I’ve given some details of my early life in blogs before.  But people ask questions to find out more about me.

I’ve never had therapy, but I’m sure if I did the therapist would get enough material for several papers on sexual dysfunction and self-destructive personality to say the least.

Early years of being bullied, made fun of, verbal degradation for being chubby (a polite word for fat), short and plain looking (also polite phrase for ugly).  Not just from fellow school kids, but to some extent from my own mother.

My mother had her own issues, a different  man in her bed every night, accepted her own degradation from them.  When I asked her about it, she just laugh it off saying such things “men will be men” as if it was normal, it was for her, and by extension it became normal for me as well.

Don’t get the wrong idea of my childhood, there was never any sexual contact, no sexual abuse, in that respect my mother was very protective of me.

A question often asked of me, “what turns you on”.  A somewhat simplistic answer would be people telling me the truth.  While a guy is fucking me, telling me how fat and ugly I am, calling me ‘cunt’.  On more than one occasion being told they would only fuck me from behind so he did not have to look at my face.

At times, I used to wonder if there was some invisible writing on my forehead that everyone else could see except me.

It seemed that women could see the hidden message as well.  While most seem to look at with me with pity in their eyes, others took advantage of it.

One of my early jobs was in a high street woman’s clothing store.  The manger, a tall elegant looking black woman.  While she hired me, took a instant dislike of me.  Any and all infraction, no matter how small, she would ‘make an example’ of me.  Calling me useless, worthless in front of the other girls, and customers at times.

One day, I had to carry out a stock take after work.  She came in the back room ‘to inspect my work’. She pointed out all my mistakes.  She asked if I wanted to keep my job.  I said yes, I did.  She told me to get down on my hands and knees and kiss her shoes.  Sniffling back tears, I got down and starting to kiss her patent black heeled pumps. 

After a minute or so, she said “you’re pathetic fat bitch aren’t you”.  She kept repeating her question demanding that I answer her.  After about the third time I agreed with her.  She laughed and moved away to stand behind me.  Thinking it was over I started to get up, but she put her foot on the middle of my back, telling me to stay down.  She barked out for me to pull my skirt up around my waist.  As my knickers came into view she laughed, calling my knickers ‘passion killers’.  For some reason that remark was very cutting, making me give out a sob.

Without warning she pushed her shoe between my legs, rubbing her toe against the crotch of my panties.  She asked if I wanted her to stop.  I couldn’t answer her, the sensation of something rubbing my crotch as I stayed on my hands and knees was arousing.  I doubt she kept rubbing me for more then 30 seconds but suddenly the shoe was removed.

She barked out for me to get up and face her.  I did and stood before her.  She looked at me, it seemed with pure disgust on her face.  She leaned into me, her mouth close to my ear and whispered “Tonight, when your alone in your bed your going to rub yourself to climax thinking of me.  Tomorrow morning you will come into work early and you will tell me, exactly what you did and thinking of.”

TBC