Human Nature

The sky above the memory lane was covered in acid rain. "The first porn pills that I would ever take." I said, hoping for a final goodnight.

There are socially acceptable kinks, and there are socially unacceptable kinks. In a far as there is the concept of Vanilla sex, the idea has tended for the desire for sex not to involve violence of any kind. We saw this in the earliest years of writing short stories, novels, and poems. Although from time to time you'll find the occasional writer like Marquis De Sade that write lurid prose so I've heard, although I have no read and not necessarily intend to myself.

But the point remains that even within the most violent of sexual fantasies, there is some aspect of keeping the victim alive, and the only time I really know of where decapitation was even mentioned was in an adaption that referred to the guillotine. Although for sake of decency, or in my more cynical mind in reality the segment cut for time, there was no actual on screen decapitation. For purpose of legal measure I suppose this may be reasonable in a approach, though for me someone with specific sexual kinks this goes against the desire for stimulation entertainment. Don't worry, I can still separate my desires for lust from legal enforcement. Though this distinction should not be placed at the discretion of movie goers.

For me the desire to watch a decapitation, already a sensory delight beyond humor, for which there is none in death, is a mix of pleasure and cathartic desire. For me my desires have always been a mix of sadness, fear, and sexual pleasure since almost as far back as I could remember. And even when there was no insinuation of sex, there was that fascination with decapitation for a long time. It wasn't until later that I had developed a sexual interest in beheading, when I was watching some children's programming based on the French Revolution, where a pretty blond was threatened by beheading. Ever since I have striven to find games, movies, and literature that fulfilled my sexual desires however minute as they would gradually engorge my existence. This eventually culminating in finding images of decapitation on the inter webs, often at the detriment of whoever was baby sitting me at the time.

Keep in mind, I went through puberty for an early age, as far back as eight years old. I remember when I first looked through the first movie reference to the guillotine, which as it so happened was an adaption of a Marquis De Sade novella. Yes that's right, one of the first reference to that sadist, whom the term had originated, was brought to the for when I was about ten years old. Don't judge, you know you would too. But the idea of looking for beheading references I considered shameful. And so when my aunt opened the door to say that fried rice was ready, I quickly became startled.

But when family wasn't looking, I'd always take another look. So my whole life had been compartmentalizing my desires for the desire to be human. And indeed I still consider myself to me, reassured by the fact that my room mate says you can't help what your kinks are.

So you ended up with this little girl that would find some justification for the horrible imagery she would see. At times my mother, and at other times my dad would shame me for the things I looked at, and would try to talk me out of it. They became so used to this habit, without really explaining to me why it was wrong to have such a fascination with beheading at such a young age, that it would eventually escalate into full blown kink shaming by the time I reached my teens. This combined with my mom comparing me to an American, sets up the various mental issues to follow.

This is my life of derealization.

They called me Maru Chan. Not because I was particularly Japanese, but because of my tendency to steal a pack of dry ramen noodles whenever I would go on trips where I could not bring food with me.

Despite the available molasses that was available for purchase around my dads work, I was never a huge fan of the thing that essentially wanted to be sugar but basically want not. Sorry, you can't justify the stupid things kids find for reasons to hate things. I shall not mention as I don't want to advertise such a reprehensible blood sport. This would be a small festival where there would be horses and spin wheels to mirror the old times of which they were trying to emulate, although I had dropped my interest in horses for a long time. I had also had since dreaded seeing an old friend that seemed to have a crush on me, but did not want to admit to it. This was before the time when I was worried about the idea of anyone having a legit crush on me, keep that in mind. I also was not nearly so broken as I am even still. Though it was happening over time.

My mom had always been somewhat of a narcissist, although at the time I had no concept of what that word meant. I honestly had no heard of it. You can't expect a nine year old to have heard of it. Although what I did know was that my mom seemed like an absolute bitch about anything, even for something mundane and boring things. So even when I was a "good kid", it was easy to fall into the trap of assuming--if I'm going to treated badly no matter what, why not behave badly anyway. Bare in mind I never behaved real badly, for a kid.

This was before the time I had grown a tendency to wander off. It was a constant game of follow the leader among incompetent sociopaths, flapping their wings like screwball chickens. Cluck, cluck, cluck like a chicken. Cluck cluck. So me parents would constantly bitch at me like angry clucking chickens. Yet even then my imagination tended to get the better of me at times. When I couldn't bring back home of the cute girls at the fare to decapitate on a guillotine, I would spend that time at the play play we still have that was little more than a fort with a swing set. Here I would sometimes sleep, and found a block of wood that was angular. Honestly kind of like a guillotine blade. I remember hating some of the early Space Opera movies that came out, especially the blond girl with shortly curly blond hair.

That wasn't what had completely turned me off blonds, although that certainly did not help. I would constantly imagine myself in earlier time period replacing the metallic bladed models of the guillotine with wooden bladed versions. And wondered whether in fact a wooden blade would do the trick.

The blond girl in the Space Opera movie I would imagine strapped to the board, and then the wooden blade would come down. Her little curly locks falling into the basket. I would also play with the boy with the brown martial arts outfit action figure, and pretend to see him to his beheading execution. Which at the time fluctuated between ax and block and the guillotine. Keep in mind this was all before there was even an insinuation of sex. Although I enjoyed it to much.

And she really enjoyed being beheaded.

I imagine myself also joining hands with the blond girl, and showing her the various festivities I never really got to enjoy on my own, although I still preferred the idea of not riding horses. I had issues about horses, like really had issues about horses. But I never wanted to decapitate a horse. Do to things in school, I also had developed my fascination for girls in clogs from that age onward.

So that led to the overall aesthetic of people in clogs being beheaded on a guillotine. This stayed with me since I started developing night terrors.

Oh I had night terrors all right.

I've always had a love/hate relationship with bikes. I would always ride the smallest ones for little kids, despite being as old as much of the kids my age. I had been short the longest time until my third grade year, when suddenly I started going through a growth spurt, despite my eventual height becoming no more than about five foot five and a half. There are many reasons I may have had a stunted growth, and they at one point thought I might get to six foot one. My family had me on attention medication and anti-depressants from an early age.

I'm not certain whether this contributed to further issues I would develop. Certainly I would have never dreamed of trying to attack my father. If you think I'm joking, while continue reading onward. For the longest time I would have the most fantastical of dreams, although over times these dreams would morph into night terrors. At one point would try to fall asleep on the side of the bed closest to the wall. Here I had a dream that I was walking along a lonely road, and found that in the middle was an angry scare crow. I wasn't sure what riddles he would say to me, or any children's rhymes.

I woke up and found it was the morning time, and dad was jerking me out of bed to get ready for school. As like any other kid I would rather be asleep. While my interests in decapitation never manifested themselves in school, I suppose looking back on it it was nothing to toss your smart phone in the creek for. But my interactions between me and Elaine became increasingly sparse. Though it was partly her that would eventually help me develop my interest in Potato Shoes. This was also around the same time I would stick come to play at the house my kind of best friend who was an Irish boy (I bet he would grow up to become a sexy man) would sometimes joke about marrying me, although my teachers would often say two boys could not marry me. Keep in mind this was before I had came out as female.

So I would come visit his personal dungeon, with him as my slave master extraordinary connoisseur--oh wait wrong age group. Basically we just had slumber parties, and he would chase after me with his familial coat of arms, his mother eventually fussing at him for holding the ax. He apparently hated spaghetti. The association isn't quite as negative as the molasses festival, although certainly the idea of being chased after by an ax with the images of beheading I already had would come to shape me as the person than I am today.

So it's time to cut to the next act.

It's all one big coat of arms hack.

I gradually melted away from the boy that would later became a damn sexy man, probably giving huge tips of fine dining bars now, and would eventually briefly play court a slightly taller fatter blond boy that claimed to be Jewish. I would also visit the house of another friend, whose family never seemed to want me back. Keep in mind they had an inflatable girl doll. I think they had like an inflatable orange sword. I would pretend to sleep with her in the bathroom, and would sometimes attempt to decapitate and spank her as well.

So the Irish boy got a laugh, everyone got a laugh.

Besides his parents, who wanted to split me in half. So here lies whatever opportunity I had to go to friends houses.

I think I spent the rest of the month being called Adolf Hitler. I fell from the bunk bed, and got a bloody mark on my lip, what can I say? So the rest of that school was spent admiring girls wearing potato shoes, and snarling at music teachers that wanted to sing crappy folk songs. I wanted music about beheading! I wanted to know how the musicians died!

Because I liked death.

That's when I left that school with memories of being sexually molested by two school boys in sixth grade. That never really got followed up on.

My parents almost never bought me books either.

My aunt would do that though. So I would read specific survival novels though quite frankly bored me to tears, though I could definitely relate to the music recording and listening to peoples voices in an abandoned building.

Just not enough guillotines you know?

I would begin the next year with rapidly changing world views. A Spanish girl, a French girl, and a British girl would come to shape my life and how I would come to view the world forever. The Spanish girl didn't like me playing air guitar to her, the black haired British girl didn't want me looking at her brown floral dress. She had kind of a nice butt if you asked me. Another girl I'm as of now unsure of her ethnic background, I made my first joke about decapitation.

Yea I wont go into how that made school staff unhappy.

Just remember, kids aren't legally bound by contracts. That would give most judicial proceedings with English teachers--contractions! The art teacher was always OK, though I wasn't sure of her death penalty views, and frankly at the time I honestly wouldn't have thought to ask. And besides, at leas she wasn't like a TSA agent trying to arrest an eight year old for crossing an airport security scanner. Cluck, cluck, clucking like a chicken with their arms stretched out in a cancer producing radioactive shit mess. I'm wasn't sure if it was a good idea to bring a Stiletto with me. I liked Stilettos, Charlotte Corday used one before she was guillotined.

I heard she was slapped and her head survived beheading. Sexy!

Slight tangent, anyway in English classes there was kind of a cute girl that was kind of depressing to be around.

So I called her a mermaid.

She did not take it well. So go to hell Pace.

It's all one big lava swim.

I would eventually grow into a teenager, and my dad with temper would get the point where I eventually had to attack him with knives just to stop coming up to me and strangling me. It was a weird period looking back on it.

Yet now things were so much different.

The motel room was dimly lit by the daylight. I had just gotten out of bed, and woke up to the sound of a knock on my door. I hurriedly put on my clothes, forgetting to put on shoes. I then opened the door slightly, as there was no peek hole. I suppose I could have peeked out of the window. My sister, who had become a prized author, came to visit me with one of her fans. The thing about family authors, while they may have that particular family voice, often their genres can be totally different. For me I tended to write non romantic literary fiction. Generally not something that would gather a large fan base, but who writes for money.

"Come in, and who might that be?" I asked. I opened the door a little wider, and saw her fan in full viewing range.

"This is one of my fans, she wanted to visit my little sister." my sister said. Then brushed off dust from her dress. "She wanted to check out your little apartment." Well it wasn't an apartment, but rather a motel. And I certainly wasn't about to explain to her this difference.

"Does she know I'm an author too?" I asked.

"Oh you are as well huh?"

And so the rest of the day continued to get stranger. Eventually her stay became longer and longer, and eventually the management, who had continued to use a dial up connection longer than most places used typewriters, bragged about if I were doing anything strange they could always look up my INTERNET history and asked me to leave based on my bedroom serial number. I always felt watched by them, but that only confirmed my suspicions. My sister and her fan didn't seem to care that much, after all they didn't live here.

So she went downstairs the multi-storied motel, a motel that had been refused the title of hotel by the fact that it was shaped like a horseshoe and had a multi-story parking lot truckers could drive into. What do you have when you crush the layers of parking lot? A eighteen wheeler sandwich. So eventually we went into the kitchen, and we were aloud to cook things. Eventually I was called up by Ben Franklin, who lived in another bleed through district. "Hey Sarah, I invented the Jesus sandals."

I didn't have the energy to argue the point to a dead guy. So I closed up the phone with. "I never knew zombies cared about copy write."

As I got off the phone, the fan who was cooking asked who I was talking to. "You were talking to Ben Franklin? But isn't he a president's assistant a long time ago?" Again, I wasn't about to explain a topic I barely knew anything about.

"Life is weird sometimes."

Then I noticed there was a Jesus sandals glued to the electric stove command center. Now I understand why Ben Franklin wanted his shoe back.

Girls in those are hotter though.

As they left at the bus stop, the manager come to visit them from across the motel. Across the street I heard him say, "Aren't you aware you were trespassing past ten o'clock?"

The girls looked at each other grimacing. It's not like I wanted them to visit, but I don't get that manager, he's not on his property.

Fuck this place man.

I hadn't totally gotten used to the porn pills yet. But they are starting to work their magic, although my guillotine fantasies haven't totally gone away. Not that I particularly desire them them.

But they're being managed. As much as human nature can.

I just have my own nature.





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