big, I can't breathe or wake him up.

My aunt shrugged. I'm sorry we don't have another room and bed for you to sleep on. If you don't mind sleeping on the couch, that's okay with me.

You're too big to be in there anyway, my uncle added.

Stanley sat in silence as if he hadn't heard a word of the conversation.

Problem solved. From now on, I would sleep on the couch. I'd negotiated my first successful contract with adults all by myself.

As for Stanley, although I expected a little friction over my decision, all was well. That same day, we goofed off together as usual. We drove to the hobby store, burning rubber in his super-charged Chevy Blazer at every opportunity. We bought the best model car we could find. Once home, we tag-teamed and glued it together as fast as we could.

Stanley turned the oven on low and we put the car inside; this would accelerate the time it took for the glue to dry. The glue you could buy in the 1960s was not the same as what is available today. It was highly flammable and you could also get quite a buzz off the fumes if you breathed in too much.

But it dried fast. In minutes, we were ready for the next step.

We gathered the things we needed to perform our stunt: two fresh tubes of toxic glue and five Black Cat firecrackers. We took the brand new model car outside, and Stanley carefully set the model down on the concrete patio. He opened a tube of glue, squirted half of it inside the cab, then placed five firecrackers in the fresh heap of goo. Next, he squirted a trail of glue from the car across the concrete. I continued it with the second tube around the corner of the house.

We crouched. Stanley struck a match and lit the bead of wet glue. It ignited, and black smoke rose from the burn. The glue acted like a fuse, though it burned much slower than gunpowder. That gave us more time to anticipate the explosion.

Just as we planned, the glue burned right up to the car, which blew into a million pieces. Shards of plastic, still burning, stuck on the side of the stucco house.

It was a typical Sunday of hijinks at my cousin's house. But soon that would change.

After dinner, Stanley said he wanted to show me something in his bedroom. He left the table and headed for his room, expecting me to follow. I hesitated, then reluctantly marched toward the hallway. There's nothing new in his room that he can show me. Maybe he has something to say about last night. But we'd been alone in his Blazer and the hobby store, he'd never said a word. Maybe he's going to ask me to sleep in his bed again. Maybe I need more lessons. My walk slowed. Everything had been good between us today, and I had been approved to sleep on the couch.

Confused, I needed more time to think of a way to tell him, I'm not going to sleep with you anymore and that's final! My stomach began to twist and draw, and knot into a ball. I decided to tell him I had to go to the bathroom. That would give me more time.

I peeked in and Stanley stood solemnly in his room. I saw about thirty picture slides scattered on the bed, and he was holding a little, square viewing box. Check this out! He said with excitement. They're really cool. I got these when I was stationed in the service overseas. Come on in. You're gonna really dig these pictures!

Oh, boy, I thought, both relieved and dismayed. So this is what he wants to show me, slide show crap. Every time we went on vacation, the grown-ups would take all these stupid pictures, and later we'd sit around and look at them in the living room on a pull-down white screen. It was the most boring time a kid could spend indoors. I'd rather stand in the corner. Let's go blow up something instead! I said.

No. He gestured me into the room and took my arm. This is more fun than doing that stuff. Come in. You'll see.

He placed a slide in the little viewer and handed it to me. A light shining through the back illuminated the slide. I half-heartedly looked, not even focusing that well. But in the quick glance I did take, I saw an image of two people doing something together in a small room.

Before I could focus, Stanly grabbed the viewer from my hand. Not bad, huh? he said. I told ya! Then he showed me how to unload and reload the slides. As he turned to leave the room, he said, If mom comes in, tell her you're checking out photos of my time in the service. Oh, by the way, check out the Polaroid pictures in the shoebox when you're done with the slides. They're even better.

A little curious now, I picked up a slide and put it into the viewer. It took a couple of seconds to focus. I stared at what appeared to be a bedroom. A naked man stood next to a bare-chested girl kneeling by his crouch, who was doing to the man what Stanley had done to me the night before. But her facial expression radiated something thrilling. I ejected the slide and inserted another. I don't think these have anything to do with the service.

All the slides were of naked men and girls touching, kissing, and licking each other all over. I didn't understand. What was the purpose of these girls putting their mouths around all the guys' crotches? Surely, one of these men would pee on somebody. Although there were no photos of men touching or doing anything to other men, some of the scenes featured girls fondling and kissing each other. In one picture that burned into my brain, a man sprayed some white stuff onto a girl's face.

I wasn't aroused by the slides, just curious and immensely confused. I'd never seen people naked before. The boobs on the girls seemed natural because you can see their shapes even beneath their clothes. But the space between their legs...that was totally confusing to me. What was it? It's such a big crack. Why didn't it leak? The men put their penises inside there. Why? It was pornography, of course, although I didn't learn that word until years later. At the time, I actually thought this was some sort of training, a lesson from my cousin to me. Maybe I'm coming into a phase of manhood or something.

I looked through the slides, then dug out the Polaroid's. These were in black and white and numbered about twenty-five in all. The setting and the naked people seemed more real in these, somehow, than in the slides. Less posed. Most of the pictures appeared to be set in someone's living room. I saw furniture and a fireplace. In almost every photo, there were five girls and three men. The girls had the same ecstatic expression on their faces that the girls in the slides had. One of the girls looked like a young child, even to me.

The pictures seemed to have been taken in secret, from behind a partially-closed door, as if the people in the living room didn't know someone was watching them. They had a much stronger effect on me than the slides had. I felt as if I was watching these people from inside a closet, the door slightly cracked. No one knew I was there. I was viewing something the general public was not supposed to see. It was a darker—and more exciting—side of life. Maybe a side that adults only whisper about around little kids like me. Something definitely forbidden. I was fascinated by this newfound discovery. I didn't know what it was, but I was captivated by it.

In retrospect, I wonder what would have happened if my aunt had come in the room right then and discovered what I was doing. I wonder how different my life might have been.

But she didn't come in, and I kept looking at the slides and pictures until Stanley returned. Without a word, he gathered the pictures and put them in the shoebox and stashed them in the closet. For now, the show was over.

But the show in my mind never stopped playing.

I spent the next few weeks surveying girls and women. I watched the way they moved and the type of clothes they wore. I studied how they interacted with men and other girls, how they touched each other and hugged. I started to notice revealing t-shirts and cleavage, erect nipples and unbuttoned blouses. Some girls wore pants so tight you could see an impression, a fold between their legs. I noticed that, when they walked, their body parts would move about, unlike a mans. The taller, more uncomfortable-looking shoes they wore seemed to make their boobs and butts jiggle even more.

Girls and women became my fascination. I wanted to see a girl naked in real life. I wanted to know if the pictures were genuine. What do girls really look like with no clothes on?

Finally, I asked a girl to show me her naked body. I was playing in the desert by myself and this little girl came up behind me. She was one of my friend's sisters, about seven years old, and always getting in the way. She was wearing a soiled one-piece pullover dress. We talked briefly, then I blurted, Will you pull your dress down if I pull my pants down?

She didn't even hesitate. She moved the shoulder straps aside and slid her dress to her knees. At the same time I pulled my pants and underwear to the ground. We stared at each other for two seconds—and that was it. But now I knew the photos were real. This girl had the same slit between her legs, only without hair, and it wasn't leaking either. I made my first evaluation: girls don't have hair down there, women do.

I couldn't wait for the next time I was taken to my aunt and uncle's house. I knew my step dads drinking problem would escalate again and mom would take me to stay over on the week end. They thought I didn't know that much about it. I have heard them argue late at night when I was supposed to be asleep. They tried to keep their voices low but I could hear the anger in my dads voice. I found an empty wine bottle or two out in the shed and behind the clothes dryer. I knew he smoked his pipe at night to cover up the smell of wine on his breath. But that was immaterial to what I wanted.

I had to see those pictures again. My mind raced: why were those people doing all that touching, licking and sucking on each other? What was the point of this secret behavior? Did all the adults around me have this hidden life behind closed doors? The people acted like they were in heaven. Why? What was I missing out on? I had too many questions about this extraordinary behavior. I needed to put the unexplained pieces of the puzzle together in my head.

By the time I got dropped off at my aunt and uncle's house a few weeks later, a ton of thoughts were swirling around consuming my thoughts. I couldn't wait. I had no plan to ask my cousin for permission to look at the pictures and no intention of sleeping in his bed. But I was going to get that box and go to the bathroom and check out the photos. Nobody was going to stop me.

I spent all day waiting for an opportunity. Finally, late in the afternoon, Stanley shouted, Johnny, let's go to the store! I'd always gone with him so we could hot rod around and goof off-but not this time. This time, I convinced him that I had to wait for mom to call (there were only landline phones in those days, no cell phones.)

My plan worked: he reluctantly left without me. That was the first time I'd ever turned down an invitation to go with him, anywhere, and I didn't care.

The moment he was gone, I ran to his room, my heart racing, and opened the closet—and my heart leaped into my throat. The box containing the slides