Just a Little Prick

I don’t think it’s an irrational fear, but I overcame it, with a little help… #Piquerism

First of all, it was a little weird going Back to School for Spring semester. It was a weird year for everyone, but the school was closed in fall, and we had to home-school. The teachers taught our lessons in videos, took our work over email, and my mom got me a subscription to The Great Courses Plus.

Which made school so easy, I got straight As freshman year, and even thought about trying for Valedictorian, but it was just something to pass the time. I never was what you would call a nerd, or a bookworm before. I hated school like any other early teen, but I also missed my friends a lot.

Then, we got Back to School, and found out what changes we had, in Study Hall. First, no Lunch, because they couldn’t control the social contact between students in the lunch room. No periods, each teacher would be assigned a class, and teach us everything, but that wasn’t much of a change.

We just got used to changing classes, and using lockers in middle school. Then, I started high school, halfway through freshman year, and we went back to 1 teacher per class, all day. They delivered our trays to the classrooms, so we could eat at our desks, then came back to pick them up, and take them back to the kitchen to be washed.

Then, Mrs. Smythe assured us that all of the faculty had been tested, gotten their shots, tested, gotten their boosters, and finally got tested again. “Any questions?” I shivered, and raised my hand. “Yes, Berry?” Mrs. Smythe knew me from class. I mean, online classes, she was one of the teachers I had to send lessons, and homework to, but I also had lots of questions.

I was one of those girls that wrote them down, so when we got to the part where we could ask questions. That’s how I learned, but somebody had to come over with gloves, and a microphone. “Don’t touch it, and don’t pull down your mask.” A mask, hairnet, and sneeze guard, so he looked like he was ready to perform surgery, except the scrubs.

“Uh, does that mean we don’t have to get shots?”

“Yes, now are there any other anti-vaxxers here?”

“Oh!” I had to shout, so the sound guy would hold the microphone back up. “I’m not anti-vax, I just don’t like needles.”

I even rubbed my arm, and felt the pockmark from my flu shots, through my sleeve. I shivered, and sat down, but also the shots had to be kept at low temperatures. Some other kids raised their hands, and the sound guy had to run around. So, they could tell everyone that they heard you could get Autism from it, and Mrs. Smythe had to let the doctor come up.

She tried to dispel most of the myths, but that’s the way the world seems to be turning, at least from the internet. I even got in an argument with a guy on the internet about Global Warming, and he sent a GiF of a flat Earth, underneath a dome, with the sun and the moon in it. To somehow roove that there wasn’t any Greenhouse effect, or the ice wall around the rim would melt, and all the oceans would run out, instead of rising to flood the coastal cities.

If you ignore the fact that he showed me a model of a literal greenhouse, and you don’t have to worry about C02, if you put the sun in a dome with all the air. “My theory is that the world is a big greenhouse, but global warming is a hoax.” My point is that now we have the government taking conspiracy theories about pedophile rings in a pizzaria (That isn’t a Chuck E Cheeze) seriously on the senate floor, from the same conspiracy theorist that organized a riot, on the senate floor.

That, and being afraid of needles isn’t really an irrational fear, for a 13 year old girl. So anyway, then we went to class, and got introduced to our teacher. He taught us about half our subjects, and the we got lunch delivered. He taught us the other half of our classes, and then he let us go.

“Huh!” I went out, and it was such a nice day. It was just nice to be out, in the fresh air, and go for a walk. So, I stretched my legs, took off my socks and shoes to walk through the grass barefoot, and run my fingers through the leaves on my way around the bushes. I felt free for a few minutes, and then I got jumped by a…

Well, I didn’t know the word, Piquerist yet. He grabbed me, covered my mouth so I couldn’t scream, and my breast in the other hand. “NWH!” I struggled, and tried to shake my head free to scream, but he was too strong. Then, he said “Oh, you don’t like needles, huh Perry?”

“NWH!” He jabbed me with something, in the side of the breast, and let me go. “No hohohohoh!” I just fell down, crying, and shaking my head. I had some idea what just happened, and I even had fantasies.

Sexual, violent, and violent sexual fantasies for a few years. I even had some friends to share them with, compare notes, check out books on Dream Interpretation, or look up the symbolism on the internet, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine something like that.

“Snh!” Finally, my nose stuffed up, and I had to pull off my mask to blow it. Sitting back down, with 1 sock on, and pull the pack of kleenex out of my purse. I blew my nose, and wiped it, but I stopped crying eventually.

“Huh!” I didn’t know what else to do but finish putting on my socks, and shoes. Getting out my phone, and calling. “Mom?”

“Oh, what’s wrong?”

“I, missed the bus.” I didn’t want to tell her I got attacked, because I didn’t want to start crying again. “Huh, can you come pick me up, out in front of the office?” Where the busses dropped us off in the morning, but also because I was scared shitless. they had windows, so if I got attacked again, they would see me, and maybe call the cops.

I got to 9, 1, and held my thumb over the 1, before I hit Cancel. Because I didn’t want to talk to the cops either. “Huh!” Then, I went back in, and stuck my head in the office. “Do you have a lavatory I can use?”

“Sure,” one of the secretaries got up, and unlocked the faculty restroom, so I could take off my backpack, top, and bra to check where he jabbed me in the mirror. I don’t know what he used, but it didn’t leave a mark. it didn’t put a hole in my bra, nor even my top, so i guess it couldn’t be a pencil either.

Then, mom texted me: [Where RU?]

[In the bathroom, I’ll be right out.] By the time I put it all back on, and got out to the car, I was calm enough to fake it.

“Rough day?”

“Yeah,” I still didn’t want to talk about it, so I told her about all the rest of it. How we’re basically going back to 1 teacher per class. No periods, no real need for the Lockers, PE was canceled, the Lunch Room was a Study Hall, and we had to eat lunch at our desks. “I guess it’ll take some getting used to, but we should go back to normal once they have the virus under control.”

I lied, I knew it wasn’t going back to normal, and I even tried to convince myself that I made it all up. The attack, until I had to get ready for bed, and tried to go to sleep. Which meant I had to think about it, again. I didn’t have anything else to distract me, I checked my phone, but that was fully charged. So, I unplugged it, and decided to do a little research.

I knew Rule #34, and I even tried to prove it, but then I found an exception. “There’s porn of it, no exceptions.” Okay, now if you like, you can try searching for Piquerism Porn. There’s only 7 videos on Heavy-R, and that’s a Rape site. None of those actually have any needles in them, and it took me hours to find a video of CBT. A guy piercing his penis with needles, but noting like a girl getting grabbed from behind, by a stranger, and stabbed in the breasts with needles.

It turns out there’s a word for that: Piquerism, but there’s no porn of it. “Huh!” At least I knew what to call it, as I fell asleep. To have wet dreams, violent nightmares, and scary wet dreams involving needles. Nipple piercing, and the muffled voice in my right ear.

“You don’t like needles, Perry?” I couldn’t tell him that it was Berry, not Perry. I guess I could narrow it down to one of the boys that was in study hall, when I said that, in front of the whole class. So, about half the freshman class, but that was about it. I woke up hot, and wet. Soaked with sweat, and kicked the covers to pinch myself.

Not to wake myself up, or prove that I wasn’t dreaming. I pinched my nipples through my night shirt, then I pulled that off. I felt the spot where he jabbed my bra, but I couldn’t tell you whether I got that exactly right. Then, I pinched it, and covered my mouth, to moan into my hand. Then, I masturbated with one hand, holding the moans in with the other, but of course, that was a big part of it too.

He didn’t tell me not to scream, he didn’t have to. I tried to say no twice, but he wouldn’t let me. He knew I didn’t like needles, because he told me that too, and tried to stab me in the chest. “NWH Snh, Nhn! Nhnhnhnhm!” I just bit my lip, and let the sexual relief wash over me. “Huh!” My hand fell down next to me, and I didn’t have to pinch my pussy any more, because that was satisfied too.

So, I just cried myself to sleep, but I kept dreaming. Having nightmares, and waking up too horny to fall back asleep without pinching myself, masturbating, and crying myself back to sleep. I don’t know why I did that, not really. I mean, I don’t understand it, but I never understood girls getting fantasies about sexual assaults, rapes, incest, and other abuse either. Even though I’m one of them, and I have been since I was about 11 or 12.

“Huh!” It’s not even the first time, I discovered that I could do that. Go to sleep, wake up horny with wet dreams, masturbate, and pass out again, and again all night. Honestly, it’s exhausting, but also extremely pleasurable, of course. You lose track of how many orgasms you get, but you don’t care, because you can always have another, and another until it starts getting light.

“Huh!” I had to get up, and take a shower, because honestly, I stank. I found bruises I left, on the side of my breast, from pinching it, but not in the same place. I rubbed them, but I couldn’t feel them. I didn’t even know they’re there until I saw them in the mirror, because they were tiny, but some of them were moon shaped. Double crescents from pinching my nails together so hard it bruised, but then I dried my hair.

Put up the hair drier, and brushed it until my brother came, and knocked for the bathroom. “I’ll be right out.” I put a towel on, but it wasn’t just to cover my body. it was mostly to cover the bruises, avoid any questions, and back in my room. I was grateful that we didn’t have Gym class, so I didn’t have to worry about changing in the locker room. Showering, and hiding the bruises, the the questions I don’t even want to hear, let alone think about enough to come up with a plausible answer.

Before school, I raided mom’s sewing bin, and pulled a pin out of the pin cushion. I didn’t have a lighter, to heat it up, the way she did to lance a blister, but I didn’t want to be afraid of needles any more. “Huh, it’s just a little prick. UHM! NWH!”

I looked up Victim Rehearsal later, I even started a course on Criminology on The Great Courses Plus, but that wasn’t just to get over my fear of needles. “Huh!” It switched, 180° overnight. it went from a fairly common fear, because it hurts, but it’s also seeing it. The needle, and the big syringe. The tiny needle, and the gloved hand holding it up. Your sleeve up, and getting closer. And closer.

“UH, hm! Nh!” I covered my mouth, hoping he’d cover my mouth again. In school, I didn’t even have to masturbate, honestly I didn’t have to all night either. Of course, the orgasms make it worthwhile, but I didn’t know if he would be back. I didn’t know if he would attack again, and honestly I didn’t need him to. Not for a while, but I could certainly imagine it. Prepare for it, and if not. Maybe I could find someone else to act it out with me.

I read about rape fantasy sex, online too. I man, girls say they want to be raped, and of course some guys want to believe it. (Yeah, well some people want to believe that the Earth is flat, but ignore the fact that the sun rises, and sets every day.)

He surprised me again. He came up after me after school, and he called me “Perry, right?”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t breathe, let alone correct him

“What kind of name is Perry, is that your last name, or is it short for anything?”

“It’s Berry. Or Barry, it’s short for Barbara. This one year, we had 6 girls named Barbara in summer camp. So, Barbie got snapped up pretty quick, and I called dibs on Berry as soon as I thought of it. My friends called me that, ever since.”

“Oh, huh. I guess with the masks on, it just sounded like they’re calling you Perry.” He walked off. “Never mind, that makes sense.”

“Uh!” He just left me there, shaking my head in disbelief. I mean, of course I was sitting out front of the office again. For a reason, a part of me wanted him to come back, attack me again, but of course the rational part of me knew how stupid, risky, and self destructive that was.

So, I pretty much froze up, and didn’t even think about following him until it was too late. Mom pulled up, because she decided that driving me home was safer than taking the bus anyway, and she’s probably right. “Mom, can you get me on the vaccine lottery?”

“Oh, it’s not a lottery, I can take you out to the stadium tonight if you want.”

“Huh, yeah. Honesty, it was silly to be more afraid of the needle than the shot.”

“Well, better safe than sorry.” She joked.

“Of course,” but I was sorry, or regretted playing it so safe. Later that night, when I got emotional, horny, and scared of myself. I got another needle, and a cap full of rubbing alcohol to clean it in.

Then, I started thinking about what I should have done, after school. “Huh, what are you afraid of?” The look in his eyes, when he saw it shining in front of his face. Grabbing him by the crotch, so he can’t squirm, without me squeezing his balls to make him stop. “Hold still, and don’t scream. You don’t want anyone to see you like this.” Pulling open his fly, and fishing it out. “Oh,” sliding the needle down his heaving chest, his abs (I imagined abs) his pubes, and his…

“It’s okay, it’s just a little prick.”

His screams…

;

The Lesser Evil (Boring psychological notes you can skip.)

This is implausibly accelerated to happen overnight. While I could write out the years of escalation it would take, I doubt that anyone else would want to read it. That’s one of the reasons why the typical profile of a Picarist is much older, like the President.

Of course, Joe “The Lesser Evil” Biden is just a Frotteurist, but that’s the point: Nobody gets humped in public from behind while mister creepy hands holds her arms, and sniffs her hair, then thinks: “Well, at least he wasn’t a Piquerist!”

At least he’s not Goldfinger. At least he wears a mask. At least he’s not going to incite an attempted coup, with orders to kill the Vice President and the Speaker of the House so nobody can replace him if he’s Impeached.

The lesser evil never works for the greater good, but if we all keep telling each other that, he can get away with sexually assaulting a 13 year old girl, on national telivision, and still become president. He’s still evil, even if he’s not as bad as the last guy. If he’d stabbed that girl with a hat pin, at the DNC, then maybe, just maybe, we would have had a different Lesser Evil to vote for.

At least he’s not a flat Earth conspiracy theorist.

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