This will not be a happy post. NSFW. · 9:39pm Jun 26th, 2015
Normally I do everything in my power to make people happy. Be warned: this is a depressing post about the worst time in my life. About part of the reason that I am not an emotionally stable person.
While not explicit, This post will deal with a mature topic that is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, you should not read this. Having said that, I know i can not stop you, so if you choose to continue, please: take note of the lessons that can be gleaned from my mistakes in life.
First: a little background on me. I am a slut. I have been a slut since before I knew what the ever-present craving meant. I flirt, and am constantly horny. This sometimes leads to interested parties complementing me on my body. Normally, this is a brilliant thing to do for a woman (so long as the complements aren't crude), because almost every woman in the world is a little insecure about their body, and even if they deny it, most women are secretly pleased that someone thinks they look good. I am not most women. Complementing my body make me feel hollow and worthless inside. I also have a strongly pervasive terror of being abandoned by the people I care about because of doing something wrong. I have reasons for this.
I became sexually aware when I was four. I wasn't molested, I just began developing very early. The first time I had sex was with a nine year old boy, when I was six. Ever since I figured out what sex was, I knew I was built for it. It is my passion, my muse, my driving force in life. I am rarely happier than when I am 'doing what I love', or turning someone on. I love that my love of sex turns people on. I reveled in it. When I was young, from about nine to twelve years old, I was full of joy. My reason for existing was to have sex, and I had a lot of it. I was happy.
On my twelfth birthday, my best friend and first female crush moved away. The day of my birthday. I spent the whole day crying, because I had felt that she was moving on purpose, and had said some very vile things to her before we left.
Then, a friend of mine in another state died from an STD, soon afterward. I became terrified of the life I was living, and tried to go cold turkey, but I had (have) trouble not getting into bed anyone who wanted it, because I really wanted it too, despite myself. In the heat of the moment, I don't care about condoms, because I really like the feeling of creampies (it is one of my favorite feelings in the world), and I have a lot of trouble thinking of consequences when I'm aroused. Eventually I told my step-mom the problems I was having, after making her promise not to get my lovers in trouble.
She's really cool, and she told me that high libidos run in my dad's family, which is why she was so happy with him. She got me on the pill, got me condoms, and tried to help me stay celibate. I would slip sometimes, and usually forgot the condoms, and she was very understanding when I came home. She would gently admonish me, help me clean up, and make sure I had everything I needed before sending me to bed. Sometimes a night, I could hear her crying, but I think she was crying for me. She never once blamed me or said I was a burden, but I felt that way. Even so, I was trying. That's where the trouble started.
I had quite the reputation at that point, and nearly every guy in school knew they could get some from me, even if their girlfriends wouldn't put out. At the time, I hadn't cared whether or not someone was in a relationship, I had just wanted to get screwed. Now that I was trying to be celibate, many of the guys in school became angry. and wouldn't talk to me. Rumors began flying all over town about me. The girls in school had heard the rumors about me, and most thought I was getting what I deserved. The girls who used to be my friends said I was boring now, and stopped hanging out with me, except for one.
The small group of guys that would talk to me, and were kind, I sometimes slipped and slept with. One day, I was with one of them, and he tried coming on to me. I refused and he called me a bitch, and told me that the only reason any of the guys were hanging out with me was because I put out for the nice ones, and if I wanted any friends at all, I had better 'shut up and slut up' as he put it. I called him a bastard, and said he was lying. He said I could ask the guys. I did, and they confirmed what he said. It was the only reason they had been nice at all. I ran crying from their house.
I went to my one friend's house, hoping she was there. She wasn't, but her father was. He was a kind man, and I could not stop crying. He took me in, sat me down, and listened to my troubles. When I was done, he gave me a hug. It felt so good to just be hugged right then, I just stayed there for a long time. Then his wife came home. My friend had told her about what I was going through, so she knew I had troubles sleeping around. Seeing the two of us hugging, she drew the wrong conclusion. she called me a little tramp, and threw me out of the house. I tried to tell her we didn't do nothing, but she got her shotgun, and told me if she ever saw me on her property again, she would kill me. I got scared, and ran away.
The next day, my friend told me that her mom was going to divorce her dad, and get him thrown in jail to keep him away from my friend. She asked me if I had slept with her dad, and I told her I didn't. She just looked at me for a long time. I don't know if she believed me or not. Two days later, There was an investigation. They said that 'given my reputation' they could not discount the possibility that something happened, but nothing could be proven, (because nothing happened). The next day, he hung himself.
Things became even worse after that. I was labeled as a homewrecker. I was pushed into lockers, down stairs, and one day they burned my textbooks. My friend became more and more distant each day. Finally, one day she came to me. She had a black eye. "I can't be your friend anymore." That was all she said. No emotion. No explanation was needed. I nodded, and she turned and walked away. We never talked again, but I saw her in classes the rest of that year. She moved like a puppet on strings. she never smiled anymore, and answered questions in class dully and monotone. She used to be full of energy, and reminded me of a little bouncy ball. The fire had gone from her now.
Things continued about the same for me. sometimes I would be pushed, sometimes my backpack would wind up in a toilet or full of shit. Most of the time, i was pointedly ignored, or stared at hatefully. Everywhere I went, people would whisper about me. I stopped leaving my house, except to go to school. My father tried to get the get the sheriff to do something, but he just said that "unless someone actually committed a crime, there was nothing he could do to help 'the little whore'". My father said he almost punched his lights out, but restrained himself because he was afraid of what might happen to us if he did.
My grades began slipping, and I began using pot and shrooms. I tried to kill myself. The worst part of it was I still wanted to sleep with every guy, but now no-one would be caught dead with me. I began to hate myself. hate my body.
At the end of the school year, we moved to a different town. It was really difficult, but I was cold turkey, and became clean over the summer. I started Jr High with a clean slate: new town, new school, new chance. But I discovered a problem. I didn't know how to make new friends. I didn't want to do it the old way, by slutting around and making friends that way. I tried a few false starts, trying thing I'd seen in movies, but they didn't work. I resigned myself to being alone. I spent that first year stress eating, a habit that has followed me to this day. I gained back the weight i had lost, and then some. Through it all, the insatiable drive persisted. I began hating it more and more, and eating more and more.
Near the end of the school year, a sweet young man asked me out. we went to a few movies, ate at a few restaurants, and went to the drive in. During the movie, he leaned in to kiss me, and I attacked him. I had been pent up for a year and a half, and it all came out at once. we had sex in the seats of his truck (very uncomfortable), and then I cried for the rest of the movie. He held me gently the whole time. I told him I couldn't see him anymore. he looked sadly at me, but agreed. he helped me redress, and took me home. I spent all night crying to my mom, and stayed home the next day.
Mom suggested that I run with her, and I found I really enjoyed it. I began running daily with her, and slowly began working off my weight. Around that time, a new girl moved next door. we began talking, and suddenly I had my first friend since things went bad.
I slowly began getting better, made new friends, and learned to laugh again. I came to terms with my drives, and formed a tight group of friends. Most of them are 'vanilla', but they accept me as I am. Eventually, I made friends who were more into what I was into, but by then I learned to play it safe, and not risk my health. I learned to revel in who I am again. I am a slut. And that makes me happy.
But I am still damaged by my past. When someone complements my appearance it makes me remember the emptiness I felt in sixth grade. I feel hollow again. Then, I feel shame, because I know they were only trying to be nice.
So please, compliment my heart. compliment my perviness. compliment my personality, abilities, or mind. you can even say what you want to do with my 'sexy body'. I love when you do those things.
But, please, don't compliment only my body.
I hope that explained it. It ends a little 'and she lived happily ever after', which is very not true, but I am better than I was then. Although I am still a slut, I am now discerning, and have found God, through whom I am becoming a better person every day. I am happy, now.
3189467 *nuzzles gently* I'm better now, Nav. I just wanted to explain why I freak out when people I really care about go away. I can't help it, I automatically assume I did something wrong. I wanted to let people know why.
I can't see your body. But I can see that you have a beautiful mind and you have what you might as well call a curse.
This is something you have to get control of. If you really lose control, it can go very bad, very quick.
Even worse than some of what you've listed.
What I would do is try to find things that turn you off, and things that will detract you.
You control your body, not the other way around.
With real determination you can over come this and control your impulses.
How often do you feel like this, how old are you?
This is not something anyone should go through.