“There Are No Good Girls Gone Wrong – Just Bad Girls Found Out”

Do you ever wonder what made you the person you are today? Well, those thoughts always come to my mind and, even deeper, I wonder how I became a Nympho. Yes, that's the truth. Was I always like this? Interestingly enough, when I look back at a lifetime memories that I can remember, I was always very sexual. I was very curious at an early age (touching myself and experimenting) and lost my virginity at the age of 12-13. Curiosity killed the cat, right? Well let’s just say I haven’t stopped being curious and I test my limits all the time. I find new and better ways to do different things with different people. What’s the issue with that? Well, there certainly are negative consequences for sexually compulsive behavior, just to name a few: greater exposure to STDs, damaged/short term relationships, loss of reputation, sex becomes a way to numb out pain or loneliness, easily bored with sex partners, etc. I looked up the term Nymphomaniac in a dictionary when I was younger and it was completely relatable, which made me feel like I wasn’t alone (Geez, it’s in the fucking Webster Dictionary for God’s sake, it has to be real)!

A little more research identified that the term Nymphomaniac only applies to females. For males, it is actually called “Satyriasis.” Shit, I didn’t know that. Also, according to the Urban Dictionary, a Nymphomaniac is “Someone, normally female, that eats, breathes, & lives for sex. She dreams about it, often playing it over so much in her mind that something she has never tried can be exceptional the first time done with another person. She is insatiable & always ready to play but that does not always make her a slut or whore, for she can be picky in her selection.” Some research also points to the fact that they don’t call us “nymphos” anymore and that the correct term now is “hypersexual.” Well, who gives a fuck what we are called and what’s on the internet. I’m telling you that I can relate to that definition 100% and that I’m a true Nympho! The irony about this is that I wasn’t necessarily brought up this way.

I'm not American and proud of it, but I am American now. I wasn’t born here which meant our family NEVER spoke about sex. I mean EVER! Even the question of where babies came from wasn’t a topic of discussion. It wasn’t until we moved to the US that we had sex education classes and the internet for me to get any type of answers to my curiosity. I was actually born in the Middle East which is an entirely different upbringing than here. Do your own research and determine an opinion about Middle Eastern men and women. I already have mine. We were constantly beaten because that’s how my father was brought up. Growing up this way, you learn a new normal. You learn to defend yourself. You learn that it’s typical to be beaten senseless with a leather belt more often than not. Maybe an iron here and there, or a shoe with heels. You learn to accept your reality that you couldn’t necessarily change it. That’s normal right? Fuck no! It’s not okay, under any circumstances to be beaten, even if you are being rebellious.

I was always the rebel in my family (I blame it on middle-child syndrome, look it up, it's a real thing). I took a lot more beatings than my siblings, but it only made me stronger and taught me to hide shit better LOL. No, but seriously, it has taught me a different way of bringing my children up. I try very hard not to get violent with my children. Don’t get me wrong, they have gotten a pinch here and there, or a slap on the hand, but nothing compared to what I went through. I was about nine years old when we came to America and was smart enough to know that those things I was taught for the first nine years of my life were not the norm in America. I constantly disagreed with most aspects of the culture even when I was younger and I voiced my thoughts (which got me beaten a few more times), but moving to America, I got a stronger push to not be succumbed to that anymore. It freed me from the beatings (somewhat, I mean they definitely decreased) and it was acceptable to be who I was (in secret of course). That is the one thing I’m grateful for every day. I often wondered where I would have ended up if I was living in another country, especially a Middle Eastern country. I can only imagine terrible things like my fingers being cut off (for fingering myself) or my ass burned (because I was shaking it in public). Let’s just say I’ve had nightmares.

Which brings me to the next story... I was about 13-14 years old (already lost my virginity) and made plans with my African American boyfriend at the time (my parents would have killed me if they knew I had a boyfriend and, Jesus, black)! So of course I lied and said I had a school project to work on. I also told them that I would be downstairs working on this lovely project. That lie was great only because of the people who lived downstairs from us. When we moved to the US, we rented an apartment upstairs from a couple who had two boys and two girls. We went to school with all of them and of course we bonded and became friends. We basically covered each other’s asses.

That night was an experience and a shit show at the same time. I walked over to my boyfriend’s house and hung out with his family for an hour or so and then we all went into the garage to hang out (it was him, his friend, and myself). We started playing some drinking games (why? I have no idea) but I played along. Guess what, I was losing (guess that was the plan all along). Which meant I was drinking excessively and had way too many vodka shots. Let’s just say I hate vodka because of this night! Things got a little crazy in that garage and I’m surprised I remember it to this day. My boyfriend started kissing on me and feeling up on my breasts and his friend started feeling on my ass and kissing the back of my neck. It was a great feeling to have four hands rubbing on my body so I didn’t stop it. I was also extremely wasted and wasn’t thinking straight at all. Then it lead into my first threesome ever. At one point one one was in my pussy and the other was in my ass or one was in my pussy and the other in my mouth. Everything was amazing and obviously a new experience for me which I enjoyed tremendously. Experiencing two men and two pairs of hands on my body was sweet bliss and I felt like I was in a dream. Okay, it wasn't like what you see in porn, but we were all having a great time. We all came and eventually got dressed and had to walk my ass back home. It wasn’t too late, I was on curfew and I knew not to fuck with that.

But remember I was drunk as fuck… I got home and wobbled straight to my room. No questions asked, no questions answered. I remember getting into my bed and HOLY SHIT, the room was spinning. Well you can imagine what happened next. No? Well, let me tell you. I puked all over myself! I thought that was apparently better than going to the bathroom. I almost choked on my own puke but my sisters and parents ran in to see what was happening. They smelled the alcohol (which was all over everything by now). They shoved me in the shower and slapped the shit out of me to tell them what I was drinking and where I was. Even drunk as fuck I lied well. I wouldn’t give up the fact that I just had my first threesome, I just kept saying I was downstairs working on the project. They obviously didn’t believe me LOL. The beatings got stronger and harder and I finally gave up and confessed. Liquor is seriously a truth teller huh? Along with torture I guess. I blurted out my black boyfriend and my father went insane. I had an audience at this point, the family downstairs (all six of them), my parents, and my sisters. Wow! And no one stopped him? Not one person said, "Stop she’s had enough." That was a memory I will never forget. Sweet bliss and a nightmare in the span of four hours. My lovely father beat me with anything that was around, but I remember the belt and his fists the most. He beat me so bad to the point that I had to stay out of school for a week. I had a deformed face, two black eyes, bruises and welts EVERYWHERE and a broken nose. Since I’m writing these stories, it’s safe to say I survived (and eventually got a nose job out of it). But, as I sit here reminiscing of what I endured, I can honestly say I wouldn’t have changed a fucking thing. I am who I am because of all these experiences. I learned and that's what life is all about. I learned to defend myself (even though I can get a little rough sometimes). Vodka is on always on my naughty list. And lastly, I have become more careful and secretive (no way in hell that made me stop being me)...