I Don’t Hit, Darlin’.

Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-49-04It’s sometimes difficult to talk about experiences.

When Something that you ‘Wish Did Not Happen’ does, you spend years repressing or forgetting, or at the very least, learning how to live quietly in the living room of your mind with it… you become more & more steadily focused on not-dying of ‘Stupidity’ or ‘Bad Decisions’, while it simmers & fidgets & squirms in the chair beside you. Sometimes it’s ugly mouth shatters Reality…. Gawping & Bursting with voiceless noise, screaming, bubbling & drooling, reminding you it still has Form & Name… a shape, & lighting that won’t dim.

When you see a side of yourself that is truly abhorrent… or that you hate because it reminds you of a parent, or when you wish you were more than you are, or feel like a more successful version of you is literally a situation away, or when you stare in the mirror, into your own eyes & it feels like molten lava flowing down your spinal cord… Your head cradled in Live Electric Wire… it can be so easy to ignore, to shut it off, to dumpster-lock it and roll it away into your guts.
Your Guts.
*BlinK*
[*]{{{{RepREsSi0N iZ c00L Br0o0Oo…hEHe…}}}}[*]
Tho…
In turning away, you begin a new circle.
My father was a pedophile, but beyond that, I was abused & assaulted by everyone around me, and I don’t know whether to call it abuse & assault because I was just young, ignorant & uneducated or if I can feel confident in the fact that I feel fucked up by it all & stand by that. My main concern is that I was just as much a perpetrator as a receiver of inappropriate conduct throughout my youth, and that it continues to fuck me up to this day.

So many of my female friends raped each other.d6bc78a0c68957efde1a2621253449b6
I don’t remember if it was consensual.
Sometimes I remember being told to pretend I was this or that character on tv or given a scenario I was supposed to act out. But was I assaulted if I was participating & perversely enjoying myself in these encounters? I remember that very clearly as well…the feeling of my violations being ‘perversely’ erotic… in that it felt wrong but I also enjoyed myself & always hoped it would continue, though fully understanding it shouldn’t be happening in the first place, at the time, of course, not understanding biology & human sexual response, all that… things got confusing.

I had multiple unwillingly sexual encounters, centered in a closet, (If it wasn’t tragic, I would LAUGH, all the shelving constructed by my gay-phobic christian pedophile father, INDEED!) with a girl, due to my stepmother being friends with the mother, and I just ‘learned to do it’, half of ‘doing it’ being complaining & whining about not ‘doing it’…which in retrospect groomed me for high-school… *sips tea*

I remember one particular instance in a daycare, I was playing dolls with another girl, she had a blanket over the dollhouse and was trying to make my doll ‘bang’ her doll.
At first I didn’t get it, but then I started getting embarrassed & refusing, while the girl pretty much threw a tantrum about it. We both got punished for the encounter… I don’t remember how it was explained but I remember the shame & embarrassment about being sexual.

There were a few boys who played ‘show me yours I’ll show you mine’ games, but I don’t remember the encounters feeling anywhere near as sinister as situations with girls or adults have.

I learned everything I knew about sex from V.C. Andrews books & similar sources.
If you are not aware, these books are the equivalent of softcore taboo porn… tons of incest, rape, non-consensual sex, affairs, ballet-school scandals, sexual abuse in foster-care situations, all kinds of stuff that I, at 31 years of age, am now very impressed they actually followed through to publishing. I can’t admonish myself for having access to books with murder & rape scenes… I wanted SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT, and this will be one of the only reasons I am relieved I was a sheltered child, I could have turned out so much worse, but I was taught restraint, above all things… which, I suppose if you’re a psychopath, is a beautiful trait to have command of.

((Shoutout to Books.
Books, words, literature, Those who Dare encrypt Thought Wrought from Ether to Writ, those Savage Nobles, both Living Feverishly Without Time & Scribbling Sweat onto paper…Cheers.))

So… my first boyfriend got down on one 17-or-so year old knee on my best friends basement floor & asked 12-or-so year old me to date him. He was so much older & hotter than anything I had ever seen. I wrote in my diary about him…and I got the proof!!

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I ended up kissing him, but then ‘Dumping him’ at the end of the month because I wasn’t allowed to date at that age.

I don’t remember much of a ‘sexual awakening’…
Most girl sleepovers involve contact in whatever shape or form.
(Again, unless they don’t & I just hung out with inappropriate people?!?)
My family once took a trip to visit my stepmother’s relatives & a stepgirl-cousin showed me her boobs but got frustrated when I didn’t know what playboy was and went to sleep.

My first fully-realized, conscious sexual experience that I pursued, began & ended because I thought, in my mind, that if the older high school guy that was preying on my best friend banged me, he’d stop trying to go after her. We ended up losing our virginity to the same dumb loser ‘punk’ who tried too fucking hard… his FULLY ironic profession of ‘They’re sooo Laaaame’ toward grade ten kids & pushing SLC Punk and the most cliche’d dirty & ‘subversive’ jokes on us like it was a life-changing moment was lost on all involved.
Screenshot from 2018-06-30 05-05-27In retrospect, I found out later than his friend Don, whom I had a genuine crush on, also had a genuine crush on me at the time, but kept his distance to be a gentleman & not a freaky pedobear.

Go Motherfucking Figure.

Other sexual experiences rut & bump through my memory like rotted, charred horrors… or worse, broken vessels still whole enough to hide Life within their bloated forms… covered in ancestral algae… the sea of my foggy ocean-mind is restless & deep, indeed.

I’m not sure when I began being attracted to older men, but it was distinct, deliberate, and unrestricted…the lifestyle I led allowed me the freedom to make bad decisions.
The men I chose weren’t desperate or indiscreet.

I tried to seduce my grade nine teacher, but incorrectly.
I secretly loved him from afar & then sprang him with a gift-box full of poetry & love letters at the end of the year, ran, then messaged him later on social media for an answer.
Silly Girl.
He explained it was sweet but inappropriate.
I still wonder if he thinks of me when he fucks his wife.

At 18-or-so I had very much wanted to fuck an Uncle of a friend for a few years at that point. Tip of the hat to him for waiting… unlike others. Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-50-14

We had a beautiful time and I felt an inherent ‘instinct’ for the ‘campfire rules’. (Leave ’em better than you found ’em.)

I was deliberate in my displays of sexuality in my youth, I wanted to ‘Be Seen’ & Taken Advantage Of, but I suppose the real important question would have been ‘Why?’
I still do have related fantasies, but I think the difference is my commodification of it all…

Before, the answer probably would have been close to ‘Because I am Beautiful’… Now the answer is closer to ‘Because I know My Beauty is Valuable To You.’
I am forever questioning what my answer will be at 60.

If at age 31, I see these encounters as violations, but at age 14, 18, 25, I was, if being honest, more predatory in my own mind towards the supposed ‘villain’ than I care to admit…
How does One reconcile that?
Those feelings, all full & jumbled & fueled by youth, by fresh hormone or imagination or lust or irrational ignorance, or what…

That unnoticed fog that separates you from adulthood once you fully cross?
I knew I was Separated once I became an Other, but I never felt my Ecology Shifting.
That’s what causes The Monster.

At age 31, I am nervously uneasy & diametrically opposed to the sexualization of Youth…but when I was That Youth I was begging for it… I suppose the difference, I have pinpointed earlier, is that I learned how to commodify it. And unfortunately if we’re being honest, too late to be of any true use, or to give any sort of leverage in life at the time… ((Is that why they choose us? We’re fucking stupid about economics & reality?))
Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-50-35
Being dissociative is an interesting exercise when you try to think critically.
I personally have 6 passengers in my little car, so trying to come to a solid opinion on anything is difficult, let alone sex.
I also wonder if that’s what contributes to the conflict between ‘abuse’ & ‘did I encourage it’…
I have some dissociations who are not sexually active, some who are basically primal force personified, so can I be ‘both‘ consensual & non-consensual in earlier-aged situations when I was figuring out identity in the body?

I constantly question my voice as a victim because I believe I have it within my human makeup to be a perpetrator.
I see potential victims all around me because I see life through a perpetrator’s eyes, am I like…. CROSSING THE LINE WITH THE EMPATHY SHIT, GURL….or am I a predator in a soft, fuzzy also-bruised-wink-wink body?
Was I a predator at 12?
With My Demure Gracefulness,
My Implicit notes Attuned, & Played…
Plucked & Dressed, for Primal Desire,
Specifics of Nectar… Intent of Pollen…
Nature VS Nurture?
Raised by a Pedophile Instead Of a Lesbian, Good Choice Judge?
Saw Both Mother & Father’s Dicks As a Child, One a Mistake, One a Lazy Reality?
(turned out to be the opposite)
Is It Skewed Vision, I Raised Myself Into a Monster With Fiction & True Crime Books?
Does It Matter?
“Which Way Do You Vote, Anyway?;
What Are Your Thoughts on Gun Control?”
Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-49-41“Electrify it, Holster it, Project it, Slide.”

I Am & Have Always been the Lolita.
In the last few years I’ve tried to change that… Not allowing certain dissociations control, Allowing others to ‘Take Charge Of The Situation’… I am at a personal split.

I notice the world responding to my Old Woman Self by turning away.

It is always the story of the Prince who turns away the Flower Seller.

‘Old Men must learn the Dance of the Eaten Women.’

He will learn the lesson, but I will have long passed on.
I am the Teacher that leads to the Blessing.
I am never the Garden you settle Within.
I am the respite.
I am the refreshment in the desert.
I am the Weed that refuses to Die.
I am the Cheek in life.
The Wink & the Nod.
I am the Maybe, the Better Not…
The Side-look to the Secret-self Inside You… just before you take Another Drink…
That ‘Last Mouthful…’

Screenshot from 2018-06-30 01-01-05

I watch you.
Don’t let me lose you, Me.
(shhh.)

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