Daddy's Lil Princess

Usually I always tell the truth and let everything out. My writing is like bad diarrhea. I try to write as honestly as possible and not leave anything "secret", but there is a secret that plagues me. A secret that I am absolutely perplexed by, something that really tears at my insides and threatens my bargain-basement anti-femalia.

My father is a very strange man, no doubt. He had a terrible childhood. He was raised in the 1930s, a poor Irish boy with an older brother who was too stupid to do anything. He also had an absent father, a mother who would rather buy herself a fur coat than shoes for her kids, and a younger brother and sister he was forced to raise most of the time because his alcoholic mother was missing.

When my grandmother was not missing, she was beating the shit out of her kids and having sex with the many "uncles" they had. The way he was brought up, I'm surprised he did not become a serial killer. Instead, he grew up to be an electrician who drank two gallons of vodka a day until he was about 40 and his stomach gave out and he almost hemorrhaged to death due to drinking. The doctor gave him a 5% chance to live. This is when he met my mother. He proposed to her before the operation. She said yes (probably thinking the old bastard would die) and he lived. They then got married, and five years later, had me. This brush with death did not stop the drinking, though. Daddy was an alcoholic tried and true.

Alcoholic dads...you have to love them. And I mean that in the most literal way. You have to LOVE them. And here is where my dirty little secret comes in. I never really LOVED my dad. I mean made love to him.

I was never molested by my father.

Sure, there were some touches and caresses here and there, and I saw dad's weenie plenty of times. Our relationship walks the line of being sickly sexual, but as far as molestation goes, Daddy never did it.

I even tried to initiate things. I remember one time sucking on his nipple when I was about seven, and he said I was too old to do those kinds of things. I wondered at what age that would have been appropriate, but I didn't ask.

Can you believe that? An alcoholic dad NOT molesting his daughter? And here is the kicker . . . my sister, who is also a nut, but was from a different wife and not even raised by my father, claims that he molested her! She doesn't even live with the bastard. I was raised by him until I was 15 and she is the one that gets molested?!? What is up with that? I was not an ugly child either. I was very cute and sweet; for sure I could have been a huge star in child pornography!

Coming home from school was stressful, because dad was so unpredictable with the drinking and all. Sometimes I'd get bombastically berated for two hours for forgetting my house keys and having to ring the doorbell and making him get up and get it. Other times I'd ditch school and he'd find out and play checkers with me and let me win and give me 20 dollars. It was like a rollercoaster in a dark room. You never knew what twist, turn, or sudden drop lay ahead.

When Daddy was really horribly drunk, I'd lock myself in rooms for hours to avoid him. But he would only talk, never touch. And to this day, that baffles me!

Yes, child molestation is horrible, and I certainly don't condone it; but I am so sexually fucked up that when people ask me why I do the things I do, I could so easily say daddy molested me and the conversation would be over. But I can't do that. Not if I want to be honest. I have to go into a whole bunch of different reasons as to why I think that I'm like this, and it just doesn't make sense.

My sexual complications extend back as far as I can remember. Ever since I started playing with other kids (I was raised an only child), I was playing with other kids. And it never stopped. People like me, who behave like me, are almost always victims of sexual abuse.

But not me!

Psychologically abused? Yes. Emotionally? Yes. And that's it. Daddy kept his hands and his glands to himself. He did not do his job as an alcoholic dad. Well, I take that back, maybe he did.

His yelling and insanity did really do a job on my budding psyche, and maybe I didn't need his daddy-cock to make me a complete nutjob who is abused by men on almost a daily basis. Maybe he did love me enough to fuck me up.

Maybe his swinging my beloved dead iguana around by its tail when he was drunk, or tapping on a table and saying "tick, tick, tick" for three hours straight, or finding him outside passed out on the hood of his car, watching my mother pull a knife on him to get him to calm down, and multiple trips to motels to avoid his insanity did the trick. All this time, I thought it had to do with some kind of flaw in my body or something.

To this day, I do have fantasies about being with my father sexually. And to anyone who thinks that this is weird: Where do you think the (repulsive) phrase "Who's your daddy?" came from?

If a man ever asks me "Who's your Daddy?" I promptly stop whatever we are doing and tell him: "Thomas McCarthy, why do you ask?"

All of the men I date have substance-abuse problems. They are usually abusive as well. I have the dreams too. The dreams plague me. They say the subconscious is the window into the thoughts we choose to forget. I have at least one dream a week where my father is chasing me and trying to kill me. Or when I am at home with him and he is trying to fuck me. There was that whole trend in psychology that got popular around the early 1990s, with repressed memories and all.

One of those shrinks would certainly tell me that I have some kind of sexual relationship of my father. Like I said, I am only attracted to people who remind me of him, although I know this is common. But the dreams; I can't seem to shake them. Having known that I was molested would explain the dreams so well.

My own psychotic disorders read like some kind of mass-murderer textbook: paraphilia, sexual masochism, voyeurism, hebephilia, acute personality disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, mania, sexual addiction, substance dependency, depression . . . and the list is longer, I swear.

When people ask me what's wrong with me they can't believe I was not molested as a child. I can't believe it either. It would make everything so much easier to explain. Why do I have sex with so many men? Why do I let men abuse me? Why am I so fucking strange? Daddy loved me...but he didn't love me. I still have body issues because of this.

So here it is...my dirty little secret. I never made love to my father. It would explain so much. My life would make so much more sense. I guess it's going to be a little harder to trace my fucked-up-ness. But if it's true that my sister got some daddy love and I didn't...well, talk about sibling rivalry!