PART ONE: THE SET-UP

Until I was three years old, my mother sexually abused me. She made me sit in front of her in the bathtub and she demanded that I put my finger up her vagina as I faced the taps of the bathtub. On the final occasion of this horrible act and request on her part, I protested. Of course, my mother belittled me by saying that she was the adult and the parent and that I had to do whatever I was told. I massaged her clitoris as I was directed, while she massaged my penis. Boys will be boys and men will be men and I was no exception to the rule of hot-blooded males. My mother managed to get my sexual urges running wild within me and I begged her to let me copulate with her in the bathtub. She told me that that was wrong between a parent and child and that my penis was far too small to please her.

She had intimidated me, but at the same time she had shown too much conscience towards this sexual relationship of ours. I was able to reason that putting my finger in my mother's vagina was just as 'wrong' as copulating with her and so I shouted for my father, saying that my mother was doing something wrong. My father burst into the bathroom and demanded an explanation. He told me to go to the safety of my bedroom and that I had not done anything wrong. He reprimanded my mother and threatened her with divorce, if she did that sort of thing again. Neither my mother nor I ever went to therapy. Much later, my father said that it would have cost too much to have sent us to therapy.

There were always sexual tensions, sexual undertones, and sexual overtones between my mother and me.

About two or three times in my life, my mother was supportive and encouraging over my possible girlfriends, but she usually stopped any chance for romance for me behind my back. I overheard her once say on a phone call with someone else that she wanted sex with me.

This sexual tension and abuse from my mother made me feel guilty about my sexual desires and made me shy of the opposite sex. In addition to this, I had an extremely strong libido.

When I was about sixteen, I fell into puppy love with a member of my church. She was sweet on me and I on her. Her father was against our teenage relationship. He was afraid that his daughter would marry me at a young age and that our marriage would end up in divorce as his other two daughters' marriages had done. He and his wife phoned my mother and demanded that our relationship end. He won.

I was devastated. I was a strong believer in God, but I blamed myself for what was going wrong in my life. I was ill-equipped to fight the sexual issues in my life. I regressed. In so far as romance was concerned, I crawled into a shell. I become introverted with the young ladies whom I liked. If I liked a young lady, I would feel traumatized: I would go weak at the knees, red in the face, and be unable to speak to my love interest. I convinced myself that there was no way that the young ladies, whom I liked, could possibly like me. I was shy only around the women, whom I liked, though. I always managed to say something to these women in the end.

This was my frame of mind and the useless mental baggage that I carried around.

At the age of nineteen, I went to work for a major Canadian department store, which was called Eaton's.

INTRODUCTION & THE PROLOGUE

INTRODUCTION

In the next few months, I shall endeavour to tell my life story as lucidly and succinctly as I can.

My name is Stuart Martyn Bennett. I was born on January 8, 1961. I reckon that this made me born in the year of the bull or cow, if you wish. I think that the profile's automatic Chinese Zodiac search may be a little out. When I was in Japan and even according to paper place mats in Chinese restaurants in Canada, my take is correct. Whatever!

As of Monday, November 27, 2006, I am no longer homeless. I share a small, one-bedroom home with another inopportuned man. I was homeless from about June 8, 2006 to November 26, 2006. I was rendered homeless by circumstances that are ridiculous, cruel, and beyond my control.

I have attempted to spell everyone's name correctly within these pages. Any misspelling of a name does not indicate the innocence of an actual, guilty party, nor does the misspelling of a name signify the guilt of an actual, innocent party.

I have copyrighted the pages and postings on this website.


THE PROLOGUE

I was extremely spiritually minded as a young child. I had an unwavering faith and belief in God. I still have this. As a child, I knew that there were lots of people, who did not believe in God: I did not understand why or how this was possible, though. I was an innocent in many ways.

I believed that God would talk to any believer if the believer had an absolute faith in prayer and in God. I reasoned that God had spoken to many people throughout the Bible and that that type of relationship with God was still possible. As a result of this firm belief of mine, I prayed to God and spoke to God when I needed help and when I wanted to thank Him. I believed that God would answer me directly and verbally and He did. One day when I finally told my mother about God talking to me, she became furious with me and told me that God did not talk to anyone anymore and that He would especially not talk to little boys. This hurt me deeply because I knew that my mother was wrong and I realized that she was not close to God.

Before I turned three years of age, John F. Kennedy was assassinated. To my recollection, my brother and sister were at school and my mother and father were working out in the yard. My father had taken that day off or some time off for some reason. It was an Indian Summer and stayed very warm late into November. I was in the house watching cartoons on TV when a news flash interrupted my show. The video taken by an amateur was played on the TV. I saw the now-famous footage of the American President being shot in the head. On the first playing of this footage, I laughed because I thought that it was a cartoon. On the second playing of the footage, I realized that it was a serious item and I became scared. I even saw part of the back of the president's head be blown off. On the third playing of the footage, I became terrified and I froze as I watched it. When that playing ended, I went and hid behind the armchair. I peeked at the TV from time to time. Then I started to scream for my mother. Both my father and mother came running into the house. Initially, I was accused of having changed the channels. I had not done so. I became angry that the "TV people" had scared me and I voiced my annoyance over my show being pre-empted. My father chastised me for being callous and he sent me to my bedroom: he told me that I was a naughty boy.

As I went to my bedroom, God spoke to me through telepathy and told me that I would die the same way that John F. Kennedy had died, but God told me that I would live again right away. I forgot about this for years.