I guess before beginning my story, I should introduce myself. I’m Beth. That’s short for Elspeth. I’m not sure why any self-respecting parent would name a child Elspeth. It’s a fucking nightmare to grow up with. When you’re not being called Elizabeth, you’re most probably not being called anything, because Americans are so fucking stupid they can’t pronounce themselves out of a paper bag. So from a very young age I just settled for plain Beth.
My parents had many strange ideas. They believed in a family bed, that is, a big fucking futon that took up most of the floor of the bedroom. Yup! No bed. Just a big fucking mattress/futon on the floor, and from the minute I was born, that’s where I slept…between mom and dad. They were green before the word was coined. I was born on the couch at home. That is, another futon that was sort of rolled up a certain way to look like a couch in the living room. The midwife caught me as I popped out and everybody screamed and laughed and were elated that they had bucked the hospital system and had a healthy baby at home. Not that I remember a fucking thing, but growing up I had to endlessly look at pictures of the bloody event.
They also believed that everything we ever used could someday be reused or recycled, so nothing was ever thrown away and the whole house was piled high with junk in every corner. It was embarrassing as hell to have any of my friends over. Add to all the above that my parents were fucking nudists and would walk around the house butt naked most of the time. Jesus!
By some miracle I survived my childhood unharmed and probably a lot more liberal than most kids my age, not to mention more savvy about certain things. Don’t get me wrong…I was never abused or anything. As a matter of fact, by the time I was sixteen, I probably knew less about the mechanics of sex than most kids my age, largely due to the fact that my world had vastly changed in the intervening years.
As a young child, my parents, as liberal as they seemed, were very reserved in their sexual practices. In other words, as far as I was aware, they never had sex at all. It just wasn’t part of the liberal agenda they encouraged. Even they could draw the line somewhere. Of course, I knew the parts of the body and the differences between guys and girls. Hell, I’d seen enough of my dad’s hairy pecker and my mom’s bushy muff to last a lifetime. I just didn’t quite know their significance, except that guys could pee standing up…which always pissed me off! Pardon the pun.
One of my favorite holidays was always Halloween. I know I’m rambling, but bear with me; we got a lot to cover. Of course, in my town you could only trick-or-treat if you were twelve and under. Needless to say, my twelfth Halloween had to be super special. I might explain that when I was a kid I was tiny. Tiny! I was easily a head shorter than all my buddies. Even now I’m trying to reach five feet, but I fall about an inch and a half short of the mark. When I was twelve, all my friends were busting the five foot mark wide open, and I was barely touching four and a half. It was cute, but cute isn’t a nice word when you’re twelve and everybody thinks you’re eight.
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