Pee Nuts

The first thing I can remember is my little brother calling me for “Help!” #CoaS

I thought he was hurt, or something. So, I ran to the bathroom only to find him standing in front of the Potty. His short overalls down around his feet, and his shirt up. He grunted, and stuck his hips out.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t pee.” He turned around with a stiffy, and while I’d seen him naked before. I helped him potty train, and mom change his diapers. We even took baths together, but I don’t remember all that.

I’d never seen it hard before, though. “Well, just point it down at the potty.” I shook my head, but I thought that was the problem: It was pointing up, instead of down at the little plastic seat, but he turned back around, and tried it.

“I can’t.” He grunted, and I looked over his shoulder to see him holding it down with his thumb. He grunted, and even tried that pelvic thrust thing again, but I didn’t know anything about sex.

I must have been about 6, which would have made him about 3 years old, but I just wanted to help him. Clearly, he was aching to pee, but I didn’t know what to do. So, we had to wait for mommy to get back from the store.

By then, the swelling had gone down, and he already peed, but mommy had to dump out the bowl from the potty. So, I asked her about it, and why his peenie was standing up like that. All she said was that they do that sometimes on their own, but not to play with it.

That got me wondering How you would go about playing with it? It’s not a toy, and it’s a little weird, but I knew I shouldn’t. I could tell by the way mom said it that it would be bad. So, I forgot all about it for the most part, until later when we’re out in the back yard.

In our swim-suits, with the sprinkler set up so it waved back and forth in the pool. We had a kiddie pool, and it was full, but we also set up the sprinkler to play in. It was one of those that squirted a fan of water up, and went back and forth. So, sometimes it was covering the kiddie pool with rain. Then it went back, and sprayed over the back yard.

Then, we had to go in for nap-time, and mommy helped him with his shorts. Dried him off with a towel while I took off my swim-suit in the kitchen, and tied up my hair. In another towel, mom brought a whole stack of them folded up, and then lay down a couple to mop up with her feet.

That left me to take my little brother upstairs. Naked for a nap, but I saw his junk again, and they were shriveled up from the cold. The foreskin stuck out so far that it left a tiny little donut on the end, and I remembered mommy showing him how to clean it out. In the bathtub, she also showed me how to wipe after I peed, and that kind of stuff.

So, I closed the door, and touched him there. I wasn’t really playing with it, but I squeezed the head out. So the foreskin slipped back, and wrinkled up around the shaft. Which started to get warm, plump up, and even got hard while I was playing with it.

I giggled, and tried pushing it down first. With my thumb, like he did trying to pee with a boner, but backwards. Then, my thumb slipped off, so it popped up, and the foreskin almost closed over the end again.

“Undies.” He bent over, and picked some up off the floor.

“No, those are dirty, let me get you some clean ones.” I pulled them out of the drawer, but when I turned around. He was looking down, with his hips thrust out so he could see over his baby fat, and play with his boner. Pushing it down with his thumb, so it slipped off, and popped back up.

His balls had unshriveled, too. So, they hung down, and swung a little with each pop up, and pelvic thrust. I didn’t know it at the time, but it made me feel funny. Just watching him do that, especially his little hips thrusting back, and forth. His little peenuts dangling, and swinging.

Now, I didn’t call them peenuts because they looked like peanuts. They don’t, but I thought since his pisser was on the outside, so was his bladder. I thought that’s what they were for, holding his pee in, until he got to a potty where he could let it out. Dangling lose, and stretching out his scrotum like that, I thought they were empty, but I got down, and held his underpants open. For him to hold my shoulders, and step into them, but by the time I looked up. His little stiffy was gone, and it was just hanging lose over his balls.

“Oh,” I pulled them up, and touched his crotch. I tried rubbing it hard again through his underwear, and then I pulled them out to stick my hand in there, but it didn’t work. Then, mommy called me, and I ran out. Still naked except for a hand towel, twisted up around my hair, and tucked in the back.

“What were you doing in there?” She came up the stairs.

“He needed help, and reading him a story.” I lied, “A bedtime story.” I could barely even read, but I could pretend to. Holding up a book, and making up a story, or remembering what I could with the pictures to remind me, but memorizing them was easier than sounding out the words.

“Well, get dressed, and go to bed.”

“Okay, mommy.” But I didn’t, I just took the towel off my hair, and put it on the pillow. Then, I lay down on the covers, and played with myself naked, until I fell asleep. I was mostly just exploring, honestly.

There was this part of my body, I never really got a good look at because it was down there between my legs, and I knew that pee came out of it, but other than that. I discovered that I had lips, and a big hole, but I never found the little tiny one that the pee actually came out of. Not with my fingers, but then I woke up when they got hot.

And wet, my pee trickled out between my fingers, and I crossed my legs. Holding it in, and getting up to run to the bathroom, and finish. Normally, I climbed up on the big girl toilet, but this time I squatted over the potty, and remembered him standing up. Oh yeah, boys pee standing up, while girls have to sit down, or pop a squat.

Which didn’t seem fair to me, but I was already starting to feel like the whole world was unfair. To me in particular, I blamed everyone else for my petty childish little problems, and never accepted responsibility when I did anything wrong, because I was an undiagnosed sociopath.

Honestly, I didn’t even find out until college, because this girl I knew was taking Psychology, and she showed me the list of things to look out for. Including the MacDonald Triad, I never really played with matches, or practiced torturing animals, but this was back before that was largely debunked. Before they tried to include Sociopaths, and Psychopaths in ASPD. As if it’s just a Personality Disorder, like Paranoia, and Narcissism.

I’m getting ahead of myself, but it’s weird that at first I really was concerned for my younger brother’s feelings. I mean, when he had trouble peeing, because of his little erection. When he cried for help, I came running because I thought he was hurt. I had enough Empathy to realize that he was aching to pee, and I really wanted to help.

That was the last time, I really remember being concerned for his feelings, or anyone’s. The first, and the last, since it’s my earliest memories. It’s just important for this story, because he was the youngest, the only one in the house, and my life that I had any Power over. So, I suppose that’s why I began molesting him: To feel in control, because I hated being a child. All the adults ordering me around, anyone with Authority, which was basically any grown-up.

I have to think about the MacDonald triad though. Sometimes, because it bugs me that psychologists could get something so simple so wrong. To this day, they still believe that late stage bedwetting is more about being shamed, and humiliated for it, and that turns little kids into psychopaths. (You can’t shame, and humiliate us. Not really in any normal way.) While pyromania, and animal sadism are considered acting out.

The truth is that it’s a choice, and one that normal kids don’t make. (Normal kids don’t molest their siblings when they’re little more than Toddlers, either.) When you’re in bed, and you have to pee. You don’t want to get up, but normal kids don’t want to piss themselves, because it’s dirty. I wanted to piss myself, because it was dirty. I wasn’t supposed to, and it made my privates wet to play with them.

So, I guess that led to my pee fetish, before I found out what genitals are really good for. S.E.X. but I continued molesting my little brother for years after that, whenever I got the urge to. I guess it comes down to Impulse Control, too. Kids like me, we can’t control the impulse to pee, so we do it anyway.

I think that’s maybe why we seek to control others, and hate anyone exercising any authority over us, because we can’t control ourselves. When you grow up like that. Controlled, but out of control, you start to look for things you can control outside of yourself. I remember doing that with dolls, yelling at them telling them to do stuff, and spanking them when they didn’t. Because they’re dolls, of course they couldn’t get up on their own, and “Go to your room.”

That was underneath the bed, I even put a box up because it was just about the right size, and it had flaps I could slam like a door. Lock my dolls in there for being bad, and not going to their room when I said to. Because I was sent to my room, for annoying mom. On purpose, I knew what buttons to press, and I even knew that she’d send me to my room to play.

So, I could stomp around, yell, and slam the “Door.” Locking up my dolls for not obeying me, and giving them a spanking first. Mom never spanked me, dad did when I was really bad, and I got sent to my room to “Wait till your father gets home.” To spank me, but I liked it, because he let me out.

Out of my room, my prison. Honestly I hated that more than the spankings. They didn’t hurt, he didn’t hit me that hard, just to “Teach you a lesson.” I never learned though. I couldn’t learn, because I knew what was wrong, and I chose to be bad, because I wasn’t supposed to.

Not just naughty, pure evil once I found out what I was doing. In school, we where in Mrs. Williams’s class, so it had to be 3rd grade. Oh yeah, and my little brother was in Kindergarten, but then we had McGruff the Crime Dog come by class.

He put on a movie to watch, which was fine with me. The other kids were impressed by the “Puppy! Ooh, look at the puppy, who’s a good boy?” But I knew that it was just a man in a suit.

Of course, once we settled down to watch the video. He left to go visit another class, and it was on Stranger Danger. What to do if anybody tries to get you in their car.

They even showed the Lost Puppy Ploy, but the boys said “NO!” and ran off to tell the police man. Who just happened to be right there, when the child molester pulled up, and asked a bunch of boys to help him look for his puppy. Instead of the cop, who was right there, watching a child molester try to lure children. I swear, it was that stupid.

Then, it got to the part with the doctor. First, she told us not to let anybody touch us. In any way that might make us feel uncomfortable, and then she turned to the boy just sitting there. In her office, so they could act out the scene where he points to the doll where the man touched him.

“Oh!” Ding! I realized I was the Child Molester, and that even kinda made me feel like a Man. Not really, I was a little girl, but the way a Man must feel when he has Power. Sure, women, and girls can get a little power, but symbolically. It’s not nearly the same league as the Archetypic Man in Power. (Also, the strangers were invariably a Bad Man, back in the day.)

So, I sat up, looked around, and tried to act normal. Suspiciously good, because I was starting to be afraid of anyone finding out in school. Then, she popped the tape out, and put it on the cart for McGruff the Crime Dog to come and get it (He had a whole box of them, 1 for every class) Then, she asked if we had any questions?

“Ooh!” my hand shot up, “What if he’s not a stranger?” I said He, mostly to distance myself from other child molesters.

So she asked “Why? Has anyone been touching you inappropriately?”

“No,” that would make me the Victim, “God no, but what if your big brother decides to touch you when he’s supposed to be watching you, because mom is out shopping, and dad is away at work?”

Suspiciously specific, but since I didn’t have a Big Brother to molest me, I just got out of class to go talk to the school councilor. I recognized the scene, from the video we just watched. He didn’t have a doll to ask me to point to, but I didn’t want to play the Victim. So, I played “I have a friend,” instead.

So, I could tell my story, only with the ages, and genders reversed. This imaginary friend was about my age, so her older brother would have to be a 6th grader. That was the oldest boy I could think of, but I finally could confess what I did, with a degree of separation.

“He makes her pee, and spanks her when she can’t. So, he can touch her when she gets wet, and stick his finger in her peehole.” I got a bonus Sex Education that day, because he had to make sure I got the right hole. I still didn’t realize that was my vagina, and not my urethra, because I hadn’t found that hole yet.

I couldn’t tell him who this friend was, because I made it up. So, he asked “Did he threaten her?”

“No, because she likes it, and she doesn’t want him to stop.” That made him uncomfortable, because it’s not what he wanted to hear. That an 8 year old enjoyed sex, or at least pee play, and molestation. Honestly, she’d have to be a psychopath or something to, but it’s not exactly unheard of.

I guess it’s too bad that he wasn’t turned on. Or too good, actually. You got to think that if you were that kinda man, and you wanted to meet girls that are excited by sex, and molestation that young. School councilor would be the perfect job. No wait, McGruff the crime dog, because then you get to dress up as a puppy, And talk to little kids about inappropriate touching. (Honestly, sending a dog mascot to teach kids anything important was just stupid. How are you going to make them pay attention with a cartoon puppy in the room?)

Why didn’t I think of that before? There’s no reason why a man has to play McGruff, any more than Peter Pan. Too bad I didn’t think of that until after I grew up, and stopped molesting children.

I’m not a pedophile, that means you love children. Or “Love” them, but I don’t have that delusion. That’s what it is, the idea that a grown man can have a relationship with a little girl, without them both being fucked up in the head. Even if she’s not psycho when it started, what do you think that’s going to do to a good innocent ignorant little kid?

Fuck her up, that’s what. Literally, I started out fucked up, but you don’t have to have any empathy to figure that out. It’s illegal because it’s wrong. If you’re going to do something as evil as molesting children, at least have a little pride in yourself. Sure, lie to them, and everyone else, but don’t lie to yourself.

I just got bored with molesting little kids, because it didn’t prove nothing. Big deal, you tricked a 10 year old and his friends, then humiliated them until they started crying. That happened in middle school, so I guess I better tell you about it.

It turns out that McGruff only came by the 1-6 grader’s classes, but not the kindergarten. I was afraid that he’d realize what I was doing to him, and tell. Since that’s what the videotape said to do, but then I thought there’s be a whole year to make him not want to tell. It turns out I had 5 years, since there’s a whole lot of schools, and only 1 McGruff costume. So, they come by our school every 5 years, but bye the time they came back I already graduated.

I was 13, but I also got self conscious enough to not be as sadistic as I used to be, when I got started molesting my brother. I didn’t just spank him to make him pee. I spanked him to make him hard, so he learned how to pee with a boner all on his own. I also made him lay down in the bathtub, and pee all over himself. Got in to squat over him, and pee in his face. Pee inside me then “Pop the cork!” So it gushed all over him when I pulled out. Then, I made him give me a “Catbath.”

We didn’t have a cat, but that means washing yourself with your tongue. Or wipe out my pee with his, but bye then I knew that was Oral Sex. Oh yeah, the day after McGruff stopped by, all the girls were talking about Sex, Rape, and Child Molesters. I swear, nothing for 5 whole years, and then all of a sudden it triggered horror stories in the girl’s room.

I guess girls know what happens when a bad man gets you in his car, or stays the night. If they weren’t touched up by their moms’ boyfriends, uncles, or older brothers, then they probably knew a girl that was. 1 in 3 girls report some sort of sexual assault before she turns 18, but that’s just the reported ones.

That’s not the sort of thing you talk about, unless you had good reason to, but once the subject came up. It turns out we all had “A friend.” If it didn’t happen to you (Or you’ve been molesting your brother for years without even knowing it) or you hadn’t heard about it from a friend, there’s always your mother to tell you horror stories that end up with “Dead in a ditch” or your father to tell you what “Boys will be boys” means. Cock blocking.

So, the only sexual outlet for prepubescent little girls is to be attacked by a stranger, or molested by a friend of the family. Maybe an Uncle, if not your daddy, but I didn’t grow up in a family like that. It was mostly like Ghost Stories, only with real live people. Of course, it never happened to a girl you knew. She always had “A friend,” but I was getting good enough at lying to spot a liar.

That also clued me in to how to identify a Victim. Take Molly, for instance. She kept her head down, and cried, but she also squirmed when she told me what happened to her. She always said “She,” and “Her,” instead of me, and I, but then she tried to cover herself. Her buns when she talked about him fondling them, but then she stopped.

Sniffed, and shook her head, then she ran off to find somewhere to cry. The whole story is she had a big brother, who didn’t molest her, but he had friends. One of which told her how pretty she is (She’s not, but that’s something child molesters say) and then he started stopping bye when he knew her mom, and brother were away.

Her big brother was taking guitar lessons, so his mom had to take him after school on Tuesdays, and Thursdays. So, her boyfriend could come over, touch her until he got hard, and beat off in front of her. She didn’t know how to feel about that, but I had to get her alone later, to hear the whole story.

So, I got her to take me home the next Thursday, “To make him stop.” That was the excuse, when really I just wanted to meet another child molester. It helped that he was almost a teenager, and he wasn’t shooting blanks any more. He made her suck him off, and swallow it to get rid of the evidence. As soon as he started ejaculating, but he groomed and molested her for years before that.

So anyway, I said “I want to play doctor,” when he showed up. Asked me who I was, and what I was doing here, “But I wanna be the Doctor.” Again, it’s about Power for me. (They say that it’s not about sex… Sometimes it’s about Power, but it’s always about sex. Hell, selling diet beer is about sex.)

He was a real piece of work. I’m not naming any names, but Molly. Her real name is Margaret “Maggy” Ruis, now. If you want to track her down, and tell her you read about her in a story? Go right ahead and traumatize her again. I leave off names to protect the guilty.

So a long story short, that didn’t work out. I got to see his boner, and Molly gag on it, but 2 tops can’t really be together. You just fight over who gets the Remote Control. Molly wasn’t my friend, I didn’t have friends. I had regular victims of my emotional cruelty, and strangers I’d try to make cry if I could figure out how to push their buttons.

I know there’s more than 2 kinds of people, but those are the only 2 I care about: Victims, and Abusers. I want to be the abuser, so it pays to keep an eye out for the competition. The real payoff is when you find his victim, and make her your own.

She got Tonsillitis, so that’s how he checked her tonsils. With his dick, he also called it a thermometer, to check her temperature. He also touched her, tickled her, and felt up her legs to her crotch. He loved her bottom, but he never made her take off her clothes, nor even her underwear.

He also left her horny, but he left when her mother was coming home with her brother. So, I took her out, and talked about how “intense” that was.

“You see what I mean?”

“Yeah, you’re lucky to have a boyfriend like that, and now I’m all horny.”

“Me too.” So, we found someplace to try all the stuff she wished he’d do. Because he’s selfish, manipulative, controlling… Sound familiar? I don’t have to empathize, I can Sympathize with a guy like that, and I told her. Exactly why he didn’t kiss her, especially down there.

“It’s gross.”

“No, that’s just an excuse, but he knows that if he leaves you wanting more, then you’ll always come back to him. So to speak, I know he goes over to your house, but I bet he’s just afraid that if he satisfies you, you’ll get bored, and stop letting him come in.”

Which was bullshit, but just to manipulate her into playing lesbian with me. I’m not any more gay than I am a pedophile. You have to care about people, or at least pretend to for it to be that. Honestly, I learned about sex to control people, and that’s the only thing that turns me on. Before I could even get wet, or orgasms, I’d get hot and puffy just thinking about making someone do my bidding.

Not my brother, honestly because he was too willing. He wanted to give me cat-baths now, but if he came to me, and asked me, than that ment I couldn’t think of a way to talk him into it. There’s no fun in that, I have to do the foreplay first, and the foreplay is making you do something you don’t want to, for me. I tried other things, and nothing else works. Not even BDSM play, because I know they’re just acting.

He ruined Molly for me, too. Since he’d been grooming her so long, teasing, and denying her pleasure, so she thought that was normal. I gave her pleasure, I got a good look at another girl’s privates, and I used my experienced fingers to get her close to orgasm once I got her wet with my tongue.

She was clean. He taught her well, so even though he never took her underwear off, he had her groomed to wash herself carefully. I didn’t taste any pee, but it wouldn’t have bothered me if I did. Then, I got to manipulate her into keeping the secret. I guess I kept manipulating her after that. She thought she was gay for a while there, because I convinced her that’s why her boyfriend could never satisfy her. I did, with my fingers, until she begged me to “Stop before I pass out.”

She already broke her own cherry to get ready for when he was willing to fuck her. It never happened, because I cucked him, and she even grew the guts to threaten him. She said she’d tell on him for molesting her if he didn’t leave her alone, and she never wanted to see him again. She lied, and cried to me. I guess that’s the most emotional satisfaction I got out of that relationship. I kinda made her cry, indirectly, but it was bittersweet because she learned how to stand up to him herself. Which isn’t what I wanted for her.

Oh yeah, and I just said I was “Curious.” That’s why I did it, to see if I could, but I’m not really attracted to her. She grew a spine, and before that, she was too willing to actually make her do anything. I just had to ask, but she’s bisexual now. I guess I can take half credit for that.

So, then I hit puberty, and honestly, that was bad for me. Briefly, I was bigger, and stronger than boys my age. So I bullied them, and got in trouble for it. Blamed them for it, which was easy enough. Since they were boys, and they ganged up to pick on me, but only because I started beating them up, first.

I also had a lot of sexual frustration, because I wasn’t getting any at home. The last person I molested was Molly, and that wasn’t very satisfying. Also, I was afraid of getting caught, and fear is one of those feelings I didn’t want to admit to, even to myself. That just made me feel weak, and controlled by emotion. So I beat up boys to feel strong, and powerful again. One at a time, but they came back for revenge with friends.

Then, I started 7th grade, which was even worse. Some of my victims got growth spurts on summer, and once again, there were older boys. Teenagers, like the one I watched mouth raping Molly. I hated them, honestly I didn’t care about girls, but boys? I’m jealous of them, I act like a Feminist, but honestly it’s just an act. I don’t want Equality, I want Victims. Preferably bigger, and stronger than I, because in my mind, those are worth more Points.

One of the ways psychos win is by keeping score. A serial killer only has to kill 2 people, because even if they get the Death Penalty, they can only be executed once. On their first murder, it’s already a tie (Not counting the Animals they practiced on, but I had dolls.) Once I became aware of what I was, child molesting wasn’t worth as much. Now, a little girl raping a man, that’s worth a lot more.

Probably because it’s damned near impossible, but I knew what I wanted. I just hadn’t figured out how to, yet. Which brings me around to my little brother. He got a visit from McGruff the Crime Dog, and he had questions.

Like: “You remember when we used to give cat-baths, in the bathtub?”

I shook my head, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, but I know what I remember, and I can’t help feeling that there was something sexual about it.”

“You wanted it too. I remember you begging me to do it, and I finally told you to stop.”

“Okay, yeah but why did you do it?”

“Because you wanted me to, and you kept nagging me until I did.”

“Well, how did it start?” So, I had to make up a story, on the spot, when I hadn’t even prepared for that day. Even though I should have known it was going to cum, eventually. I just ignored it until I couldn’t any more. It was stupid, and childish, but at least I was smart enough to come up with a good enough excuse to satisfy him.

“Well, you’re potty training, and then you found out that you couldn’t pee with a boner. Mom was out picking up something or other from the store, so I had to come and try to help. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I thought your balls were your bladder, so I tried to squeeze the pee out.”

He crossed his legs, like a girl. No, like Molly confronting her molester. Being lied to, and wanting to believe it, but still fighting the nightmare feeling that there’s something wrong. Not with my story, it was close enough with the truth to match what little he remembered, but he nodded, and said “Pee nuts.”

“See? I didn’t even know what testes were, let alone what sex was. So, you’re wrong, it wasn’t sexual, it was just.” About control. “Pee play, I guess. We outgrew it.”

That seemed to satisfy him, but then he went back to school the next day, and just like the girl’s room. All those years ago, when we started opening up about Child Molesters, Rapists, and S.E.X. He bragged that he got to eat out a girl when he was a little boy. He said I was his baby sitter, not his sister, but one thing led to another, and he got to lick out my pussy. (You get it? That’s why it’s a “Catbath.”)

Of course, he left off the part about me spanking him to make him hard, piss all over himself, and lick the piss out of my snatch. He even stuck it in, after I got my cherry out of the way with my fingers. It hurt, but you know how you whack your knee, and it hurts so bad you can’t move? That doesn’t work on me, so go ahead, and try kicking that guy in the nuts. You might find out that he’s a psycho, and that doesn’t work on him, neither.

So, then they started talking about girls, and he found out which boys thought I was hot. 10 year old boys, so not even close to any hair on them, but then I stopped by their school to walk him home. They wanted me to go over to this boy’s house. I’m gonna call him Bruce, because he wanted to play Batman, and my brother told him I do “A Great Poison Ivy.”

This was back in the day when The Animated Series was on, and also I think Batman and Robin. The movie was in theaters, but that was the worst version since the 60s one with Adam West.

They had Harley Quinn, but she was a ditz, and a victim. This was back before she turned all Social Justice anti-villainess (Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you know the guys that have a problem with that? At least I know them as my competition.) Likewise, Catwoman. Well, there was the catbath thing we didn’t want to talk about, but also she was kinda wishywashy about coming out as Evil. So, she could date Batman, and Selina Kyle could date Bruce Wayne. Even though they knew each other’s “Secret identities” by then. Not that there’s really any secret, people don’t know who Batman, and Superman are, because they don’t want to.

I didn’t have great role-models, okay? They didn’t want to play Xmen (Also the cartoon) so I couldn’t be Mystique. It’s mostly the outfit with the skulls on the belt, TBPH. She simped for Magneto too much, but you got to love that look! Also, the ability to change into anyone your victims trust to manipulate and betray them is pretty badass.

Plus, I didn’t know how to use a whip, but luckily, I didn’t have to. Bruce had a costume, and his dad had a boat. Which ment the garage was full of buckets of rope all tangled up, but put away rather than getting rid of it, or taking care of it. Stupid really, he’d use rope until it got too tangled up, then he bought 5 gallon buckets to keep it in for later. As if he’s going to get them out, and untangle all of them 1 day, when he never did.

He was delusional. The point is that I just had to wiggle my fingers when the boys got the ropes out. “AHHHG!” they grabbed them like play snakes, “Vines!”

“They got me too!”

I remember bending over them. 1 at a time, and checking if they were comfortable. “Not too tight?” They were all frayed nylon. Yellow, white, or blue, and itchy enough to feel through your clothes, but that was just an excuse to tie them in knots. I really hate to give him credit, but my little brother set it up.

He even wore his Batman underwear, because he didn’t have the full costume, but he wasn’t the Batman fan that Bruce was. Finally, I got to him, and he said “I’ll never talk!” He quit struggling, closed his eyes, and puckered up. So, I could kiss him, since that’s what Poison Ivy would do, but as soon as I realized that. I wasn’t going to let him manipulate me, let alone give him what he wanted.

So, I said “Oh? Well, I know your will is too strong for this lipstick to work,” I wasn’t wearing any lipstick, but I turned away. “But what about your friends?” They grinned, and my brother was grinning bigger, and wider than anyone. “So,” I turned back, and struck that practiced pose. Every girl has practiced, turning back, shooting out your hips, and twisting your spine so they can see your ass, 1 boob, and your face all in 1 shot? “So you can watch.”

My brother, what can I say? He knew, deep down just what kind of girl I was, because he grew up with me. I knew him all his life, and sexually molested him for over a third of it. (At that point.) Chalk it up to “Why didn’t I think of that?” but the next logical step was Bondage. I thought of Cuckholding “Bruce” all on my own, so I only touched 2 of them.

My brother was all too willing, but first I had to stall. Here I was, with 4 boys at my mercy. Tied up, and I could make them do anything I want, except cry. I was starting to realize that about myself. Not in so many words, like “Emotional Sadism,” but I knew that if I played Georgie Porgy with them, they’d never come back.

So, I controlled myself, I hurt them, but not too much. For a while there, I was convinced that I actually had hypnotic powers, but that turned out to be a delusion. The boys played along, because the truth is that boys will put up with a lot for some pussy. These were 9, 10, and 11 year olds, so they’d let you tie them up, and lightly beat them for a glimpse of a nipple.

And a kiss, we figure out it’s some sort of hypnotic, but we kept playing Hypnosis games after that. I didn’t know how to hypnotize anyone, but they acted like they were in a trance so I’d get on with it, and I let them convince me. I kinda had to, tell myself that I was making them do things, when I didn’t have to.

They wanted to call me their “Girlfriend,” especially Bruce because it was his house. It’s not a mansion, but it had a garage big enough for a sailboat with the mast taken off. His ropes, and we even untangled all of them to coil them back up in the forgotten buckets neatly. Well, I made them do it, but it just made the group bondage, and CBT all that easier. I teased them, as much as I could stand it, but at some point I’m waving my pussy over their faces, because I want it to be licked.

So, I teased myself, but I learned a lot of control that way. I had to, you can’t control a scene with 4 boys, if you can’t control yourself. Even tied up, but where do you go from there? You can’t really escalate, nor accelerate from group bondage, and CBT 2 or 3 times a week. It’s why I can’t do BDSM any more: Suspension of Disbelief. I can’t lie to myself, not any more.
That’s how you get sucked into narcissistic delusions, and fuck up. Ask me how I know?

Well, inevitably we got caught. The garage was fairly private, but it wasn’t our garage. Mr. Wayne got an email, asking about his collection of Lures. He’s the kind of Angler that blogs about it on Newsgroups. They didn’t really have Social Media you’d recognize yet. It’s hard to imagine having access to Newsgroups, and talking about fishing lures. Instead of cheating housewives, incest, pedorasto, bestiality, necrophilia, serial killers, and cannibalism.

I guess it’s too normal for me to understand, but he came to check, and found me strutting around in high heels. A corset, and a hair tie. The boys hanging from the hooks he’d conveniently screwed in to hang his sail on, and their underoos tented out with boners while I threatened them with exposing their homosexuality.

They weren’t homos, that’s the point. I got them into bisexual pseudo-gay acts, because they resisted, and I could. That’s neither here nor there, but his dad hit the roof, pushed me back in the corner, and told me to “Put some clothes on.” Which was insulting, there I was a half naked teenager, a freshman in high school bye then, and he was too worried about his son being gay.

“He’s not gay.” I stuffed my arms in the shirt, and crossed it over my naked boobs. “He’s never even done anything remotely gay, that’s the point! You have to accuse them of something that isn’t true, for them to protest.” I stepped into my pants, with the corners of my shirt tied Ellie May (Clampett) style, and pulled them up without any underwear.

Anyway, a long story short, we couldn’t use the garage/boathouse any more. So, we had to find someplace else to go, but I took too many risks. Since we started trying to find semi-private places to play our sex games, I started turning exhibitionist. Seeking out semi-public places to tie up, humiliate, and lightly torture the boys to get caught.

Honestly, I didn’t want to hide it any more. I was too proud of myself, and I wanted to get caught so I could brag. Unfortunately, Mr. Wayne waited until I turned 18 to report it. Since he didn’t approve of our relationship, even though it wasn’t gay, because it didn’t fit in his patriarchal view of the world.

Again, not a feminist, but I speak the language. In this case, Greek for ruler of the family? That’s what it means: He was the Dad, and “Young man, as long as you live under my roof…” He was literally the Patriarch of the family, so you can’t really blame him for acting it out.

I can sympathize with him, a lot better than with his son, even though I knew him better. It turns out that Batman got captured, and tied up all the time. I mean, usually it was Robin, or maybe one of the girls in the Extended Family. Bat-girl, Catwoman, even Harley Quinn once or twice. (She almost killed him. Hanging upside down so the piranha look like they’re smiling. Joker threw her out the window, and tried to stab her with a Swordfish for that.)

So, I went to jail for Statutory Rape. For my birthday, “Thanks, dad.” No, I mean it. That was actually the best thing ever happened to me. I pled out, in return for not being a registered Sex Offender, (Since my prior acts were sealed before I turned 16) but I wasn’t going to College anyway. We had the money, we could have afforded it, and I finally did when I got out, but call it After School lessons.

You only learn in Detention, my continuing education. I was a little nervous, because it wasn’t the JDDC (Juvenile Delinquent Detention Center, or “Juvie” for short.) It wasn’t prison either, it was just jail, and they kept too good an eye on us to get away with anything #OITNB.

“What are you in for?”

“Rape.” Gasps! “Well, it’s only technically rape, because he’s 15.” (After 5 years of group sexual torture.)

“So, statutory rape.”

“Yeah,” I explained it in only the most self serving way, because finally I got to brag. I didn’t get to tie up, and torture a teenage boy, I had 3 of them. (I didn’t cop to my brother, even though he was there, and he certainly wasn’t pressing charges. My little co-conspirator at that point. Speaking of which, he earned extra points for getting his friends laid.)

“Oh yeah?” I’m not going to call it a Gang. I’m not a Gangster, but just like in 4th grade. The only girls that would hang out with me were the ones that could take it, because I was “Cool.” Cruel, and they tried to be cruel back, but they couldn’t hurt my feelings, because I don’t have those.

I have feelings, just not the ones you can hurt. I found another psycho at school, because he tried to push me around, and I tried kicking him in the balls. I nailed them, then he laughed right in my face. Beat the crap out of me, but I was still delusional. Thinking I was special, and that flaw was actually my super-power.

Yeah, we can take the pain, because we’re fucking numb inside. It just pisses us off, and gives us something to think about. So, when we came back, we brought an even crueler plan, so I avoided him after that. Most people don’t think that I get angry. Of course I do, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry, but if I show it, then you can run away before I get you back. Banner warns people that they wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. I don’t, because I love me when I’m angry. That’s when I think up the best evil revenge.

My competition, when I was still too small, weak, and inexperienced to compete. With the boys, honestly they have it easy. They have the strength, the size, and the Power. That’s why girls like me are manipulative: We have to be, because we can’t just snatch you off the street, throw you in the trunk with tape over your mouths, nor drag you kicking, and screaming off to the dungeon.

We have to talk you into our dungeon. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it, I promise…”

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