Though I might share this little peek into my past. Hope it's not T.M.I.
I can't remember a time I didn't love to imagine dying in fear and pain. Even as a very little kid, I used to hear the Little Red Riding Hood story, and my mind would drift off into my own version with an alternate ending where the Big Bad Wolf rips open Little Red's clothes and sinks his teeth (my how big they are) into her pretty little tummy. I was a weird little kid indeed. I have no memory of ever being abused in any way, though I have a theory... My mom was pretty sexually repressed, and I can almost remember... just a feeling really, with no solid details... that she would chastise me for touching myself. Even babies do that... it feels good. I think maybe... just maybe when I was an infant she lost it sometimes and would slap my hand for doing it, inadvertently slapping my belly as well at the same time... as I said, just a theory, but it might explain why sexual stimulation and belly pain are so intertwined in the dark secret corners of my mind.
I always instinctively knew not to talk about these feelings. I kept them locked up tight inside me... a sweet but slightly scary secret I never never shared with anyone. It was just a vague ache when I was little... until I hit puberty and hormones threw gasoline on my libido.
About the time I started High School at age 14, I became aware that there was something else weird about me. Most of the girls I knew were always thinking about boys, talking about them, fantasizing about them. I was different. I was always thinking about other girls. I was shy, and homosexuality, lesbianism, bisexuality... these were all easy targets for ridicule among my classmates, so I never let on. My dark violent daydreams began to involve girls I knew... the ones I found attractive. I felt guilty, ashamed, but I couldn't stop. I would develop a crush on one of my classmates, sneak peeks at her all day at school 'till I had her memorized. Then at night in my bedroom I would imagine being her. My fantasies had never been about being my real life me anyway, always some one else.
The first time I really made it work in a sexual way... like touching myself while imagining feeling fear and pain, I was picturing a girl in my art class. Her name was Diane McArdle and she was to die for... ha ha.
I lay in my bed, picturing Diane's face where mine should be. Tried changing my expressions while picturing her face mimicking mine. I could make her smile, I could make her look scared, I could make her scream (silently of course, my parents were in the next room) I got out of bed, and slipped my nightgown up over my head, Diane still in my mind's eye... I really felt like I was her. Her slender, perfect little body standing there naked... (I had seen her naked in the shower after gym class, so I knew my image of her nude body was accurate) By the time I had gotten this far into it, I was really turned on. I was little Diane... and instead of my bedroom, the scene was some kind of dark cellar or dungeon, and I (Diane) had been kidnapped by satanists and they were leading me to a huge machine designed to disembowel virgin sacrifices. I pictured Diane struggling and squirming, trying to get away as they dragged her to the huge ugly blade. I could really feel what it might be like to be her. I writhed and wiggled across my bedroom in a pretend struggle, 'till I was facing the corner of my oak desk. The desktop was just the right height. I pressed my belly against the corner and leaned forward, clutching a hold of the sides of the desktop, pressing myself down against the hard wooden corner, hard enough to hurt my belly, below my navel. Then I imagined I was crying... begging... seeing Diane's lovely face in my mind. I imagined some bad guy laughing and saying "Goodbye Diane!" and imagining blade sinking into guts I bent my knees and lifted my feet, letting my full weight press my tummy down on the hard edge, the wooden corner digging into my lower belly... It hurt... it hurt bad, and I loved it. Loved feeling like I was Diane, dying in slow agony. I rocked my body back and forth making it hurt worse and worse, imagining Diane's belly tearing, splitting open, oozing blood and intestines as I continued rocking forward and back 'till my orgasm exploded inside me and I imagined Diane's eyes rolling up and her lips quivering as she was wracked with a final very sexy spasm and collapsed lifeless on the blade. I let my body fall limp, draped over the desk top. I hung there feeling the sweet pain in my lower belly for a long, long time, wondering if I was crazy or what?
Looking back on it now, some twenty five years later, I long to go back to the time when I was so fresh and innocent. If I had a second chance at being fifteen again, I'd do it all right. First of all, I'd be prettier. Not that I wasn't cute enough to get by... I'm not complaining. I had my fair share of flirty attention, but I'd prefer to be one of those truly exquisite young creatures... you know... A one in a thousand nymphet. And if I could have that wish, the second time around I'd do it different. Oh, I'd be a good girl... sweet and innocent... most likely still a virgin, but I'd never listen when mom told me to be careful. I'd wear my shortest miniskirt and hitch hike in remote places... ride my bike down deserted trails near the abandoned quarry. I'd be such a naive little wench... not a thought in my silly head about the possibility anything bad could ever happen to cute little me. I'd often forget to lock the doors when home alone... And walking to school on dark winter mornings, I'd be sure to take a shortcut through the creepy alley.