Bad Girls Don't Cry

Chapter 1

My obsession with games of domination goes back a long time, like a primal instinct that took over me before I even knew what any of that stuff was.

In Kindergarten, we had different sections of the room designated for various activities. One of the corners was for Mega Blocks, like Legos but much bigger. Every day, I would rush straight off to that section of the room and build a prison out of the blocks. In the center of the prison, I put a chair and sat on it, pretending to be a kidnapped princess that had to be rescued by the handsome prince. I remember holding onto the edges of the chair like I was tied up. I would keep my lips together and make "mmmmmm" sounds as I pretended to struggle, imagining my mouth covered in tape so I couldn't speak.

My influence was a movie I loved where the evil guy kidnapped the princess and had her tied up and crying on the stone floor in the rain. She looked up at him, terrified and struggling to break free as he towered over her with a scary grin on his face. I remember rewinding that part of the movie over and over again while I rolled on a bunched up blanket on the floor just under my tummy. The Game infatuated me at such a young age. I had no idea what I was doing or why; all I knew was that it felt good, and it felt wrong. When I would hear someone walking down the stairs to the living room I would jolt upright and sit back on the couch, all hot and sweaty and afraid of being caught in the act. I was ashamed of what I was doing without even knowing what it was. I mean, what is that; that fear of being caught, that fear of being who we are, instilled in each of us at such a young age that it governs our behavior before we even understand what we're doing? It's a terrible thing, to be so drawn to acceptance that we store away pieces of ourselves for no one to see. I guess we're all entitled to our own private thoughts, even when we don't understand them.

From this really young age, I was infatuated with sexuality in general; it wasn't that I knew what my own sexuality was yet, but more that I recognized all the 'grown-ups' revolving around sex and I needed to know what it was all about. I was always so curious and I still am. If I don't understand something or its significance, I have to figure it out. I remember going into the video rental store with a friend and running into the XXX section that was usually behind some western-style doors or a curtain, and then we would run back out again as quickly as we could so we could get but a mere glimpse at the seedy world we were not yet privy to without getting caught. I remember the cover of the movies staring back at me. At the time, I thought they were rather scary. I didn't understand them at all. I just couldn't understand why the world made such a big deal about it. It was only many years later that I came to realize I had been participating in that world all along and just never realized that's how my fantasies would come to be categorized.

My cousin once told me that a friend of hers used to insert and remove tampons because she thought it felt good. I think I was 7 or 8 years old when she told me this. She gave me the idea to try it myself, and I thought it felt amazing. I started deliberately playing with myself, inserting things into me. I started with something small like a tampon, and then increased the size of the objects. I remember one day I bled, but it wasn't from my period. I didn't get that until I was 13. I guess I had broken my hymen, not that I knew what a hymen was at the time. I continued pleasuring myself in secret, feeling somewhat validated by my cousin's tales. I think I needed to hear others doing things to validate them and make me feel like it was OK that I explore those things as well.

I had my first kiss in grade 2. It was mostly by accident. I was at my piano teacher's house waiting for my turn after my sister's. I was watching a soap opera on TV with her son who was a year older than myself. We saw them kissing on TV and thought it looked like fun, so we tried it. We felt so accomplished! We barged right in on my sister's lesson to interrupt and to show his mother our newfound skill. "Look what we can do!" we proclaimed with excitement and proceeded to show a horror-struck mother what a 7 and 8 year old could do to ensure we give her a heart-attack. Needless to say I needed to find a new piano teacher.