Trafford Publishing: Sex With All the Wrong Men: My Search for Love

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Sex With All the Wrong Men: My Search for Love

by Louise Kennedy

286 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1210; ISBN 1-4120-0842-5; US$26.00, C$29.70, EUR21.50, £15.00

These memoirs were written to assist women who live most of their lives in emotional isolation, never receiving validation or help after traumatic life events.

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about the book about the author sample excerpts or Table of Contents catalogue info

About the Book

PREFACE ONE
Life is a journey. How many times have we been reminded of this truism? Perhaps by a well-meaning friend, or a passing bumper-sticker, only to forget a few moments later as the buzz of self-talk resumes and we focus on the immanency of the day. The human psyche is wired for survival... food, clothing and shelter are basic instincts, and of course if we can provide a little (or a lot) more, we can change survival into actual living. Priorities demand we ease the transition of our journey by doing all of those things we need to do to make life pleasant, rather than focusing on the journey itself. As John Lennon said, "Life is what happens when we are busy doing other things."
Louise Kennedy is one of those remarkable people who are able to examine (her) life's journey; face realistically the bad times, remembering them without resentment, rather than shutting them out or paving them over. Louise has focused on her fascinating journey, and recorded it for posterity in this amazing book.
When Louise and I met for the first time, with the goal of examining her manuscript, editing, proof-reading, and shaping it for publication, I was immediately charmed by her unassuming demeanor and engaging personality. As I read through her copious notes, I marveled at her tenacious writing skills, her excellent memory, and the fact that she has survived the abuse, sexual trauma, alcoholism and tragedy that have been her constant companions, to become a whole person.
She lost three of her children, two to accidental death and one to murder.
One frequently meets what I categorize as the walking wounded, especially in the world of writing. Many people suffered abuse during childhood, and (mistakenly) believe their story would make a best seller, particularly as a result of having been frequently prodded by friends and relatives, saying you should write a book. In truth very few do write that book for varying reasons, which is just as well, for very few would make it.
Louise's story is truly one of survival; she has suffered throughout her life.
It is an odyssey in which is encapsulated an extraordinary determination to exorcise the ghosts of her past, and indeed her present, despite countless disappointments and obstacles. We readers find ourselves rooting for her, but as the title suggests, she inexplicably continues to make the wrong choices.
We would be wrong to fall into the trap of her apparent inaction, the subterfuge that suggests she was the author of her own fate, and "why did she do this?' or "she could have easily walked away from that, so what's the matter with her?"
Who knows what role fate plays in the spirituality of our choices? For most life-changing decisions are made in that aura. Do we really make them single-handedly, or are they predetermined? I would rather make countless mistakes than fail to make a decision at all, thereby becoming a victim of inertia, for within each mistake there are a plethora of lessons to be learned.
Perhaps there is more to Lord Alfred Tennyson's, "Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all" than meets the eye.
I suspect there are many readers who will identify with Louise, as they recognize themselves in her struggles. For those who don't, for those who had a life devoid of abuse, struggle and heartache, within these pages a story of an incredible woman awaits you.
Thomas Langley-Smith
January 16, 2003

About the Author

Louise Kennedy was born into a family of 18 children and was raised on a farm in Northern Alberta. She was married against her will at the age of 17 to an abusive man nine years her senior and worked with the barest necessities raising nine children, three of whom she lost through accidental death and murder.

Sample Excerpts or Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE
A Lamb to the Slaughter
Mother told Claude she trusted he wouldn't do anything foolish. The first thing he did when we arrived in Edmonton was take me to a hotel. "Your Mother is not here now."
As we walked up the stairs I felt like the proverbial lamb being led to the slaughter, I carrying my suitcase and he carrying his. I felt no joy or excitement for what was about to happen. I was a virgin. I dreaded the thought of going to bed with him with no feelings of love whatsoever. We entered the hotel room; I went to the bathroom, undressed and put on my long nightgown. With my heart thudding behind my breasts I slipped into bed, Claude lay waiting.
Immediately lifting my nightgown, he got on top and pushed his hard cock inside me, breaking my hymen with all the sensitivity of a pit-bull in heat. He pumped me a few times and withdrew just before ejaculating; all I got was burning pain. I was upset and unhappy; I couldn't fall asleep until the wee hours. You may wonder why I participated in pre-marital sex, why I didn't reject him. I was raised to believe among other things, that a woman gave to a man without question.
As a child, the church taught me that a betrothed woman was already a servant to her fiancee, and did as she was told; a lot of priests were male chauvinist pigs. Since Claude and I were about to be married I felt I had no choice. I know this way of thinking may be alien to you, but that's the way it was.
The following morning I was in so much pain, I had trouble walking down stairs to the adjoining restaurant. After breakfast we walked on Jasper Avenue, going into several second-hand stores looking for a pair of white highheeled shoes for my wedding. He didn't take me to one nice store.
We were at his home for several days. If we went for a walk his Mother sent one of the younger boys with us. If we were alone in the kitchen, she would call us to sit in the living room with her.
Claude took me back home with my long white wedding dress and my second hand shoes, then left to do some carpentry work for a farmer in the area, staying until the job was complete.
I had been complaining about an awful pain in my right hip; Mom sent me to Edmonton with a truck driver, Cliff Weaver. Cliff took me to the Sisters of Service who directed me to a chiropractor in the Teglar Building. Dr. Johnson prescribed a series of ten treatments.
When I was called into his office he locked the door; on my third visit, he asked if I was a virgin and talked sex to me. I was shocked; no one ever talked sex to me before, not even my Mother. He told me to take all my clothes off, which was not necessary for my treatment; he stood in front of me, dropped his pants showing me his hard cock. While he fondled my breasts I rubbed his shaft up and down until he shot cum into a handkerchief placed nearby. I knew this wasn't right and I dreaded going, but I was afraid and need- ed treatment; I didn't say anything to anyone. Two sisters from the Sisters of Service also came for treatments, and I wondered if he did the same to them. When at last the nightmare was over, Cliff drove me back home.
I was married on June 8th 1943. In the church exchanging vows, I wanted to shout to everyone that I didn't want to marry him, but I didn't; my Mother would probably have beaten me in front of everyone. Afterwards I told my best girlfriend Antoinette I didn't want to go to bed with Claude; she could go to bed with him instead: "No, No!" she cried.
The wedding group was small, brothers, sisters and sister- in-law Lucie who was the bridesmaid. Three of my brothers, Leon, Philip and Frank were in the army by then, although at the last moment Frank was granted leave. He was the best man, looking very smart in his uniform. The wedding presents were small: a Pyrex dish, a pie plate, one tea pot, a few cups. My Mother gave us a sheep's wool comforter, sheets, pillow cases and two pillows.
The old log house was empty, providing a venue for a post-wedding evening party; some of my cousins provided the music, playing violin and guitar. My brother-in-law Lucien was drunk and had found his way to the main house. We discovered him sprawled across the bed we were supposed to sleep in; no one could wake him. He and my sister Lucie were supposed to drive seven miles by horse and buggy; under the circumstances the four of us shared the bed.
Whenever I went to bed with Claude there was no foreplay, kissing, hugging or caressing. He must have learned about sex by watching animals in a field. He knew where to put his cock and that was it; after shooting his cream inside me, he would roll over and go to sleep. Three days later I was leaving home for good, my little sister Marguerite, was crushed; she didn't want me to go. I went to find Dad; he was out in the yard. He had tears running down his face; it was hard to say goodbye: "It won't be the same around here anymore with you gone." I felt very sad, but at the same time he had let me down; he didn't defend me or try to make Mom understand. All she could see was their damn traditions; our own religion and that we must marry French (and of course, the poor guy was going to kill himself.) I had a secret ambition; I wanted to be a singer, to entertain on the stage, but my feelings and goals were like dust in the wind.
When Claude and I left for his parents home, Lucie and Frank came with us. His sisters Lucie and Elsie, gave up their room for us. We had been there almost two weeks when I asked Claude when he was going to look for a job and a place for us to live; I didn't feel comfortable at his parent's home. His sisters approved; they were anxious to get their room back. Claude and I left the next day in search of a job. We went to the unemployment office where he got the name and address of a dairy farm near Rabbit Hill, past the south side of Edmonton.
At the dairy farm, they supplied us with a small cottage. Inside was a double bed and mattress, a wood cook stove, a small table and four chairs; also a small empty room. Besides helping with the milking of 40 cows, my duties consisted of cleaning the milking machines; washing fivegallon- cans the milk was shipped in and keeping the milking house adjoining the milking barn clean. I was also required to clean the house belonging to the owner, Mr. Tyler. His wife was paralyzed and could barely feed herself. I did their laundry, ironing, dusting, vacuuming and can- ning. We were allowed eggs and milk, and vegetables from their garden. Claude's work was to clean the barn, make hay with Mr. Taylor, work in the field and tag the milk cans. If the cows were not in the yard by 5 p.m. I was the one going to look for them.
The very next day after our interview, we were on the job; the previous couple had been fired. We didn't have much, but we had enough to get by. I remember we didn't have a coffee pot; Claude found an empty five-pound syrup can in the yard shed; that was our coffee pot.
I never did find out what our wages were; I never saw a penny of it.
Mr. Tyler went to an auction sale and Claude went with him. He purchased a rocking chair and a hand wringer washing machine. Mrs. Tyler had a gas motor washing machine. One forenoon (after morning work was finished) we went to the south side of Edmonton for a few groceries. I asked him for twenty-nine cents. He asked what I needed it for; I wanted to buy deodorant: "You don't need that, you can wash more often."
In the fall my brother Frank came to visit, on an army pass. When he saw my coffee can he laughed: "Louise, I will buy you a coffee pot."
Claude was not kind to the cows. If they didn't listen when he spoke he would bring a chain crashing down on them. If the owner had seen him, he would have been fired on the spot. Mr. Tyler mentioned to me he found some of his cows were nervous and didn't give as much milk as they used to.
Mrs. Tyler often commented on my good work and how neat I was. I told her I had my mother to thank for that. She was very strict, teaching us how to work in the home, iron and can fruit and vegetables. Everything had to be perfect for her.
Henri Grenier was a brother at the Breynat Rectory, he assisted the parish priest. He did the cooking, the laundry and kept the rectory and church clean. We lived a very short distance away and in the evenings he would come and visit with my brothers. They would go fishing or just sit and visit. He had been away from his family in Quebec for many years. After my brothers, Philip and Frank, joined the army, he would come to visit my parents. He often complained of rheumatism; the priest wouldn't allow him to go to a Hot Springs (where we had heard of people being cured). With the help of my parents, Henri arranged to have one of my brothers, Alec, give him a ride to Plamondon where he could get a ride into Edmonton. Henri packed one afternoon when the priest was out and brought his belongings to my parents. He sneaked out through the night and left.
When the priest questioned us, we didn't know a thing. Henri was in Edmonton at St. Joseph's and kept in touch with us through the mail.
We would go to the south side of Edmonton for groceries. If Claude had to run errands for Mr. Tyler, I would ask him to take me to St. Joseph's because I wanted to visit Henri at the rectory. I also wanted to speak to the priest in charge about having my marriage annulled. I was pretty green at this, but I heard that as long as there were no children involved, and you were married against your will, it could be done. I spoke to the head priest and asked him to speak to Bishop Breynat; I would come back to get the answer.
On my second visit, the priest told me the Bishop needed the Pope's permission. As far as he was concerned, if you are married to a French Catholic man, you stay married. My whole being dropped to the bottom of my shoes upon hearing such disappointing news. Several years later, I learned two of my cousins had their marriages annulled; both had children and were allowed to stay in the Catholic Church.
It was late fall; my brother Frank stationed near Edmonton, came to visit on weekend leave. He brought news that Aunt Delia was in the city and suggested we all visited her; that was our first evening out since we were married. One of my uncles was there and he suggested we all go dancing. I had a few dances with air force men; when I pointed Claude out they asked me what I was doing with a dead-beat husband like him.
We had a few days off over the holidays, spending Christmas with my parents. After breakfast on Boxing Day I had morning sickness for the first time. Claude told me not to vomit: "All you have to do is hold it back." I was happy my mother was there because she told him: "It doesn't work that way."
I was very excited about coming home in a sense, but I dreaded going back to the dairy farm and leaving my family again. Being sick, not only with morning sickness but at every meal, sure spoiled the few days I had there.
Mother came back with us to the dairy farm. Whenever I told Claude to pull over and stop because I had to throw up, he told me to control myself. With the car heater going, it made me feel very ill. Mom told him he'd better get used to it because it's something we can't control.
While Mother was with us we went to a grocery store on the south side. She pointed out the hotel where she and Dad stayed when they got married, and the studio shop on Whyte Avenue where they had their wedding photos taken...

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