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P-Spot II (Marcia’s PoV)

2042 words | 2 |1.00
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High, I’m Marcia, and I’m a sexual sociopath. I don’t suppose there’s a support group for this sort of thing…

That’s Marcia with a C, not “Marsha.” Basically, the female equivalent of Marcus, or Mark.

I had a little sister named Lucia, for about long enough to write a Birth Certificate. Then, the same doctor signed a Death certificate right after, because she never really learned how to breathe.

I was 6, when I got to go to the funeral, and watch mommy tear up every time she looked at the tiny coffin. I guess I was upset that I didn’t get a little sister to play with, when I had friends in Kindergarten with big sisters, and babies at home to take care of.

I guess they kept trying, but then mom got pregnant again, and I had a lot of questions. Then, I found out from older girls that I was being lied to. “Uh!” They rolled their eyes, and laughed at me until I finally convinced them to let me in on the big joke.

“There’s no tooth fairy, stupid. It was probably your mom, or your dad that put that quarter under your pillow.” Because I ran around the playground, showing everyone the gap in my teeth, and the bright shiny coin I got from the tooth fairy.

“Uh, she probably still believes in Santa Claus, too.” They joked.

“Yeah, and the Easter Bunny.”

I ran off, but I didn’t cry. Not like the little girls did when I told them the truth. That their parents were lying to them, but I found the tooth hidden in a little bag, in mom’s sewing desk. She kept up the lie, and kept hiding those teeth from me, but then I started to wonder about who else was lying to me.

Like my Sunday School Teacher, and my other teachers, our pastor, and every other adult that treated us like idiots. That can’t tell fairy tails apart from reality, but I humored them. I guess it’s a good thing that they don’t have a support group for female sexual sociopaths, because the next thing I found out is where babies came from.

Oh, yeah, and my baby brother Matty was a little squirt, that pissed all over himself every time I changed his diaper. It didn’t matter if he was already wet. Well, okay. Rationally, it probably wasn’t every single time. I’m sure it was just negativity bias, but when he did, I resented having to clean it up. Wiping his butt too, but that resentment stuck with me for years. Also, I kinda regret not molesting him sooner, but I wasn’t thinking about sex yet, and besides. That’s a whole nother story;

The point is that I didn’t have the tools to get past it. My family didn’t believe in Therapy, they didn’t even have Confession, and all they ever taught us was how to bury things. Like my baby sister, don’t talk about it, try not to even think about it until it gets pushed down to your subconscious to rot.

I’m not making any excuses for what I’ve done, I’m not interested in forgiveness. I’m bragging, now that I know a place where I can get away with it. I’ve not talked about this for years, over a decade, and it literally made me sick. Drove me crazy, and led to certain interests because they are sick. Because it’s wrong, and I know I can get away with it.

For example, mom’s Midwife. She couldn’t go to a real OB/GYN, but our family doctor married his assistant. A Nurse/Midwife, to assist Him in childbirth, and fetch the boiling water. Wouldn’t want to let a woman have any control over Life, and Death. After all, what does she know about giving birth? She’s never done it.

Think about that, a minute. A man taking over labor, and knocking the mother out, when he’s not even a Father. Let alone a Mother. Not that they were ever charged with Malpractice, let alone murder for the children that died in their care. He did the same thing for the whole church, and as much as I hate being lied to, I never had a problem with lying to them.

“Christians.” I can’t say that in plaintext, with all the scorn, and derision it deserves. So, try to imagine it, in your head, the way that Pat Robertson says “Liberals.”

Well, that’s enough Politics for one day, but the moment I saw the look on her face, I was hooked. Addicted to the shock when she saw what I did to myself.

“What happened?”

“Oh, it got in the way.” I tried to play it off casually, but then I couldn’t help giggling. I showed mom my bloody underwear, but all I got was disgust. She took me to the Doctor’s Office, because I was 8.

No, it wasn’t Precocious Puberty, I just scrubbed my hymen out with dad’s toothbrush. His old one he threw away, so I couldn’t put it back in his shaving cup. I couldn’t wash all the blood stains out once they set. Not even with bleach, but I found out later that Peroxide works if you get it before it turns into gore. Of course it hurt, that was kind of the point?

Oh yeah, I have to go back to the girl that inspired it. Her name’s Alex, (Short for Alexandra) and I thought she was the baddest girl in school. Because she got pregnant, and an abortion in 5th grade. I guess that was the most shocking thing I ever heard about, and it was right up my alley, because it had a dead baby in it.

Of course, I heard about the “Dumpster full of dead babies” from mom, and dad’s friends. Their prayer group, praying over the poor lost souls of all those poor poor dead babies. I looked it up, it was pretty much another lie. Or a gross exaggeration by Operation Rescue, when really it was just medical waste from a clinic. There wasn’t a single dead baby in there, but they performed Abortions there. So, Operation Rescue went digging through their dumpsters looking for “Dead babies,” then ran with the story as if they found some.

When the schoolyard got ahold of it, it was just the inspiration for “Grosser than gross” stories, and jokes. Before that, it was Astronaut Jokes, because our 9-11 moment was the Challenger disaster. You remember where you where when you saw the World Trade Center burning, the second plane hit, and both towers falling down?

Yeah, well we’re in school. Because the Teacher in Space was this big publicity stunt to make kids want to be astronauts, that really backfired! Did you know that Sarah McCauliffe had dandruff? Neither did NASA, until they found her Head, and Shoulders on the beach. That was my favorite, until I heard what’s grosser than a trashcan full of dead babies.

A live one at the bottom, trying to eat her way out. “Ahahahahaha!”

Then, “Sniff!” Back in the corner, of the girl’s room, after school. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

It was Alex, hugging herself, and crying. Her friends were there, and caring. “Thoughts and Prayers” don’tchaknow. I was just sitting on a toilet with my feet up, so I could listen. She was raped, of course. Even if a 10 year old wants to have sex, or thinks she might be interested in a grown man that tells her how pretty she is, and how much she’s grown.

She’s 10! Do the math dickhead, it’s not going to fit. Not unless you really force it, not unless you rape her, till she bleeds. So, I went right home, and looked around to find something to see what it feels like.

It wasn’t really Self Harm. I mean it was, I hurt myself, and I had to go to the doctor, but emotionally it’s what we call Victim Rehearsal if you want to look it up. In a nutshell, we can’t really empathize. With anyone, but least of all a Victim, because even if we were once, we’re not going to tell you the truth. So, in order to play the victim, we have to experience something like that vicariously, to Sympathize. Call it “Method acting,” but I cried, and ran right to mom to show her my bloody underwear.

At first, she thought I got my period. That it would be best to have her midwife explain it, and literally bit her lip all the way to the office. We didn’t have an appointment, so she rose her voice, and went full Karen until they finally agreed to see me. Then, Mildred. The midwife, her name’s not really Mildred, but she’s basically a Church Lady with a medical degree.

“Huh!” She practically crossed herself! “What happened?”

I sniffed, and bit my tongue, until I got the water works flowing. So, I could tell her Alex’s story, only I changed a couple things around. I said “I” instead of “I have this friend,” and while I was sleeping over at her house, her uncle came in, and told me how pretty I was. How mature I was for my age, when I didn’t even know where they lived.

It didn’t matter, of course. I knew his name, I got the last name wrong, because he married her aunt, instead of having the same last name, but come on. He got his 10yo niece pregnant, then took her to a clinic to get rid of the evidence. She only told her friends, and none of them had the guts to say anything.

So, I went right back to school, and marched right up to the Big Girl’s table. I told her what I did, right in front of her friends, and when they started scoffing, I pointed the fingers at them. “What’s wrong, you cowards? You didn’t say anything, and if it weren’t for me, that sick fucker would still be free. Still be stopping bye her house.” I pointed, “After he raped her, and made her have an Abortion!”

She was already crying, but they all got up, and shushed me. “Quiet!” They looked around, the cafeteria, in the middle of breakfast, but the secret was already out. They took me back to the girl’s room, where we could talk, but that just got my foot in the door. They never forgave me, because I guilt-tripped them like that. It was their fault, for gossiping about it amongst themselves, and protecting that sick bastard for raping their friend.

“Some friends.” I knew what to do, but they left, and I held her. Let her cry it out, and said all the bullshit her friends did. Come on, it’s not going to be all right. It’s not okay, it’s never going to be okay, now dry your tears. Smile, and lie. Tell everyone you’re “Fine” now, and pretend to go on with your life as if it never happened.

Until they forget, and stop reminding you, but there’s 1 lie. One kind of lie that can never be forgiven.

Denial. Denial is the lies we tell ourselves. I don’t do that, and neither should you.

Okay, yeah. Coming from a sexual sociopath, and emotional sadist, I don’t expect you to believe me. After all, I have no problem lying to everyone else.

;

Author

Note: You can tell the lies, because every time she tells the story, the fish gets bigger. For instance, she said that she told Mildred “It got in the way,” then couldn’t help laughing. That wasn’t good enough, so she told the same story again, after a little more detail to set it up…

I’m just not going into the psychological difference between psychopathy, and sociopathy again. I don’t have to, she identifies as a Sociopath. That’s good enough for me, so spare me the “Well actually” comments. If anybody knows the difference it’s her, because she’s not in denial about it.

Not to mention, she blames men for lying to her, and telling her what she already knows. So, how badly do you want to prove her point? She’s not going to say how she felt when she was raping her little brother for his precocious puberty, so let me tell you exactly how she felt:

She didn’t.

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2 Comments

  • Reply D ID:5u1d7cexi9

    ok I’n lost…. So it’s sick thing when a man does it….but not her?

    • Psiberzerker ID:1fr6k6ud4

      If you ask her? She’s a pathological liar, so she’s going to write excuses about how it’s not wrong for her. Because she’s a Sociopath.

      Of course it’s sick. Lying about it is a symptom of that sickness.