Special Girl

In the same way that many people go to NLP practitioners or psychologists not because they are mentally imbalanced, but because they want to become all they can be, clients will often seek out a confidence coach. These have already learned the benefits that come to one who is confident, and want more!

That brings me to one of my most interesting clients. Here’s how part of our first session went, as captured, with her permission, on my iPhone:

Let me give you a little background. I’m a very special girl. How do I know? Because my dad used to tell me that all the time. [She laughs.]

Already confidence has given me wonderful opportunities. We can start with my career. No, we can start before that. When I was a kid, I used to repair everything in the neighborhood. I could repair motorcycles before I could legally ride them. Oh, I was a real tomboy!

Early on, I learned to appreciate the dichotomy of being a beautiful little girl and being mechanically inclined. Maybe it was from reruns of Beverly Hillbillies. There was this actress, Donna Douglas, who actually looked a bit like me. She played this country girl who was strong, and could intellectually beat her older male cousin in pretty much everything. I loved that!

So, I was two things from an early age: I was the neighborhood’s mechanic, and I was always focusing on being pretty. I ended up being a cheerleader in middle school, but didn’t quite make the cut in high school.

You want to know why? It wasn’t because I was afraid of flying and tumbling. Due to my small, skinny body, I was ideal for that. It was because of my boobs. That’s right. I’m sure of it, and maybe, just maybe, a bit bitter about that.

In my adolescent years, already playing the beautiful mechanic role to the fullest, I was into painted nails, I’d do my hair with my girlfriends all the time – you get the idea. I couldn’t wait for my breasts to grow in. I was so looking forward to being a ‘full woman.’

And guess what? I’m no Donna Douglas. Just like my mother, it never happened. I’m as flat as a board. Well, OK, maybe not quite that flat, but I’ve had boyfriends with more up there than I have.

That brings me to the subject of boys. I learned to appreciate penis at a really early age. But my parents raised me well. Really well. I know few girls who understand something like I do.

She paused for a long time, just waiting for me to take the bait.

[“OK, what’s that?”]

That you don’t have to fuck to have a good time. A great time, really! I learned something else too. Having been brought up to think for myself, I found that girls can play together, sexually I mean, just as much as girls and guys. I just love licking clitty! Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m fascinated with the tip of a boy’s penis, too, and play with them every chance I can get. Yes, the tip. That’s my particular fetish. Oh, I love being licked, and licking a good vagina, I love putting my fingers in girls, and in anyone’s ass, male or female, and the whole concept of handjobs – well, I just can’t get enough of it. But when I see a glans, and a male peehole, well, I’m just in heaven. I don’t know exactly why, but that just sends me! And, then when the sperm comes out, oh my!

I’ve been known to masturbate for hours, just imagining penises. It’s almost better than when I get to play with real guys’ dicks.

Here’s the thing: By not fucking, I can play with anyone and everyone as much as I want. It’s safe, and I feel safe. Oh, the black belt in judo doesn’t hurt. I love that sport. I love the idea of turning an adversary’s energy against him. I’ve never had to do it, but I’m well prepared.

I was actually a late bloomer. For my younger years, all I cared about was taking engines apart and putting them back together. Gears, levers, nuts and bolts, welding, metal. I was hooked. Still am. But then my brother came along. I mean, he’s always been there, and we’ve always gotten along great. Why some brothers and sisters have to fight, I have no idea.

Well any way, one day when my parents were out, he wanted to do what he called ‘playing doctor.’ I was so stupid about sexual matters, I didn’t even know what he meant. I told him I was too old for that.

He sat me down and explained that it was sexual play. I didn’t know anything about it, but I’ll tell you, my ears perked up! Suddenly, and for no reason I can explain, I really, really wanted to play doctor with Jimmy.

We got naked, trading places on his bed. First he’d ‘examine’ me, then I’d examine him. I kind of knew about penises. I mean, who hasn’t seen the Internet? Yet, I had never seen one in person. His was long and hard right from the start. I asked him a million questions. Like, does it hurt when it’s hard like that? Does he get the same tingly feeling I get when I rub certain areas? How does he rub that thing? He showed me by putting my hand on his warm penis and showing me how to stroke it up and down. It took only a moment, then I got the surprise of my life. Thick white liquid started shooting out. I kind of knew what it was right away, but I was still shocked. And, I wasn’t prepared. Some of it got in my hair. Boy, I’ll tell you, washing sperm out of long hair is not easy!

By the time I was eighteen, I had become pretty certain I wasn’t going to have any breasts to speak of. My mom took me to a doctor. He examined me pretty closely. He felt all around my nipples, sometimes pressing quite deeply, but at other times his fingertips just lightly brushed over my nipples. I’ve got to say, that was memorable! I wanted him to just keep on going on like that all afternoon, but he remained clinical and quit all too soon. He reported to my mom and me that I wasn’t going to grow any more. He then got a little personal in my opinion. He told me that I should revel in it. That I should enjoy my small breasts, and consider myself lucky. He told us that some women with large breasts are always fighting to get comfortable in their bras. That some have sore backs from supporting that weight.

I thought about it for the next month or so, and slowly came to the conclusion that I should love my breasts. My brother had taught me how nice it feels to have one’s nipples lightly stroked. It doesn’t matter that they’re just little pink nubbins. It still feels great. Although I don’t know this for a fact, I think women with big fat nipples don’t feel it any differently than I do.

Oh, yes, I got off-track. My career: I fix bowling alley machines. It turns out it’s a way-cool piece of equipment. With the demise of bowling in general, all the old-timers who knew how to fix them retired or gave up. And those who do know how don’t generally make parts. A lot of this equipment is old, and you can’t just buy the things you need at Walmart. That leaves a huge gap for me. I’ve got this big van that I’ve outfitted with tools, a lathe, a mill and so on. It’s the vertical mill my dad bought me for my 15th birthday.

The thing is, I have to travel in my line of work. I’ll go as far as they’re willing to pay for. I once drove all the way to New York, and on the way back, hit an alley in Vermont, and another in Ohio before I came home.

I kind of enjoy visiting towns and cities around the country. I’ve got this thing I do: I’ll come to a place where no one knows me. I get changed in the back of the truck, tucking my hair under a baseball cap, taking off all my make-up, and putting on boy pants. Then I take off my bra, which I don’t need anyway [again, she laughs], and my T-shirt, and so there I am, just a typical shirtless boy. Then, I get on my little folding bike, and ride around town, as bare-naked from the waist up as when I was born.

At first, my little adventures scared me to death. I was sure I’d be caught. And then what? What? I never really understood how little risk I’m taking. I look like a boy, suntan and all. Why would anyone think otherwise? And if they did know, what would they do? That’s right. They might smile and get on with their day as I ride by.

OK, here’s kind of a secret. Three times now, like at two or three in the morning, I’ll take off everything, and go for a little ride around a quiet downtown area. I learned to keep a towel in my basket, which I could instantly throw around myself if the need ever arose. It still scares me to death, but I love doing it! No, I’ve never been caught. To tell you the truth, not even close. I think I’d enjoy a close call.

Well, that’s my story so far. What do you make of it?

This isn’t the woman in the memoir, but she looks quite similar. She showed me, and more.