I am a good girl.
I’ll do whatever he says.
Any attention is better than none.
He knew that, didn't he?
Do I want to hold it while he pisses?
As if asking gives me a choice.
Of course, I’ll say yes.
I’m a good girl; please love me.
Is that how he elicits compliance and silence?
Was I so easy?
Or did he make threats?
Daddy smell, big cock, cut
Flannel nightie, hold your breath, and pretend to sleep.
Soul-murdered and vampire-bitten.
Precocious, they called me;
attention-seeking provocateur, little love sucker.
What monstrous evil,
a baby succubus, eternally damned.
Daddy’s little whore.
Author Statement
I was researching Hypersexuality Disorder and realised that my compulsive sexual behaviours were a direct result from very early incest. Life long psychological damage, is when your brain tells you to be sexual, not because you want to be but because your brain tells you to be. My brain got wired to make connections and attachments through being sexual. It was never a choice. Thankfully menopause rewired my brain again, and viewing the world through a sexual lens seems to have gone. I can now focus on other things.
Given the prevelance of CSA, I ask myself who benefits from a society of hypersexualised women, desperately needing male validation?
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