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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1869722
Rated: 13+ · Monologue · Biographical · #1869722
my feelings and thoughts on the women in my life and how I see them.
         Women have been the primary focus of my life for as long as I can remember. I wasn't raised by a single mother or by a majority of women, I would say the influence of the sexes on my life was fairly equal, but women have always been...well, there.
         There was no affection from my mother. She was distant, preoccupied, she still is, her mind is constantly moving and thinking of things and when I was a child something else was always the number one focus of her attention and my sister and myself were just there. My grandmother will still tell people how when my mother would come to pick us up from her house after work, we would try to talk to her, to tell her about our day, to communicate with her, but she wouldn't pay any attention. I would take us multiple shouts of her title to get her to acknowledge us. She would watch the television and zone everything else out.
         My grandmother was much more of a nurturer. She sang us songs, in what she will openly admit was not the most beautiful voice, but to have someone paying attention to me, giving all their love and care to me made me love it. I would have her sing over and over again, just to keep our time together from running out.
         As I aged, I slowly replaced my familial women with the girls at my schools. Courtney was the first, her blonde hair and her little catholic school girl jumper so attractive to me even in the fourth grade. I wanted her, I just didn't know how to express it at the time.
         In high school, my worship of the opposite sex manifested itself in ways I can't even begin to relate to you. The now blossoming girls I was surrounded with for eight hours a day were plying games with my brain, though none of them talked to me enough to willingly do this. Whitney was the first. She was taller than I was by few inches, which gave me my love of statuesque women, again, her plaid skirt and blouses giving me an exaggerated fetish for the school girl look. I remember sitting next to her in Earth Science, needing to borrow a pen once or twice and her giving me one, knowing none of the thoughts that went through my head when she looked at me when I spoke.
         A slew of other popular, pretty girls would take on the titles of "Mistress", "Queen", and "Goddess", loving scrawled next to their pictures in my year book. Jessica, Tessa, Ashley, Rebecca, Shanna, Brittney, so many, too many too name. I loved them all, with their knee high socks and their leather shoes. Skirts of four different colors, ones that are pierced into my brain, but I would give the world to see any of them dressed in such a fashion again. I longed to be subservient to them. To grovel, to beg, to tell them how badly I wanted to be their slave. How they could pass me around and do whatever they wanted to me, with me, no matter how degrading no matter how disgusting or humiliating. When they were disgusted by my appearance, my overweight frame, without knowing anything about me personally or socially, it also started the misogyny that lurks in my brain.
         
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1869722