You may have noticed that I don't write "straight" romance or erotica. It's always a little twisted, a little sad. I write mostly about why people have sex, and all the awful and wonderful things that go along with it. The wiring, instead of just the plumbing, as it were. I'm very interested in why people do what they do, for right or for wrong.
That has to do with what kind of person I am, and where I came from. And I am a cutter. Or rather, I was a cutter, from ages 11 to 19. And though I don't talk about it to regular folks, I think it was the best thing I could do, and a symptom of a plain desire to persist, even through all kinds of fuckery, if you will.
I hope some folks will read it. It is a true thing, though I realize it is an uncomfortable and horrible story. Here is an excerpt:
We were there for a very long time. Hours. Several other people came in and out for questioning sessions. They asked me what penises looked like, what happened to them, what I did to them, how they felt. They asked me to describe an erection and I remember saying it was very smooth and soft, like baby skin, but firm underneath. They looked at each other.
I remember asking why they kept repeating the same questions over and over. The Asian officer told me to excuse him, because his old age made him forget things, and just answer the questions please. They asked me what semen tasted like. I told them. They wanted to know dates, times, and other correlating events.
The counselor excused herself. The Asian officer crossed his arms. I giggled and he asked me why I was smiling. I said I didn’t know and made some sort of awkward joke - I don’t remember what now. I wanted to make him like me.
He told me they had decided they didn’t believe me. There were too many inconsistencies in my story. Also, my mother was there.
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