[Story Index] [Discussion Thread] [The Asylum]
The Story of Me, Part 1 of 3
By Jyates
2001-01-03
I am Jyates. The J stands for Justin. I was born to Gene and Glenda Yates on April 10, 1972 in Waco, Texas. For those of you that can’t do the math that makes me 28. I don’t remember too much about the first five or ten years of my life because that was a long fucking time ago. My physical appearance is six foot three inches tall, brown hair, green eyes, about three hundred pounds, and more tattoos on me than the walls at a tattoo shop. I am married to Cindy and have a three-year-old daughter. Like I stated earlier I don’t remember too much about the first few years of my life so I’ll just touch on a few high points, the first of which being that I was born, which I do not remember but I consider a high point cause if I wasn’t born, I would not be here.
One of my first memories is of Sea-O-Rama in Galveston. Well I have to say that is my first memory. I don’t remember much cause I was I guess only about one year of age but what I saw did make a mark. What I remember is that there was this giant black and white thing that jumped up and took something out of some person’s mouth. Then I did not understand it but now I do; it was a killer whale that jumped up out of a big pool and took a fish out of its trainer’s mouth. I also remember there was another baby there with me who I later found out was my cousin.
Now we fast-forward about four years to the small town of Bruceville Eddy. Now Bruceville is one of those small backwater country towns where your supply of sunlight is pumped into you. I remember that I lived on a farm there where we had cows, chickens, dogs, and a goat. My best friends that I had at that time where a collie named Sugar, the goat named Nanny, and a big red rooster named Applejack who rode on my shoulder. I remember having a lot of fun at that time in my life. A few things stick out in my mind about that time, the first of which is that goat. My mother raised that goat from a baby. I mean she bottle-fed it; the first few weeks of its life it even slept in the bed with her and my dad. But mom would soon learn that was a mistake cause when the goat grew up it still wanted to sleep in that bed. Every time that nanny would see the door of our house open she would make a mad dash for it, knocking over whomever might be in the way then down the hall she would go into my mom’s room and jump into the bed, grab the covers, and get comfy. Then mom would have to go and fight the goat out of her bed and drag nanny kicking and screaming down the hall and back out the door.
The next memory I have of that time period was me finding a snake. It was a beautiful copper-gold color with a spear-shaped head and catlike eyes that where also a golden color. The snake seemed to stand straight up when I walked up on it and must have been at least four-foot long. I have to say I was fascinated with it cause I walked up to it and picked it right up and went straight to my father to show him my newfound friend. My dad was not amused. He did not think that Mr. Snake made a good friend at all cause he grabbed the snake out of my hand and promptly cut its head off with a shovel. I cried for hours over my newfound friend recently deceased. I later in life found out that Mr. Snake was a copperhead but I have to admit to this day snakes still amaze me and I have studied and kept quite a few of them both of the poisonous and nonpoisonous varieties.
Now one thing I came to realize, as a child, is that we moved around a lot. Later I learned that was because of my father’s dislike of having to pay the government. The man, to my knowledge, still owes the government an unknown (to me) amount of money. My father was for the most part a hard working man. His main means of survival was the auto body trade and most of his pay was under the table. And so he would work in a given town doing the normal auto shop scams until either the local police or the government would start to catch on then we would move on. So that made for us never staying in one place for more than a year or two. And in turn that affected me in one major way. I was always a loner who yearned to have friends but was afraid to make them only to lose them a short time latter. Another thing I learned about Gene was that he liked his scotch and women a whole lot. As a matter of fact he enjoyed those a lot more than his family. Eventually Gene tired of moving and settled for about three years in the suburb of Richland Hills in Ft Worth where he worked at Lee’s paint and body shop. Gene was a fairly good teacher he taught Lee the owner of the shop the fine art of tax evasion and he taught me at a young age how to rebuild a motor.
The first school I ever attended was North Richland Hills elementary school where my teachers quickly discovered that I was a little different from the other students. I bored real easily of the lessons that they taught and my spelling and handwriting sucked. But math, science, and reading--along with my comprehension skills—were things I excelled at and as a matter of fact I could read long before I ever set foot in a classroom. So by me being different from the other children, I was placed in classes with other kids that were different and only allowed interacting with the rest of the school during planned functions or recess and lunch. But being in these types of classes was a lot more fun than being with the other kids because it kept me interested in what I was learning. The classroom environment was more interesting, most of the work was harder, and so it kept my attention and we did a lot more than the other kids in school got to do. We would go on field trips to the public library at least every other weak, the class would go to a different museum once a month, and we got special test done every other month. But unfortunately this was short lived because it was time to move again. I later in life found out that this class I was in was a test bed that the gifted and talented classes are based upon now. The special tests that were given to me every other month were a combination of psychological, academic, and IQ tests.
The next stop was the small town of Aledo, Texas. Aledo is located between Ft Worth and Weatherford, Texas. I was around the age of six to nine here and I have to say that this is where my childhood was about to end. Although we lived in Aledo longer than we ever lived anywhere else, and up until this point my life to me seemed normal. Although it felt strange living in one place for so long, but mom and Gene where not getting along too great. I spent many nights listening to them fight or hearing my father beat my mother. Well as Gene got worse with his drinking the beatings went from my mother to me and my mother so we both learned to walk on egg shells around him and do everything possible to keep him happy. The only times I remember being happy around Gene is when we would go camping. For one, he would lay off the scotch and only drink beer, which would not make him as mean. And two, he would go out hunting alone for two days at a time.
You see I had this uncle who owned a peanut farm in Dueleion, Texas. For those of you that don’t know that’s fifteen miles right out side of Blanket, Texas (look it up on a map). This peanut farm encompassed about (just a wild guess here) 2000 acres of land with some of the best deer, bird, and cougar hunting to be found in Texas, not to mention the fishing. Uncle Stacy had two lakes on his farm and a few ponds. The ponds were mostly for swimming. The lakes, on the other hand, were for fishing. One lake was somewhere around one hundred and fifty acres big and the other was at least one hundred, and both had to be at least 50 feet deep. Uncle Stacy would stock these lakes every other year with an assortment of game fish. And to make sure the fish would get enough to eat he would take two hundred pounds of dog food out to each lake once a day, load it up in his paddle boat, and paddle to the center of the lake and dump it all in. There were catfish in those lakes that where bigger than most men.
Whenever Stacy knew we were coming out camping, two weeks beforehand he would stop feeding the fish. We always caught something in those lakes. Also Stacy would have a fish bake for us when we would be there and he would catch the fish himself. Usually only one fish would do. Stacy would go out in the middle of the lake with a deep sea fishing pole with the biggest fish hook you could ever see baited with a stinking piece of meet and drop it in. Now back on the bank there would be someone with a wench truck waiting. Within a few minutes you could see the paddleboat start to lean over almost capsizing and the deep-sea rod would be almost bent in half. Uncle Stacy had dinner on the line. It would be either a channel cat or a yellow cat but he would fight the big fish up to the side of his boat and when it was close enough he would slam a hay hook into the fish. Usually he would try for its head or he would shoot the fish in the head then get it with the hay hook. When he gave the signal the person with the wench truck would wench the fish to the shore where it would be cleaned. I have learned from my mother that most of those fish would weigh around one to two hundred pounds. Can you imagine a two hundred-pound catfish? But during the summers we would spend anywhere from two weeks to two months on that peanut farm. I have to say I loved it.
Another highlight of our stays at the peanut farm was harvesting fresh honey. There is nothing that I can think of that tastes better than fresh honey, the kind that you yourself squeezed out of the comb. I used to just love to go raid the beehives. But our trips where always too short for my liking; we always had to go home. Once back home it would all start over again--the drinking, the beatings, and so on.
School at Aledo sucked for the most part. They really did not know what to do with some one like me, and so they stuck me in the resource classes. The poor teachers in those classes where dumfounded with me; there was nothing they could give me to keep me busy. The work they would give the other kids that took them hours to do would take me minutes. And I have to say that reading the Dick and Jane books sucked Dick. So they made me help teach the other kids in the class which was nice but soon led to resentment from my classmates, so the only friends I had in school were the other teachers.
Back at home things were getting worse. Mom and Gene fought all the time--not just yelling and arguing, but actual fighting with fists and shit. I remember helping my dad put up a fence to keep our horses in and I kept doing something wrong so instead of showing me what to do he picked up a two by four that was about five foot long and beat me with it. We finished putting up the fence and went home. He did not hit me in the face with it, but he did hit me in the ribs, chest, and legs. I remember later that night my mother over my father wishes rushed me to the hospital because I was having trouble breathing. Chest X-rays where done and it was found that I had a punctured lung and all of my ribs where broken. So I got to wear this neat chest brace for what felt like forever. It was not soon after that, that mom and Gene split up.
The last fond memory I have of Gene was the last night mom and me moved out (got kicked out). It was the normal nightly fight when mom or maybe it was Gene had enough. Well mom went and tried to pack her clothes and Gene would not let her. So mom came into my bedroom to get me. She told me that we were leaving. I did not know where Gene was at the time but I got up. We were headed down the hallway, I was in front of mom, when we heard the workings of a lever action 30-30 rifle. Mom tackled me and I heard the gun go off. It missed us. Mom got off of me and dragged me as fast as she could to the back door, opened it, and forced me out. By that time Gene had caught up to her. They were in the kitchen and I heard another blast. Scared for my mother I tried to get back in the house but the door was locked. I heard a crash of something big and hard hitting a wall (a chair) and then to my relief mom opened the door. Then I heard the lever of the rifle again. Mom turned around just in time to grab the barrel of the gun that was pointed at her head and raised it up. The gun went off again blowing a hole in the door seal. Gene jerked the gun from her hands and pushed mom down the steps backwards which were pretty steep and she landed on her back unconscious with blood coming out of her nose and mouth. I thought she was dead and all I could feel was hate for my dad, I could feel the hate for him in every part of my body, yes I was worried for my mother but at that moment all I wanted to do was kill my father. That feeling is something that no 9-year-old should ever even know. I picked up a shovel-it was the kind that you use to dig holes for posts with-and I ran at him. At the same time I could see him reloading his gun, I swung the shovel and hit him in the knees breaking one of them. He fell to the bottom of the steps where I could get to him. I raised the shovel above his head. My mother screamed NO! The shock and joy of knowing that she was not dead made me stop the shovel in mid swing. I dropped the shovel on Gene and ran to my mother’s side and helped her up. The first thing she did was kick the rifle out of Gene’s reach, then she went into the house, gathered me and some cloths and we left.
I believe that my childhood ended that night. Because the feelings that I had that night of wanting to kill another, especially my own farther, like I said is something no child should ever feel.
We drove from Aledo to Waco that night to my Aunt’s house. She took us in for a little while and we lived there for about 4 months. There again was an abusive man, his name was George Love. He too, like my father, was an alcoholic and thought that he liked to beat up on women and children. The reason we lived there for such a short period of time was that he tried to beat up on my aunt and her three kids a lot. The kids and me would go and hide in the travel trailer that mom had bought and lock him out but another thing mom had bought was a .410 shotgun. Well the last night we lived there George was beating up my aunt pretty good, and one of my cousins came running out to the camper to hide. Well I had seen enough of that shit I got the shotgun, loaded it, went into the house and into the room where they where fighting and took aim. George saw me and said “boy, I’ma gonna shove that thing up yur ass.” I shot him in the leg. My aunt called the ambulance (one of the EMT’s patted me on the back and said good job), then the sheriff showed up and took me off to Juvenile hall where I spent a month before I went on trial for attempted murder. The case was dismissed immediately after the judge read the report. And my uncle was brought up on charges of abuse and assault.
After that we moved into an old apartment complex in what could only be called “the ghetto”. That place had roaches that where so big that when stepped on the crunch would drown out the sound of the TV and if that wasn’t bad enough when me and mom ate dinner we had to fight with the rats over who got the first bite. Most of our neighbors there were fine upstanding citizens. I saw my first heroin junkie OD in the alley next to our apartment, he was shooting up in his neck. Well this is where life started to get fun; this is where I really started “living”. My mother after the divorce had to work three jobs to make ends meet. She would work during the week in a drapery shop and at night at a diner called Steak & Eggs and on the weekends she would hang drapes and wait tables at the diner and being that there was not much supervision on me I ran the streets.
I met a guy by the name of Ken. Ken was a street bastard of the worst kind. He preyed on people’s feelings and some of the things that I am going to reveal here is stuff that I have never told anyone. First Ken was bisexual or just a plain old pedophile that liked to play with little boys and being that I was a little naive boy at that time I was prime prey and I’ll leave it at that. He had an uncle that was the same, he was the first person to get me high and introduce me to cigarettes. Looking back on the time that I associated with him I learned stuff that no eleven-year-old should ever know. Ken had two major problems about himself: he enjoyed cocaine and speed a little too much and he could not handle his alcohol, and thanks to that he helped me get laid for my first time.
It was on my birthday I was turning twelve and Ken his girlfriend Connie and a friend of hers named Sherrie had a present planed for me. Sherrie’s family owned an old farmhouse that my birthday party was held at. There was a lot of whiskey there and Ken drank as always more than his share and passed out. That was when the fun started. Both of the ladies that were there were over 21 and knew a lot more about the ways of the world than I did. Hell, I hadn’t even figured out how to jack-off at that time. Sherrie, after a few beers, came over to me and took off her shirt and bra. Now being that it was the first time that I had ever seen a woman’s breast, well I almost came in my paints right there and since Ken was completely passed out Connie did the same. The two women laid me down on an old mattress and proceeded to undress me. I swear I had such a hard on that it hurt. When they got my cloths off Connie started to kiss and suck all over my chest while Sherrie played with my testicles and sucked on my dick. I swear I came as soon as she put her hands on it but she just wiped it off and started sucking on it. It was back up again in no time. Connie saw that I was good and hard again and got on top of me. This was the first time that my dick had ever been inside of a woman and it felt good. I loved it. Sherrie straddled my face and instructed me in what to do. Soon in felt like my balls were going to explode and they did but Connie kept going and I never lost my hard-on. she stayed on top on me for a few more minutes before she got off. Then she went into the washroom and cleaned herself up. While she was doing that Sherrie took Connie’s place and rode me for what seemed like hours. Soon Connie was back and she climbed onto my face and I went to work. Soon after that I came again. Then I was spent. The two girls tried to get it back up but it just wasn’t happening, I was done for the night. One thing I shall add is that Sherrie was a redhead and Connie was a blonde. I have been hooked on redheads and blondes ever since.
Life was just a little different with Gene not around. For one, I didn’t have to worry about getting the shit beat out of me at random and mom was a lot happier. But there was one problem. Mom, being a woman, had all the normal urges that all women have. There was just one problem. No one really cared to have a woman with a twelve-year-old kid, or at least not the men she went out with.
Mom went out with a lot of different men but she finely settled down with Harry. Harry was a very large man from what I remember. I believe he weighed in at about five or six hundred pounds and he was a truck driver. Now being that he drove a truck he expected mom to go with him and so she did. I was sent to live with a woman named Irene. Irene was not a bad person, at that time she was my mom’s best friend and she had three kids of her own. I did not care much for this arrangement and with a little help with Harry (he told me that him and my mother did not want me around), I ran away and being that I liked to eat and I was only twelve I could not get work anywhere. And I am not the type to whore myself out, so I hooked up with the carnival.
YEAH, YOU THINK YOU'VE LIVED!? OUR BOY JYATES HERE HAS MORE LIFE EXPERIENCES IN HIS LEFT FOOT THEN YOU DO IN YOUR FAMILY TREE!!! TUNE IN FRIDAY FOR PART TWO OF THE FIRST ASYLUM SERIAL!!!!