into the fold. numero uno.
Date: Jul 1st, 2006 2:46:14 am - Subscribe
Mood: pensive
I used to think that youth was an excuse for my desires. That somehow the raging hormones of the teenage years was justification for any mental calamity. The pain of my formative years had effects far greater than I had admitted to myself. To compound my situation, others I met gave little opposition to my penchant for self-destruction. It was unknown to me, which caused me greater satisfaction ; to hurt myself or to hurt others.
It hardly mattered at the time. I knew no other outlet except to immerse myself in the darkest matters of the mind.
I started to drink early in life. Probably when I was about 14 or so. My first girlfriend, a 13 year old, introduced me to hard alcohol. I had met her over the Internet. I took to visiting her as I could. The effort was immense to release myself and this provided ample opportunity. I wanted to get my sexual career under way with great celerity. I was smitten, truly. It was impossible to distinguish love from my desire to escape with her. I fantasized about running away to her, outlasting our advance to being legal adults, and enjoying the fruits of previously unknown satisfaction. She was beautiful and fucked up.
I drank with her in secret and waxed about the things that children do. We spent every moment we could touching each other and kissing. It was powerful, and I never wanted it to end. Our feelings advanced and I was obsessed with taking her virginity. I never did.
My frustration and anger crept into my desires. I lost the satisfaction of orgasm. I left her to come home to nothing. I began to resent her for reasons I could not fathom. We masturbated consistently while we chatted on the phone. I continued to visit but the tension built. I never understood why she wouldn't let me fuck her. She soon informed me that she had met someone else. Despite the passion of her affection for me, she turned to an older guy who would go on to fuck and beat her. She was never the same.
It took me years to let her go. I hated and loved her. I wished I had been the one to beat her and hurt her. So that I could make her mine and so we could forget the madness in our lives. I couldn't forgive myself for failing to make it work.
I began a string of relationships to wash myself of her. I chose the weakest and most vulnerable to exact my revenge upon. There was a constant duality in what I sought.
To let the ones I brought close suffer like I was, and to show them the love I wished for.
An impossible combination sure, but effective nevertheless. I tried to fuck every girl I met. I succeeded unless they were too distracted to let me in. I got inside empty homes filled with abusive parents, the divorced, and the depressed. There would be nights of listening to a girlfriend be slapped and kicked by her mother as she held the phone to talk to me, begging me to do nothing more than listen and feel her. I dated a girl who begged me to beat her, to force myself on her sexually. I never laid a hand on her. It seemed unworthy of myself to hurt someone who was foolish enough to ask. I wanted to though.
I fantasized about raping her until she couldn't take it anymore. Until she never asked for it again. So maybe she would ask for kindness instead. That I would show her, gladly.
I made a habit of cheating on everyone. I couldn't stop pushing myself.
I lost interest in school at the predictable moment. It held no intellectual challenge, only the frustration of my inability to advance myself in any systemic way. My rebellion was thrown into the melting pot of learning disabilities. Scarce, was my preferred condition.
I took to finding other influences to fill my days. Spending time with my ill mother, teaching myself the ways of the computer, being alone, drinking. I fell into the underworld of the burgeoning internet and made friends with its earliest deviants.
This was a world of untold perversions and an outlet for all forms of madness. It was truly surreal. The internet was a dangerous place in the early days and conflict was real.
It was difficult to hide when you didn't know to protect your identity. I walked a fine line hiding this from my family. I desperately wanted to protect them. But this was a place to experience every aspect of humanity, i had to immerse myself. I wished to know the hideous and the beautiful! I would go on to meet over 50 people from the internet. Most became friends. Some became trouble.
I took to trying to convince myself that I was bisexual. It seemed perfectly ironic to me that I found the concept horrifying, disgusting and exciting all at once. I started to hang out with some gay friends I had met on the internet. I found a guy who found me attractive and he began to pursue me. I worked myself up to relent to him. I let him show me pornography and sat in rapture as he talked about fucking me. We became very good friends aside from his carnal aspirations. He was brilliant and talented at everything I liked. I had it in my mind that despite an overwhelming mental conundrum, I would try and let him fuck me. I tried again and again to open my mind but I was simply incapable. It was another failure. I was not bisexual. I began to revile him but keep him as a close friend. It was an amusing collection of attempts to desexualize his behavior. That failed and we crashed and we burned as friends. I remember so little of this period that I wonder what I was aiming for. It was impossible to quantify the extent of my disgust for women. Ironically, I had even more disgust for men.
It wasn't long before I took to asexual behavior. It was fun to be a child again and I swore off sex. I have no idea how long this lasted. There was a certain freedom in imagining myself free of sex, free of deviance. I reinforced that I had love and affection for others.
I cared and bonded with my mother, now very sick. I floated in and out of normal everyday life, finding time to be with my friends, to play sports, to build the facade to prove everything was quite okay. Despite what the Who believed, the kids were certainly not alright.
I will never forget some random moments. I was not even 18 and I took a flight to visit my aunt and uncle. In transit, I found myself talking at length to the woman next to me.
She was an insurance adjustor. Her dress was highly professional, attractive, and well put together. I found her interesting in a sublime sort of way. I couldn't tell if she was humoring me with conversation, supremely bored, or enrapt with my speech. We talked like schoolgirls about total bullshit. I found myself entertained by the fluidity of our speech given our obvious age differences ( I think she was in her early 30's). I chalked it up to my charm and wit. Time passed quickly and we arrived in the terminal. We talked as we walked and I thanked her for passing the time with me. She told me I should visit her in New York. I laughed as I would if someone told you a joke that was on the verge of being tasteless. She was serious. I had her business card in my hand and her home number was scribbled on the back. I was incredulous. Was she actually interested in me? She walked away mostly in silence after giving me her card, leaving me to awkward thoughts. I wondered what it would be like to fuck her. Was her body different? After all, women over 30 were like a different species. I thought it was cool. I never called.
The seed was planted in my head that great things lay in the big city to the North.
New York. Decidedly, it was time to find out more. I started to take the train into the city by myself during school hours. I walked the streets of the city alone, hiding myself in the crowds, walking around Chinatown , exploring. It was fun to be faceless in a world to which I was without place or purpose. It was at this time that I discovered sex shop windows filled with never before seen toys. I went into the ones I could and got kicked out of many. I decided to research every new thing I saw. I thought it a very small world that others seeked pain like I did. There were so many instruments to carry out this purpose! I bought a couple toys of no significance to prove I was man. I kept them locked away for a rainy day.
Dominatrix. The thought amused me. I found it nearly unlikely it was real. There are women with this sort of aggression and violence in them? I approached the situation with full gusto. I found myself in the middle of a world of adults that had no patience for ones of my age. I sought out a woman to remind me of how fragile I was. To bring my fear back, to excite me again. I met a 27 year old who lived in the Village. We talked for months on the internet about our struggles, our hopes and our mutual interest in discovery. She was a train wreck waiting to happen. I thought it impossible to imagine anyone with more regret and angst over personal failures. She teetered on the edge of real hatred for life. It was utterly thrilling.
I remember meeting her at a coffee shop. I recall being upset at how trite it was to be meeting over coffee. I didn't even drink coffee and I had no desire to listen to the buzz of professionals. She didn't stand out at all, and she was so moderately dressed that I questioned if I was even meeting the right person. She was forgettable in appearance, but she didn't order coffee and I found that to be a huge plus. I was scared shitless. This was very new ground and I really had no idea what to do. We talked about nothing really, a step above pleasantries. I asked her if we could leave and we left, back to her shithole apartment. Now this was more like it! It was so hot I couldn't breathe. I expected a transformation upon privacy. It didn't quite happen that way. She made me kiss her feet while we talked about her. She was absolutely self-involved. She became more aggressive and started to dominate the conversation. She told me she hated my smile.
I gave way to forced nakedness and it was so sweet to hear her tell me how ugly I was. She went cold as I stood exposed and told me to get the fuck out.
I went to her place as much as I could. She became free with me and I became the target of her suffering. She beat me as hard as she could, slapped, kicked, whipped me.
I begged her until she was disgusted by my desire. This feeling was very familiar.
She became fixated on degrading me. She forced me to go down on her during her periods. Her blood was fucking delicious. I licked her floors and drank her urine.
She was completely disgusting and she had truly succeeded. I felt like hell.
I remember being on my back and feeling unsure of why I was there, what I had to prove. Suffering for no reason, was mindless. I couldn't ascertain whether I was actually having fun. The room was hazy. I was cold and naked in her old bathtub which smelled awful.
I was rather scared. In this moment with myself, I felt very light and I reminisced about laying in the bedroom with my first girlfriend, my body wrapped in hers, squeezing each other in a tight embrace, wishing for it to never end. I wondered if I could get back there, to this special place. The moment passed as quick as it came and she came beside me, telling me to close my eyes. She climbed into the bathtub with me and I got lost for a second. It was quiet, I knew from my senses what was happening. I got a chill as I felt it piling on my face. She was shitting on me. It was heavy and the smell was in my nose, twisting in my brain. She got up and I knew she was leaving and I pulled on her leg with my hand. She paused and without thinking I said, "Thank you"
...to be continued.
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