Reborn

***Author's Note: Hello, I'm planning on making this a multi part series so if you like this part stay tuned for more! By the way, three asterisks means the perspective is changing.

This isn't some happy little orgasm, it's going to be depressing and talk on mental illness, possible brainwashing, self worth, and how sex can be a positive experience mentally and physically. Please feel free to email me if you'd like to see something written, if you have constructive criticism, questions, or suggestions. I'm a new author so I thrive on any help!***

Annoying.

If I had to describe the 18 years I've lived for that would be the word I'd use. Annoying. If I had to describe the way others thought about me, I'd use the same word.

At least high school ended. That had to be worth something, right?

Right?

For four years I toiled away at the best grades I could manage, trying to balance my minimal amount of social interaction, dating life, free time, and studying - all for it to abruptly end. Graduation was the first day of the rest of my life. But what the hell did that entail?

Most people had something to live for, a loved one, a goal, their family, hell even a personal possession they couldn't bear to lose. I didn't. Boyfriends had come and gone, my relationship with my family was below average, I didn't have anything to cling to.

When I made a friend, I clung hard. I did everything in my power to keep that happy feeling, that small little spark that made my life a tiny bit better. Without being a creep, I did my best to care for said person, appreciate them, spend time with them, so they may stay fond of me.

Usually, I was tossed aside the moment I slipped up. By the end of highschool, I just had a few people I talked to on occasion. I knew I wasn't number one in anyone's eyes. I was never anyone's favorite. Best friend. Favorite child. Priority. I was just a side character. I stopped trying. I realized that, maybe, friends just weren't for me. People weren't for me.

Introversion is fine, if you're happy by yourself and just need a few things to achieve a satisfactory life, then that's great!

I wasn't an introvert, not by nature. I loved talking, I loved making friends, I thrived on conversation and being with other humans. I was forced into introversion by never being accepted, a lock was placed on my lips the moment I realized I was not welcome in a room. I was not wanted. I was not 'special'.

I wasn't happy by myself. I never have been. Most people's base level emotion is neutral, neither happy nor sad, but affected by the events of the day. My base level emotion is sad, and it only goes down from there.

When I was a child I could play by myself in my room for hours and hours. Occasionally I'd look outside and see the neighbor kids playing in the street, mindlessly screaming and running always with a smile on their faces. I envied them.

I grew up, and I'd see everyone talking, joking, and horsing around in the school halls. I envied them. They all had their separate lives, filled with boyfriends, girlfriends, best friends, loving families, precious memories - a certain someone they were special to. I did not.

I envied that.

Everyday was the same upon entering middle school. I was diagnosed with severe depression at age 12, that made everything harder. For six long years, my routine was the same. I woke up, I ate, I went to school, felt sorry for myself, went home, was depressed, ate dinner, went to sleep, and repeated the next day.

Now I was an adult. I had finished highschool. Summer vacation, what I longed for. I did nothing. I had no boyfriend, I lost the longest relationship I'd had in the middle of senior year. I realized I was being abused. You'd think I would have had the sense to leave after the first hit, right? Or the second? Or after all the screaming and berating, where I was never allowed to argue back?

At least I learned something, right?

But, I digress - summer vacation, I had no one to be with, so I stayed at home. I did not enjoy 3 months of solitude with my family.

My relationship with them was...rocky, to say the least. If I could describe it simply, it would be that if I had not been an only child, I would certainly not be the favorite.

My family loved to play games with me, popular ones such as

Yell For No Reason

,

Disregard Mental Illness,

and my personal favorite,

Comparison

.

Comparison is when you compare your child to any other youth to make them feel bad about their behavior. Let's pretend I have a friend named Sarah, this is what it would look like.

"Sarah would never speak back to her mother like that.''

"I bet Sarah helps around the house."

"You should be grateful you don't have to work as hard as Sarah does."

"I bet Sarah is studying right now, why won't you?"

Fun game, huh? My family thrived on it. My personal favorite line they'd throw at me was "

How did we end up with a daughter like you?

"

Before you start getting silly ideas, no, I did not. I did not drink, indulge in drugs, have reckless sex, sneak out, lie, steal, or commit any crime for that matter.

I was a good kid. I think.

I wasn't the top of my class, but I was damn close. That wasn't good enough for my family as you can most likely infer.

But now, it's time for college. Next week. They say college isn't a thing like highschool, and from my perception of my campus, it isn't. I was excited for 'adult' life. Living with a roommate and not my family. Maybe I'd be able to make friends, get a boyfriend, have new experiences. I was a bit worried to live with someone my age I had never met before, thankfully it was only 2 people to a dorm room, I'd have been even more stressed if I lived with multiple teens.

My main concern was about privacy, maybe it had been ingrained in me to close my door in hopes my family wouldn't barge in to yell at me, but I liked feeling safe and secure.

Especially for my escapism.

There was only one thing that kept me going, though it was a thread I clung to, I still clung to it. Nymphomania.

I was obsessed with the thought of sex.

I had never had it, though most would assume a sex addict would be having it as much as possible, right? I was too scared to. My boyfriends were 'head-pushers' and I knew they wouldn't be gentle. They couldn't satisfy me. I'd given a few handjobs and the occasional blowjob, but I felt nothing with them. That spark of sexual urge wasn't there. Plus, I wanted my first time to be with someone special. I wanted to feel safe and secure as I gave up my most private and beholden virginity. It was all I had left. My one small hope I could be fucked long and hard - that would make me happy.

It was a constant problem. I didn't have much to do during the days, so my mind would wander. It would always end up on the same topic. Me being fucked and used by a faceless man. I adored the thought of being objectified, touched, invaded. It never left my head, my fantasies kept growing, evolving, my kinks grew more and more depraved until I was left a hot slutty mess inside of a cold, awkward shell.

I so desperately wanted to let that part of me out, to have fun, enjoy myself, and please a man with my body. I wanted to feel good enough, in my normal life and definitely in my sexual life, and that would be the utmost form of validation for me. I want to be taken advantage of. I want to be owned. I want to belong. I want to be happy.

My few moments of happiness could be found late at night, hiding in the basement or in my room, holding my massive pink vibrator wand on my clit as I came over and over again. If you ask me how I managed to elude my family and hide that wand, I couldn't tell you. I hid it well. They'd surely throw a fit if they found something so disgusting in their house.

Despite how disgusting my acts of self pleasure may have been perceived, I felt most myself as I shuddered, moaned, drooled, and came. My whole body vibrating, sweaty, and energized as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me - that's when I felt good. I felt happy. I felt myself. I was open, exposed, vulnerable, and me.

My only wish was that I could find someone as into my crazy sexual side as I was.

I knew those people existed, I had seen and even talked with a few of them online. Erotica websites, bdsm stores, forums about anything sex, freaks like me existed elsewhere. Even viewing people like myself with the same interests, I still felt alone. I was alienated from my tastes. I so desperately wanted to be like the girls in the pictures and videos. Dominated, happy, loved.

I just wish I knew how.

My move-in day was uneventful. I talked a bit with my roommate. She was a nice girl but...nothing in common. I think we'd have a polite relationship, but nothing past that. Shoot. I really had hoped to share a dorm with someone of similar interests.

The first few days went by swimmingly. Orientation was boring but, whatever. I hadn't met anyone I had taken much interest in yet. I was worried about not being able to make friends. The few professors I'd met so far had been kind, then again maybe they saw my disheveled appearance and pitied me as a weird kid.

Depressed people don't take good care of themselves, ya know?

I always threw on a loose shirt and shorts or jeans, with some big clunky combat boots. I did love the rebel aesthetic. Then again, anything dark or leather was bound to be in my tastes to align with my sexual tastes. I was a huge sucker for anything BDSM or dominant related. Leather, latex, satin, all are gorgeous to me! Being an outcast, my actions were predictable, I'd turn to emo or goth culture. What I wouldn't give to have a dark-dressed man to shove me on my knees...

I'll be honest, I'm not sure if I qualify as pretty. I knew I wasn't hideous or outright ugly, but some days were worse than others. I always just tried to tame my messy dark hair to look presentable, and that was it. As you can imagine, my family was often nitpicking everything about the way I looked.

This was college, my start as an adult in the real world. Who cares how I looked? As long as no one starts targeting me or decides I need to be hated for some reason, I can probably survive college.

It was now day four of my classes. The only class I had today was psychology, I hadn't taken that one yet or met my professor, so I was a tad nervous. I was just knocking out all my required credits this semester, maybe in a few months I'd know what to actually do with my life and settle on a major. Psychology counted as a humanities credit, and I needed that. I had some sliver of hope for this class, as someone with a few very sad mental illnesses, maybe I could learn a few things about myself and attempt to patch myself up.

The trek to my psychology class was a good ten minutes, I didn't mind longer walks in the fall, the soft breeze and ability to wear my knee high boots without getting hot were perks to me.

Finally I had reached my destination. I was roughly 5 minutes early. I gently pulled open the door and stepped inside the unfamiliar classroom. It wasn't a lecture hall, just a normal sized room to only hold about 20-30 students. A few people were already inhabiting some of the desks, all quiet and on their phones.

I walked in quietly and sat in the front row. I liked being in the front, I've been told it shows teachers just how interested you are in their class and that you care about your grade.

I liked being a good student. Sometimes I got praised for it.

I silently pulled out a notebook and pencil, then my phone.

I'll just pretend to be busy on here until class starts, I guess.

* * *

A ringing holler woke me from my sleep. As soon as I sat up and came to my senses, I recognized the source of the noise immediately.

Stupid dog,

I thought. My husky, Otto, just loved to howl in the morning and scream, as huskies do, to wake me up. It was more effective than an alarm clock, I had to give it to him.

I yelled out at him to shut up and rolled out of bed. I grunted as I felt a tightness in my boxers. Goddamned morning wood. I silently wished for it to go away soon as I threw on my clothes.

I glanced at the clock, I was up earlier than normal. My first class wasn't until 1:30 pm.

Stupid dog, why couldn't he let me sleep in?

As if reading my thoughts, my dog let out another piercing bark from downstairs.

"

Alright!

God, that's enough. I'm coming." I shuffled down the stairs, greeted by that dumb white face with blue eyes. I gave Otto a pat on the head and opened the backyard door, watching him run out. I let out a sigh as he ran.

Apart from the disturbingly early wakeup call, I felt pretty decent this morning. After a quick breakfast I sat down on my couch with my laptop to go over some class materials. Being a college professor was a lot of work, managing a good 100 students every semester and making up assignments, but it paid well and some of the students were nice.

I had one of the more difficult subjects of Psychology to teach, but I was a damned good teacher and everyone knew it. At 32, I think my salary was higher than teachers twice my age, and that was a feat to be proud of. Then again, I was working two jobs. Not only was I a professor of 3 psychology classes, but I was also a part time counselor. My education was sufficient enough for me to do real psychologist work which was my initial goal, but I realized I could help the younger generations mentally and by being a good teacher.

My early goal was to be a therapist, psychiatrist, psychologist, one of the three - and put myself in a position to help young adults work through their emotional struggles. I had been bullied a lot growing up, physical, verbal, emotional, if you name a classic bullying act I guarantee I had it inflicted on me.

By the end of highschool, I was fed up. I hit the gym and bulked up a fair amount, regulated my diet, and attended therapy sessions. Slowly but surely, I transformed into a successful college graduate with a good body, a high IQ, and a semi-healthy mental state.

I had a house, a car, a dog, and a promising career. The only thing I was missing now was the rest of a family. I was still young, so that could come later. My career and being able to help others who suffered like me was my primary focus.

The start of a new school year was always a bit intimidating, hundreds of new students' names to memorize, more assignments to create, and just the daily grind of teaching a group of young adults effectively. Not to mention my counseling side job, talking about drugs, grades, mental illness, family or relationship issues with a myriad of different students. It was definitely a struggle to juggle so many things at once, but it was all worth it as long as I got to continue my research.

My advanced degrees in anything concerning the human mind and all manner of thought made me think about all means of controlling it. What triggered addictions to form? How does childhood shape people into who they are as adults? How can these factors be manipulated to form healthy thought behaviors? How can you heal a mind? How can you break it?

These questions swirled through my head like a snowstorm, my fantasies of finding out all of these answers and unlocking every bit of information of the human psyche always slightly out of my reach. I was curious, how can the brain be manipulated?

The first answer was simple - hypnosis or brainwashing. No one is ever sure of what works or if it even can, but I've sat in on various hypnosis sessions of getting patients to quit destructive habits like smoking, drugs, even stealing - and the process is fascinating. Brainwashing even more so, there are so many methods, but my favorite had to be light and sound therapy. I would give the world to be able to perform some form of brainwashing or hypnosis on someone, alas I have never found a suitable patient.

Still, it was fun to conduct my own research and watch any and all media pertaining to mind control. That little flame still burned deep in me, experiment, experiment, experiment. In hindsight I suppose I should have just become a therapist to have fun experimenting with reprogramming the mind, but it's too late for regrets now.

I rose up, collecting all of my materials I had been working on. Time to face yet another classroom of new students. I was by the door putting on my shoes when Otto came bounding over, his tongue lolling out. I smiled, reaching down to give him a quick scratch behind his ears. It helped having a dog around, my house didn't feel as lonely. I do wish I had a family to fill it with, though. More importantly, a lover.

As I pet him, he stared up at me with that same dumb, happy expression. Huh.

Be nice if a girl would look at me like that.

I walked briskly to my classroom, despite waking up hours and hours early, I was only about a minute early thanks to my procrastination. My daydreams had a bad habit of consuming all of my thoughts for an unpredictable amount of time.

I entered my room, viewing all the new pupils I had acquired. There was a decent chunk of empty desks, probably around 20 students total in this class. Most straightened up immediately upon me entering. I flashed a smile at everyone.

"Good afternoon, I'm Brett Woods, you can call me any name you like as long as it isn't inherently inappropriate, let's go through and take attendance before we get into the syllabus...

David Abrahms?"

"Here."

"Jonathan Carters?"

"Here."

"Gracie Collins?"

"...here!"

I glanced up. She was the only girl in the front row. Funny, it seemed everyone else had chosen the second row or somewhere further back hoping other students would fill in the front. I smirked.

The first day with this particular group went by fine, a few cracked jokes but everyone was still experiencing that first lesson shyness. We just went over the syllabus and I lectured for 15 minutes, and before you know it the hour and thirty minute class was over. Everyone grabbed their things and began packing up. I took a few lazy steps over in...was her name Gracie? I think. I took a few steps over in her direction. She looked up from her backpack and smiled at me. I cleared my throat.

"I like your shirt. I was into Black Veil Brides a long time ago before they broke up, I saw them in concert."

Her face brightened, and she smiled wider. "Really? That's so cool! Unfortunately I got into them too late to be able to have seen them live - was it a lot of fun?"

"Yeah, concerts are always fun. They made good music, especially for that whole early 2010 era of emo music."

She nodded excitedly and we made small talk for a minute or two about music before she eventually had to leave. Well, that's one nice student in this class whose name I'll remember.

The next couple of weeks went by without much to note. The kids were friendly and there wasn't too much work I had to grade since it was so early into the semester. I had made acquaintances with a few of them, it was always a thrill as a teacher to have students interested in your subject. The majority remained quiet, working, listening. None had grades or any signs of being irresponsible that I was worried about.

I sat at my desk in my office in the counseling department. Due to me working both jobs, my office was in the main cluster of offices instead of in the Humanities building. It had been a quiet day, only one student had come in to complain about stress. I did my best to reassure them things would get easier the more they applied themselves to their studies. They appeared to perk up near the end of an hour, thanked me, and left. For the next couple of hours I had sat on my computer researching as I usually do.