That jeep taught me so many lessons I needed to learn. My uncle could have set my hundred dollar bill on fire in front of me to further prove his point. You have to pay for something to really appreciate it’s value. He didn’t teach that to Apryl. He didn’t teach it to his step daughter. However, he knew I could appreciate that lesson and incorporate it into my life. It also gave him his first opportunity to meet me and determine my potential. He terrified me. He terrified our shrink. He became a millionaire because he was a terrifying man to contend with. I impressed the shit out of him. But, I kept him at arms length just like any male authority figure that could control me. He didn’t just take my money and send me on my way.
Each month he had a new lesson for me to learn. And I gave him joy because I was the only biological connection capable of being his pupil. He didn’t know about my past being fourteen and fighting child labor and blatant exploitation. I got tired of not being treated as an equal with women who used me to do their work. I took the pay cut to end being treated like a sex toy for my boss. Boston Market is where I landed. I went from being loaded with cash to scrambling for a hundred dollars each month to pay a millionaire for a car I considered a triumph against all dumb girls that have it easy because they had daddy’s unlimited bank account. He could’ve given me any car. Money was no object. He was determined that he would not turn me into a spoiled brat like the two daughters he was forced to support. He was determined to make me better. He did. Even though he terrified me into silence. I learned from him every month.
I realized how important it is to achieve respect from everyone you encounter. People hated him he was so blunt. He once told angie and some of my other friends to get the fuck away from him because they were breathing his air. At sixteen, I thought that made him a dick. At 31, I know at some point in time, I will become frustrated to the point where I declare that someone has no business breathing my air. I’m surprised I haven’t said that line already. I think he had to eat a bullet to catapult me into the self esteem it requires to make that statement. The funny thing is when I go hawthorne and make that declaration, I’ll probably say it to a man with a snide expression on my face that makes him want to beat the shit out of me. Being around him gave me pride in the blood running through my veins. I’ve gone into blind rages against men that no one ever knew about. It’s all related to that damn car and our monthly chats.
When jimmie broke chris’s jaw I was furious. I learned a lot about jimmie. Now, he’s a good friend’s brother. When he got jealous seeing my best friend with chris and busted his face. I went into a supreme rage. At the time angie and chris were my two best friends. I was around so much that I was a part of their relationship in a non-sexual way. They accepted me as a third wheel. Chris will always be special to me. He was the first boy in elementary school I had a crush on. I can picture him at ten years old just as easily as I can picture him now. It was hard watching my best friend fall in love with chris. We shared weird things. His grandma lived in the same neighborhood with aunt jonell. He was the boy on the bike that was always smiling. He’ll always be one of my favorite people because he has an infectious grin. The fact he was dating my best friend was perfect.
I was in a freshman whorefest and no man could’ve controlled my conquest of cute boys in sweaters. Not even chris could beat the temptation of a whole new world of older boys that kept me constantly entertained. Glenn Bauer alone was completely enough to prevent my whorefest. He is magic. When he disappeared, I just had a steady stream of foreplay. I spent so much time with angie and chris it was about as close as real dating as I managed. It made me and angie closer. and I finally got to be friends with my childhood dream. Chris and his whole family bonded with my family while flea marketing at the silver moon drive in. My dad never said much about my life. but, he declared that I needed to marry chris. I’ll never forget it. That was pretty much the only advice he gave me. He told me to marry the smiling boy that we always ran into on sunday morning trips to the flea-market. I explained that he was dating my best friend. It didn’t cause me jealousy. I didn’t declare to my dad that my desire to kiss every man at once was enough to prevent me from jealousy.
I can only say every day after school I enjoyed his company and that made me content. There company together was adorable. Chris is always going to fall into the category of men I prefer friendship with over sexuality. I’m not saying sex wouldn’t be amazing. Some men that meant the most to me were so valuable as a friend, I wouldn’t taint our relationship with teenage sex that ends in heartache or marriage. The day jimmie hit chris I became furious on levels. One he royally made my best friend lose her shit. He punched someone I considered practically a brother and a childhood friend. And he punched him so hard he fucked up the best fucking smile in the entire high school. It was also a senseless act of violence that is guaranteed to make me do some shit my uncle would pull. God loves irony. He could’ve just gone home after he threw that punch. I know at the time he was fucked up. I just thought he was jealous because angie dropped him like a wet turd when someone like chris entered her life. I learned enough about what he was really going through to know I placed myself in a situation that damn near guaranteed a solid beat down from a strong man.
I still would’ve done it. Nothing would’ve kept me from verbally destroying kenneth for punching becky. Nothing would’ve kept me from verbally destroying jimmie for punching chris. Especially when I found out the severity of the facial blow chris took. When I enter a rage, I lose time, memory, fear and logic. All that matters is calling out the person that hurt my friends and making them feel like pathetic trash. For me, it becomes more than just ‘you don’t deserve to breath my air.’ I become a tornado with black eyes like my mother and there is no telling what will come flying out of my mouth. I saw him strutting through the mall. We were alone. In a lot of ways, entering that state, I fixate on targeting my prey and saying things no one should have the balls to say. He only knew me as angie’s sidekick. He didn’t know my ability to reach way down in my soul and project the ultimate form of a true cunt that destroys with words.
I was wrong when I guessed kenneth was my first real black out rage. My brother was my first opponent. He thought he could pick me up by the neck and slam me around when I was just starting high school and he had just graduated. My brother was stronger than me when I was 14. I learned to fight with words. I have no memory of what I say, especially after hitting the wall, but I come back fighting. And I could destroy him by simply pointing out most boys graduated and had real lives. They don’t beat up a sister four years younger. In that moment I probably told him I thought he was a pervert that decided to beat me instead of fuck me. I go places, better left unsaid when I enter a rage. There is one aspect of my rage that doesn’t change. I tell the truth. That’s what always hurts the most.
Jimmie would’ve walked by me with a smirk if I just simply called him a dick. I hate rumors. I hate repeating them. The first rumor I heard about his punch was that he only did it because he was fucked up on something. He was either on a world class ego trip or he was as high as a kite when I confronted him. Not pleasant heroin high. The scary drugs make me invincible high. The logical solution was to stay far away from him and run/walk to avoid his path. Call it bipolar, call it genetics, call it growing a set of balls to rival my uncle, I forced a confrontation. I tend to be quiet. When I rage out and tell a guy he’s pathetic because he can’t ever find a girl like angie, that his best chance to date is to go back to tomlin, that only a pussy throws a blind punch and runs from a real fight, that even with my cunt I’m more of a man than a loser that only scores cheap blows. That’s some of an edited variation of the shit I threw at him. I think he expected someone to confront him. I think that was his whole purpose for standing in the mall like he was looking for a fight.
I’m not joking when I say I have no fear of physical pain. I know he fucked up chris’s jaw and his teeth. But, when I’m truly pissed I go so far it could kill me. I dared him to fight me. I dared him to punch me in the face and see what happens. Chris is someone that doesn’t need someone to fight his battles. In a fair fight, they both would’ve been bloody. Actually having a fourteen year old girl beg him to pull that shit on me and see what happens left him pretty fucking silent. My eyes don’t play. When I dare a man to hit me, you look into black eyes that truly show no fear. I don’t care how much meth is in your system, when I make that dare, the truth is men have to face getting clawed, kicked, bit, and loosing testicles. I have tiny hands and my punches will never hurt.
But,the fact is when you hit me, one thing happens I’m on top of you and I have no rules. Fighting my brother I learned how to attack and damage balls using damn near every part of my body. I knew jimmie was furious. I called him out for a pussy punch that even a girl has more respect to pull. Just letting him know I have a cunt and recognize a coward on a power trip. because compared to chris he looked like a mutt that belonged tied up to a tree. The truth hurts he wanted to hit him in some macho event where he could call him a faggot for having long hair. I let him know he didn’t fool me. He dreamed of being with angie and chris’s hair will always be sexy. Calling him a faggot over his hair is just as obvious as admitting that chris’s hair made him so jealous he felt the need to bust up his face. I don’t think he thought anyone would tell him what we all were thinking. He didn’t expect it from me. Men in that state never expect the harshest insults to come from a woman. They assume all women fear getting the shit kicked out of them for stuff like I say.
I know chris had male friends that loved him but avoided that confrontation because jimmie throws punches that break faces. He has no idea I did it. I doubt angie remembers I did it. If my story travels around this town, then they’ll know. I don’t care if I lose every tooth in my face, no school yard punk is going to hit one of my friends without facing my scary wrath. In that moment my goal is to get hit. It was a win-win situation. If he hit me he would go down as a pussy that hits girls, and he’d also realize just how hard I can annihilate a set of balls with one swift slam with my kneecap. Punching couldn’t keep my brother from beating me down. But I mastered the opportunity to crush his balls when he fucked with me. I was the little sister from hell. I can’t believe he fathered children. He couldn’t hit me in the face. I took awkward blows to my broke arm, my tits and steady punches to the kidneys. Getting punched in the kidneys hurts in a way, you don’t hesitate any chance you get to mutilate testicles.
In my rage not only are you going to get a deep blow to the balls, I’m twisted enough to pop out an eyeball. I wish I could remember how he responded. That’s what sucks about a true rage is not having a full memory. The typical response a man can muster is ‘you’re a fat bitch’ it happens like clockwork. It only instigates me further and gives me amusement. I will always be a fat bitch even at an ideal weight. I’ve had the stigma of being slightly overweight my whole life. I embrace that shit. Not being as thin as a lot of girls worked to my advantage. I got away with murder. Guys like alex ameyot tried to tell me I’m just a little too fat to get the guys I want. He said it because we had numerous nights of serious foreplay but I refused to fuck him.
He knew I fucked other people, but he wasn’t getting his shot. He was a great kisser. He also had a shockingly small penis. It’s hard to get me off. I don’t see how he could even properly penetrate me, much less make me come. Men are sensitive about dick size. Most are so average. Some men have nothing to work with. I was dying to tell him I would’ve slept with him but he had the smallest dick I’ve ever seen. I let him call me fat. I knew informing him I didn’t think sex with him was even possible would’ve got me hit. He’s one of the only men I pissed off to the point he held out a fist to hit me. I still couldn’t resist the urge to grin and dare him to do it.
Me and my father lived in that state where he raised a hand to hit me and I begged him to do it. I know jimmie was dying to pound my face. I think he was also realizing he was going to be paying some major medical bills for his cheap shot at the greatest smile in the high school. Maybe he just viewed me as another medical bill and one final blow to his reputation. Maybe I scared him into remembering how painful it is to feel like your balls exploded. It’s pain that leaves a man clutching his crotch while leaving his face open for me to dig my tiny little nails into eye jelly.
My brother only has two functioning eyes because he was protected by glasses. And I still managed to scrape his eye so bad he had to see an eye doctor. When you also throw in the fact I bite like a pit bull and rip out chunks of hair. We reached a point as siblings when he knew he couldn’t touch my face but when I fight there are no rules. He learned I could destroy his balls and I was only irritated when he threw body punches. I don’t think my brother intended to punch my tits. But, our fights were no holds barred confrontations and I’m little enough that he just took any blow he could. Since, my tits have always been massive, hitting me always ended in a tit blow that made him feel like a pervert. When I took a solid tit blow I considered him a pervert.
By middle school me and my brother beat the shit out of each other whenever no one was looking. We were never alone without fighting. I think he was determined to stop getting mangled by his much younger sister. I was fighting off an older brother who trained me to fight after years of violence. No one saw it as a little girl finally fighting back against an older, stronger man. Nope, I left marks. I clawed his face open frequently. I always got in trouble for leaving visible signs of violence. So many times I wanted to flash my dad and show him one of my bruised tits. It wouldn’t have mattered in our house he could hurt me anyway possible without fucking up my face. That pissed me off and I went for his face every time.
I was always in trouble for busting his glasses. We had to live in separate houses. I came home on the weekends. He went to aunt jonells on the weekends. In my dad’s warped world my brother was a victim of my brutality. He hated watching me kick the shit out of his son who was a complete dork. I thought fighting my brother would be the only time as a woman a man could attack me and feel justified. When jen’s boyfriend tried to choke me out I entered the ultimate rage. I wouldn’t stop hurting him.
She never thanked me for being the friend that told her boyfriend ‘if you hit her, I’ll kill you motherfucker’ she was embarrassed he choked me out and bashed up my face with no warning. However, the way I fought back she truly felt it was a fair fight. In a fucked up way I had to know she’s got fucked up views of abuse. But, in that fight I destroyed him. He had permanent scars on his face and I bit his hand so hard he permanently lost feeling in his hand. That fight was so intense we both got out of the car to keep on fighting. I was screwed because he ripped out both of my contacts. That pissed me off to a point I would’ve fought him totally blind.
Jen pulled the ultimate betrayal on me. I demanded to be let out of the car to call the police. I was ready to walk across memorial road completely blind to call for help. She refused to let me out of the car. I always give friends a second chance if they hurt me. Making me trapped in the backseat of her sports car and not getting me help was something I should never have forgiven. Her only concern was getting him to a place where he could run from the police. I was his third strike and I planned to send him to jail for life. I was naive I could have sent him to jail for life and I could’ve locked her up for imprisoning me with someone who attempted to kill me. She deserved a felony record for trapping me in that car.
He choked me to the point I had no air. Digging at his eyes saved my life. I bit him and destroyed his hand for pure revenge. I couldn’t eat real food for a week I hurt my jaw so bad. He could’ve choked me to death. For him he just wanted to prove he could keep me from breathing and speaking. He couldn’t do it to jen because it might cost him a woman that paid for him to live. As her friend, I was the perfect outlet for his constant urge to choke her. He didn’t expect a fight. He didn’t know what happens when I black out and fight. He stopped choking me when it became difficult. It’s also not easy to strangle someone sitting behind you. That is an ignorant move. You can’t properly choke someone at that angle. The fact he tried and inflicted my first genuine feeling that someone was killing me. Made me go insane.
He stopped choking, I started fighting. I clawed open his face like he fought a wolverine. It didn’t matter that he stopped choking me. I started fucking him up with blows to the head. I ripped down jen’s sunroof. I think that was the only part of our fight that she couldn’t tolerate. We fucked up her sports car. In her eyes we were equally responsible and she had an upholstery tear to prove it was an equal battle. When I tore open his face he beat my face black and blue. If he managed to tear out both contacts I took serious facial blows. I felt nothing. I just continued clawing flesh and I had my heart set on the satisfaction of ramming my finger deep in his eyes. To get my contacts out he was on a similar mission. Punching me in the eye won’t pull out a contact. I had trouble getting those fuckers out all the time
. jen’s boyfriend knew, laura found out, my brother knows, I’m sure I’m forgetting someone major. It doesn’t matter how hard you hit me. I will get your flesh in my mouth and refuse to quit biting. All three of them cut off my air and when I’ve got a chunk of your flesh in my mouth, I bite hard enough to gain control and stop the violence. Jen’s boyfriend was screwed the instant he wasn’t whaling on me and he put his hand in biting distance. It was such a moment of triumph. I know what life is like with a damaged hand. I don’t know how I got him. But, it was deep and I had half his palm in a death grip of teeth and jaw strength. It was an act of justified evilness.
There are so many levels of pain. A punch that breaks bone and teeth hurts in ways I can’t fathom. But, I can fathom the pain I inflicted on that fuckers hand. I could feel it happening. I knew what I was doing to his hand would fuck up his world. I could literally feel my jaw and teeth moving tendons and nerves. Nothing would’ve released my death grip when I could feel the satisfaction of truly ruining his hand. All I know is I had his right hand and he had no angle to land a solid left handed punch that would make me stop biting. Then I got the rush of him screaming in true agony. I took solid blows to the face that should’ve knocked me unconscious. However, I think it’s an aspect of being bipolar, I don’t get knocked out.
He tried to knock me out because I was tearing his face apart and I know he took scratches to his cornea. You can feel it when you finally get into an eye. He scratched my eyeballs so bad I couldn’t just put in a fresh pair of contacts. I’ve also stabbed my own eyeballs enough to know the eye doctor tells you it heals in time. Actually, bashing my face doesn’t hurt, I’m in an adrenalin rush with no sense of pain. But, I knew how sensitive hands are. I knew he was screaming in intense pain. I only wanted to make him scream harder. I wouldn’t stop. jen and her boyfriend begged me to release his hand. I finally stopped when my jaw couldn’t take any more pressure. As I let go I saw the deep indentations from my bite and I knew I made a scar that he would see every time he looked his hand. I also know I shifted tendons and nerves. I knew not only did I inflict agony. I knew he needed a professional to repair what I did. For me it felt like going full circle.
Throwing a bad punch destroyed feeling in my left hand. It fucked up my world. To be able to destroy someone’s right hand made me so content. I don’t know how many blows I took to the head and face. I would be black and blue for damn near a month. But, I felt his hand being destroyed. I reminded myself I’m not an easy girl to beat. Punches heal. Hands don’t. I quit biting because I never dreamed jen would trap me in a car. and deliver him to safety so he could run from the police. I was blind without my contacts. When we got out of the car to keep on fighting because he listened to me verbally assault him for an entire thirty minute car ride, I saw what I did to his face.
He fucked up because I had a full set of fake nails and I clawed him so hard I ripped half of them off and didn’t feel it. The motherfucker probably had to pick chunks of acrylic gel from the bloody disaster I turned his face into. He did hard time in jail. I’m sure he experienced some beat downs. What I did to his face and hand made him so irrational he wanted to get me at good angle and attempt to do half the damage I did to him. The irony is he wasn’t going to be able to punch me with a right hook. I doubt he ever threw a punch with that hand again. I was still aching for a fight. For me, he got off easy because he doesn’t how swiftly I can deliver a blow to the balls that developed with years of training. The best part of a boy versus girl fight was dropping my brother to his knees and beating the shit of his head unguarded because he was clutching his balls.
I always knew my punches would be weak. But, I also know my hardest blow to an unprotected ear hurts like a motherfucker. I only got to beat up my brother. A justified opportunity to do it to another man is dangling candy in my face. To do it to someone with time in prison that choked me breathless was nearly an impossible opportunity to pass up. I also found it fascinating to meet someone I hurt so bad they expected to throw down in a parking lot like he wasn’t bigger, stronger and fighting a little chick. I’m not even 5’4. I could understand fighting me in private. He didn’t care if an entire apartment complex saw him beating a woman. If you looked at his face and neck combined with the way he clutched his battered hand to his chest. A lot of people probably thought he had a psychotic girlfriend that truly deserved a beat down.
It takes time for bruising to happen. You couldn’t tell he fucked me up hardly at all. I managed to make his face look like it went through a paper shredder. He was such a vain guy. He knew I scarred his face with broken acrylic nails that slice through flesh like butter. I was very clear I planned to bust my ass to see him serve life because he tried to be some terrifying man dumb enough to choke me when sex wasn’t involved.
Then jen who studied criminology manipulated me so bad during that car ride. I knew I got choked and I fought like a demon. I knew I was a victim. I was also naive about laws. And from the moment it happened she said because he was far more injured than me to the point he needed to go to the ER we would both be punished. In fact she pretty much convinced me I would end up paying his medical bills. I was in shock she even tried to tell me it was domestic abuse and both parties face equal punishment. I wasn’t dumb enough to think another girl’s boyfriend could choke me and it was domestic abuse. But, she focused on the only thing that concerned me
. I know the system is screwed up enough that I could probably send him to jail but he was fucked up bad and I was terrified of being forced to pay for his expensive and vital time with a hand specialist. I also knew she picked a side when she wouldn’t let me out of the car. If I stumbled into a citgo blind and bloody the way I demanded he would’ve served life. In thirty minutes I realized she was the third party describing the assault. It broke my heart to realize not only would she deny the truth that he attacked me and made feel like he was going to kill me. She would paint me as a lunatic that attacked him with no provocation. She wouldn’t have hesitated. He would press charges on me with a third party witness. And ultimately I would’ve been sued for hand recreation surgery and scar removal treatments for his face. Plus, a bonus lawsuit for ruining his ability to have a normal life because ruining his hand would put him out of work and he could probably score bonus money for pain and suffering.
That night when she convinced me to get back in the car rather than beating him down with a mangled hand. I knew that would’ve landed me in jail for fighting in public. I still regret not doing it. I was ready to show the motherfucker I may fight like a woman but I know how to get him on the ground and kick him with tiny feet that deliver precise blows to something like a nose. Also that day I was in heels. I know where to apply pressure with a heel in ways a normal girl wouldn’t think. I know nothing hurts quite like a swift kick to the adams apple. My brother taught me how to fight. He taught me that all of our fights were not going to be situations when I had to fear random acts of violence. I became a source of random acts of violence.
Really young I was never safe. He was ten and his sick pleasure was stroking knives in front of me like a serial killer. When I learned to fight, He learned his first lesson in shock. He learned to stay out of reach. One solid kick in the adams apple taught him I was a threat and he didn’t scare me. I got good. He couldn’t punch my fucking tits like he did from the time I grew them. He came near me and I started to kick the shit out of him. Walking in my path became a process. I waged war on his kneecaps. I can’t punch but sitting close to me was an invitation to get a sharp kick in the face. My parents didn’t discipline but I got yelled at for kicking him in the face at every opportunity. He could reach for the remote and I would seize the opportunity to kick him in the side of his head.
limarris82 