Why did we have to go through puberty and gain a libido…?
(Trigger warning: this entire entry concerns the creation of and main purpose of Charlotte. So…lots of sex talk. Nothing graphic, but be aware please.)
She was just a girl in a toy store
Seeing the puzzles, the boardgames
Stuffed animals, coloring books
Then in the blink of an eye
The dolls had genders
It was disgusting
(picture from here)
I’m not one of the illustrious original alters. Not like Rika, or Middi, or Masey. Obviously a 7 year old girl has no need of a nymphomaniac. She only disassociated when those kind of things started happening.
We used to all be just fragments. My first memory that was truly mine is brief.
His rough dry fingers brushed under our shirt before moving lower. Instead of pulling into our robot-selves, the deceitful libido of this teenage girl-not-yet-woman sent heat low into our abdomen and I was born. The nails of his other hand scratched over our tailbone and I grinned. This could be good.
I caused all sorts of issues from the start. Rika was blaring warning bells about Uniballer left and right while I just wanted him to bite harder and brand us longer. I perfected the sweeping gaze from underneath my eyelashes within months.
Daddy hated me.
“You are only with that boy because he has a car.” He sneered, glaring at me. I tried not to let a smirk slip out. He caught it anyway, “…it isn’t the car. I raised you to be a lady, goddammit. Get out of my sight.”
I was happy to comply.
He tried to overcome his own curiosity with disgust when we started dating a woman.
“How…how does that even work?? There isn’t the right stuff for intercourse!” He hissed. This time the smirk fell easily from my lips.
“It works wonderfully.” I murmur, running my hand discreetly over the blooming bruises on my arms and legs. No more short sleeves for now.
But then I must have done something wrong because she didn’t want to play with just me anymore. She knew about the others, even without us telling her. It was strange, but we took it to mean she could read us so well. She started wanting to “work” with the others. She liked the change in temperament.
She wanted the equivalent of a virgin.
I acquiesced. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I have ONE purpose in this stupid system and I can’t even fucking manage that.
Obviously I’m a failure.
And I only become a further failure as the years pass. Katharine leaves us. I try not to care. But she leaves a brand she didn’t even realize as I discover quickly that the only kind of things I get any pleasure from are twisted. Sick. Dark and rough.
I want to be held down. I want to be tied up. I want to be bruised, scratched, flayed open, branded, claimed. I want a hand to close around my throat. I don’t ever want to seem like I have any control.
Even while I have all the control.
That’s exactly how the whole BDSM world works. The one who seems like they are giving up all control are actually the ones who control the game entirely (assuming it’s done correctly, without abuse).
I want them to want me so badly that they can barely get the door closed on the public world before they start tearing at my clothes and flesh.
And yet Katharine, with her demand to have time with “all of us”, unintentionally made us more than we were.
We spent so much time outside in the body when we weren’t just serving the one purpose we were created for.
Roms grew to see beyond yoga and complex Pagan rituals. Serefina stopped thinking merely in law and regulations. Claire stopped being semi-mute and completely blind. Those who did not have names were given one.
I was no longer Lust (or slut).
I smiled the first time Masey let me semi-integrate to watch Beauty and the Beast. My eyes fell closed in rapture when Middi offered me one of her famous chocolate chip honey cookies. Rika taught me to drive and I loved it, radio blaring and me singing along loudly and probably completely off key.
Then the bottom fell out. The psych ward changed us. We lost an alter (we thought forever) who couldn’t deal with not being with Katharine. I joined Rika in the eyerolling at her lack of strength.
And I fell back to my simple ways. My one-track goals. I found websites and friends who set-up blind dates. Dates that I wished I was blind for. Not a spark of lust in me for a single one.
Until Matt. We first met at a movie theater. I don’t even remember what movie we saw. It was the invitation to a New Years party that peaked my interest.
There was plenty of booze (no gin, but my second favorite, vodka, was everywhere). There was a game of beer pong going on and an unused air hockey table in the corner. A stereo was softly playing boring soft rock.
I pulled my trusty iPod from my pocket, chose “Charlotte’s mix” and plugged it into the aux jack of the stereo. Dark, vibrating and danceable strains came through the speakers and one of the beer pong players looked up and met my eyes.
He grinned at me. I winked back.
I had no idea it was Matt’s brother.
I challenged Matt to a game of air hockey. His testosterone insisted he inform me he was a champion at his high school.
I creamed him, 7-2.
His brother approached to take over. The game was a little more of a challenge, but that was mostly because I was having more fun throwing him sultry looks and leaning over as far as possible for trick shots in order to get his eyes glued to my chest (thank god I wore the push-up).
I still won, 7-5.
The night ended with me playing beer pong on Matt’s brother’s team and getting pretty sloshed. By this point, Matt’s feeling pretty left out so I reward his patience with an almost X-rated dance to one of my favorite songs by Buckcherry. He kisses me clumsily, but we’re both pretty tipsy so it doesn’t matter much.
It’s a week later when I realize he lives with his brother, is unemployed, and doesn’t even drive a car. I could tolerate all of this if it weren’t for two glaring factors.
He constantly demands rides from me.
And the one time I tumble into bed with him, it is awful.
He will not stop the simple motion of intercourse for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, until the friction is too painful, even for me to stand. For the first time in my life, I fake it and pull out all my tricks to force him to finish, even though he groans about wanting to last longer.
I ignore him for days and finally Rika sends him a short text getting him off our back. I don’t feel guilty at all.
I feel like I’m owed something better for standing Matt’s terrible attempts. I make one of the worse decision of our lives and take control of the body for a good three months.
Until the missed period.
I am a disgusting slut and should not be anywhere near the creation of life. To this day I think it’s my perversion that wouldn’t let the life continue to grow.
Daria is right. I only destroy. I don’t help us function as a normal member of society. I ruin friendships, relationships. I have desires that are so wrong, so bad that I should be tied up and tossed down that well and never allowed to surface again.
As I’ve done so many times in my existence, I offer my wrists up to be bound. For the first time it isn’t for sex and for the first time it’s right.