Like Father, Like Son- A Short Story

“You need to leave.”

“Not without seeing my son.”

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“He’s. My. Son.”

“Since when? All of a sudden you’re a father. Where were you for his first steps. First day or kindergarten, scrapped knee.”

“You can talk all the shit you want but he’s still my son, and I have rights.”

He knew it wasn’t a valid argument, that she was right. Biology aside, he has never been there for the boy. He wanted to be, so badly did he want to be there for all of that and everything to come, but knew he couldn’t. Not fully. It was futile to fight the inevitable.

His own father had skipped out on his mother. Difference is, he actually got to spend time with his old man before deciding to skip town. Must have been when he was around ten. To this day his mother still refers to his father as “the sperm donor.”

He could tell when his mother looked at him she saw his father. Same eyes, nose, accent, walk, hair texture. His mother has tried not to show resentment towards him but little slips of the tongue make their acquaintance with his ear drum. “I can’t stand you” “you’re becoming just like him” and so on.

He vowed- maybe out of fear of disappointing his mother or wanting to test fate- that should the day come when his own children walked this Earth, he’d be there.

Years crept by and no children. Thought for a while “maybe it’s me.” Feeling like he’d never be good enough because the slips of tongue from his mother. That despite being one parent and having to do twice the work, she chose to do none.

Starved for affection growing up, even that became so difficult to give and accept later in life for him. Even now, as his son’s mother points a finger at his chest berating him with profanity and “ain’t shit” declarations, his hands longed for hers.

He fell in love with his son the moment he held him in the hospital, knew he wanted to be there to teach him how to throw a fastball, a spiral, shoot a free throw. Ride bikes with him in spring and summer. Binge on cartoons Saturday mornings while talking about life. The other feeling, however, was ever present. Fear.

“What if I can’t do this?” The same question his father told him years later during a dinner secretly arranged. He was more like his father than he knew.

He knew if he can be around for his son’s developmental years he’d grow up to know what it was like to have a loving father, something he never experienced. Perhaps that’s what allows the fear to take refuge in the hearts of men no matter the level of resistance.

His own son, at the age of ten now, should he stick around, will have a better understanding of the emotions a man has for his son. But these are just nothing but excuses he’s telling himself as his heart sets up for another inevitability.

He still has to try. It’s his son, after all. Maybe he can do this…

Drabble #98

You look like an ex of mine.

Do you know how many times I get this line that usually is followed up with some form of rejection, not even realizing it’s a rejection in itself?

So many variations of myself out there in different shades, shapes, sizes. A “create a player” generator. Difference is they’re the ones with girlfriends, wives, children. Lives.

And then there’s me.

Drabble #97

I really hate having a good first date where everything goes so well you end up creating scenarios in your head for the next time you’ll see them. Butterflies taking flight in your belly, through some kind of witchcraft you can still faintly smell them. But you don’t see them. Ever. All you’re left with is this feeling of “why am I never good enough” while carrying a ghost of what could have been around.

the thing that makes this worse is it’s happening after ONE date. Why does your brain do this to you? Why must this apparition of a now possible past life follow you, reminding you that all you’re good for is a few fleeting moments of passion with quick kisses and caresses of skin, feigning eye contact of longing.

Dating sucks, dude.

Drabble #96

She slides her hand down his forearm just before interlocking hands. She likes resting her head on his shoulder. She gives him looks of longing, passion, support. They exchange glances, trying to send the right wavelength to one another. He doesn’t know what to do with hers.

They aren’t dating, never discussed whether they’re even an item. He doesn’t want to assume. He wants to make a move. He doesn’t know what to do, but doesn’t want to be told what to do.

He wants this to grow but doesn’t want to screw with its dynamic.

He wishes the answers were easy. Nothing worth having comes easy, however.

Duality- A (self-published) Novel

This is the story of Marcus Minotti, s law undergrad looking to become one of New York’s District Attorneys. Something happened to Marcus at a young age, an incident he’s since repressed. Marcus is a rape victim. The repression of the repeated incident has caused an alternate personality to be created.

If that weren’t enough, the alternate personality is a statutory rapist. Marcus questions the blackouts but never the source, not until the alternate personality reaches out. Only then can Marcus uncover how it was created, and how to rid himself of it.

You can buy my book here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/dexter-valentino/duality/paperback/product-23210372.html

Chosen- A Short Story

She’s breathtaking. Her flowing hair, and how it always hides her striking features. The way the cuff of her sleeves hang making her hands barely visible as it brushes through those long locks.

Her laugh is wholesome. Not in a “good girl” sort of way, but rather as someone who’s photogenic at every angle and must be captured. An Angel. Real life princess.
 
But, no matter how much you want her, she’s unattainable. “Don’t say that, I’m sure she’ll give you a chance.” No. I’ll have my shot but it ends up looking, from the outside, like pity; faux, unintentional illusion. They will all- meaning every woman who looks like her, and the thousands in this category- find someone in the male equivalent category. Those are the only ones who will get chosen. And despite claims of not caring for appearances, it always seems to be the deciding factor. Same goes with the men in the equivalent category.
 
All the women in this category, all the men in theirs, look like every couple in the “always be chose” lineup. I don’t even need to describe them. You know who I’m talking about without having to really say much.
 
A lot of us are never going to get chose. We’re great people. But it’s not in the cards for us. One of those infinite loops for all time. “I’m attracted to you, but…” loop. And even when you find someone who will also never get chose, each cancel itself out. The “never get chose by someone who will also never get chose” category, somehow, is an even longer list than the “never get chose” one.

Drabble #95

@RebelScum: Not to go full SJW but, while all the recent hoopla over the “romphim” was hilarious…

@RebelScum: Sexual objectification is all fun and games when it comes to men, but a nation-wide crisis when applied to women

@RebelScum: That’s not to say men weren’t participants in this, but it always seems to be “just jokes” if it’s at the expense of men.

@RebelScum: If you aren’t new to social media you’ve by now seen “sweatpants season *insert Meat Vision meme*” & the like

@RebelScum: Mind you, these jokes are *also* coming from the very side trying to end sexual objectification. But, I guess it’s only against women

@RebelScum: Here’s another example- women saying “get in my guts” or “lemme feel you in my throat” is okay to say to men…

@RebelScum: but a man saying “lemme eat the booty one time” to women is blasphemous.

@RebelScum: Men don’t vilify women for saying this because we know you, like us, think like this.

@RebelScum: Give *one* example where it’s okay to do any of this. Btw, any use of “the patriarchy” is cancelled when it’s women benefitting from the jokes, not men.

@RebelScum: Go ahead & argue the jokes are satirical. To prove it happens to women, isn’t the same tactic used? Argument invalid.

@RebelScum: What it comes down to is “you had your fun objectifying us, now it’s our turn.” Even when it’s not men’s faults it somehow still is.

@RebelScum: Don’t fight injustice on one front when it’s happening on *all*, esp if the narrative applies.

@RebelScum: Also, don’t minimize your argument by backpedaling to hide behind feminism when, according to y’all, it’s for women *and* men