Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 32

Until you have experienced or witnessed the phenomenon up close and personal, it can be difficult to understand how a grown ass, powerful, beautiful, smart, capable, talented person falls under the narcissist's spell without even knowing it. When I initially encountered Satan my first night of graduate school, it was not love or lust at first sight. My reaction was unprecedented curiosity. I thought to myself, taking him in, "What IS that?" As I look down at my leopard (AKA cougar) print bike shorts while writing this, I can't help but think of what curiosity did to so many cats.

Satan was wearing a stupid black mock turtleneck long after its heyday. I hadn't worn mock since junior high, when it was fly. I mocked the mock once we were together. He didn't take it well. Perhaps that was the moment he set his intention to destroy me, the girl with the smart mouth and effervescent giggle. I mocked his shirt. He made a mockery of my life.

In junior high, a particular fellow developed an unhealthy attachment to me. I'm not gonna lie. There was more than 1 fellow with this ailment. My junior high included 9th grade, which until now, was my peak. Who doesn't like a peaking 15-year-old in a stonewashed black mini skirt, turquoise high tops, and a Huxtable sweater?

The fellow was of undetermined race. My junior high was half people of color and half poor and even during the insensitive 80s, at my school you couldn't just ask "What ARE you, anyway?" and expect to keep all your teeth. But I asked him. Because I have always been and remain fearlessly foolish and curious to the point of peril. He was huffy about it. He was huffy about EVERYTHING. Because I didn't love him and probably some other stuff. But he told me. Asian and Caucasian. I'm quite sure he said Japanese when I pressed further (he hungered for yet hated this uncharacteristic attention on him, already scared to lose my interest and mad that he was scared), but I am afraid to be definitive in case I'm wrong, cuz then I'm really a dick white lady who was young in the 80s.

He was PISSED that I didn't love him. Or even like him. I really thought 1 of these days, sitting too close in algebra or whatever, once he exhaled from smelling me, he might actually throw a punch my way. His rage was right there. Sometimes he was red and shaky. He was good at math and I did not exploit him to get a better grade. I was not a cheater, plus that probably would have triggered the punch. 

I had beautiful top teeth that did not require braces. Which was good cuz I wasn't getting any for the bottom either, which could have used some work after my mom forgot to address my wisdom teeth. I lost my beautiful top teeth on my first real date with Satan, after This Dude left to plug the side piece. Satan drove me to a party in the sticks in Idaho at our poetry professor's house. BYOB. Because non-tenured or adjunct poetry professors often make the white collar equivalent of Walmart wages. Walmart wages in Mississippi.

It was a considerable drive to the party. At least 90 minutes. Satan waited until we were parked and about to exit the car to say he didn't want me to act like we were together at the party. Because he didn't want the fools at school to know his business. He didn't want me to hang around him. Talk to him. Touch him.

I was stunned. We had had sex. I thought he was something like my boyfriend even though we had not had the talk and were not official or exclusive. He already had my heart. And it had only been a month or 6 weeks since This Dude cheated on me. I could not process these dualing rejections. My BYOB was 2 pints of gin. This Dude would have discouraged me from buying gin. Period. Or at least would have helped me drink it. But This Dude was plugging strange in Iowa. And my new love wanted me to become drunk and high and reckless and hurt and humiliate myself and provide him the role of tooth-searching hero in front of the people whose opinion he claimed not to notice. I did all that for him. And I didn't even know it.

The sex after the Idaho cabin floor gave me a black eye and scabs and took my front tooth was the best of my life up to that point. Adrenaline, I guess. Satan was ugly. I did not care. Now I was, too. I went around with something like a wooden tooth for well over a month until I had completed my root canals, received a permanent crown, and sat through probably 12 bleaching sessions, trying in vain to change the bloodstained remaining front tooth away from gray. It cost a fortune. My professor didn't have homeowner's insurance on the cabin. I borrowed money from my aunt. Which my mom eventually paid back. Another professor encouraged me to go to the  DSHS office for assistance. I did qualify for food stamps due to my status as a poor Work-Study student. This was the only time I ever had food stamps. Which was actually a debit card. I did not reapply, though I could have. Because this was my fault. Washington state didn't do this to me. My emotional state did this to me. I had never bought better groceries. Satan helped me pick them out. 

I couldn't afford front teeth that matched until I was almost 40. So each time I smiled in the mirror or in a photo, I was reminded of how foolish and reckless and incompetent I was. Reminded of what would happen if I didn't keep Satan close. My current fake teeth are lovely. The custom crown sculptor showed special interest and care. Without knowing the full story, he recognized the potential and lost fortune in my smile. His painstaking work improved the situation greatly, but these crowns can never be what was me. 

I got aggressive with a pork chop 3 years ago, same month and day of the week as I write this, during the solar eclipse. One of my fake front teeth came out in the chop. I was supposed to do a new hire orientation at work the next day. We offer dental services as one of our business lines. You see the problem. I was only 2 hours late for work. My dentist squeezed me in.

I wonder if that fellow in junior high was a narcissist, too, but this alone didn't make me ape shit for him cuz he may have smelled like pee and appeared visibly dirty. Regardless, he was WAY better looking than Satan. Smarter, too. Unless getting me to be your bitch takes an extra set of smarts.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness