I was a pre-teen social leper, but I was able to make one friend:
My libido. Some kids had imaginary friends, I had my clitoris. I
once heard in a psychology class that its characteristic of children
with low self esteem to masturbate to excess. This bombshell
revelation explained a lot. My ability to self gratify would provide
me with hours of distraction from being a social leper. And, in the
process, I also discovered that I was something of a creative genius-
that nestled within the sublime loser that was me simmered the soul of a perverse prodigy. I would delight in finding many ways to flex this new muscle.

Bush Gardens. 1985. I had hit the jackpot. On a family trip to the amusement park I won 2 life sized stuffed animals-a polar bear and a lion. My parents, rejoicing over my victory, photographed me with my trophies, and an unmistakably lustful look in my eye- for my only thought in the wake of this triumph was the realization that these toys were roughly the same size as me, and would therefore serve as excellent substitutes for an inflatable sex doll, which would otherwise not be available to someone of my tender years.

A budding artist, I poured every creative impulse into autoeroticism. I would labor over elaborate sets in which I would be a Medieval damsel in distress, an evil dominatrix distressing, a high class hooker and so on. I would play the part of the director, producer, stagehand and of course leading lady. Each set would come complete with the appropriate sound track, lighting and costuming.

Putting the final nail in the coffin of my already strained
relationship with my brother was his accidental entrance into one of
said scenarios. Allow me to set the scene: It was a crisp fall
evening in a regal English manor and I was in the midst of seducing a
dashing Knight, played to perfection by the polar bear. The scene was
set, the lights dimmed, and I, naked save for a strategically placed
Hello kitty sweatshirt, straddled the bear and uttered, in an English
accent, “I want you, only you, and you alone.”

And then, dismounting the bear to lock the door, I discovered my brother Richard standing in the doorway, aghast, horrified. It would
be years before I would mount a bear through an unlocked door again. The next morning we had to ride the bus together. Awkward.

Bloodied but unbowed, I continued on my quest for hairy palms and
blindness. The housekeeper must have found puzzling evidence of my affairs in my bedroom. Objects that had no apparent relation thrown into a corner: a stuffed animal, a candle stick, Vaseline and a
clothespin. But for me they joined in harmony in my perverse little world.

I remember trying to excuse myself from the family room whenever even the most benign sex scene would grace the screen. Oddly, even Tampax commercials proved effective triggers. “I’m gonna go do my homework.” I was out, like a phantom in the night.

My thinly disguised excuses were obvious, but who in their right mind would suspect the bizarre sex play their 11- year- old was about to engage in. They must have at least thought it odd, that considering
how frequently I did “homework,” I never earned above a C+.

Even though I was multi orgasmic, this hobby could only provide a limited respite from my dreaded existence. After years of relaying this misery, my mom finally buckled and transferred me to a public school where I continued to fail academically and excel at picking my nose. The usual ostricization ensued and I was forced to develop a new
hobby: vengeance.

Not a pro-active Columbine style vengeance, though it did cross my mind, but a long term, multi level point plan that would attack my enemy at their core. I was going to move to Hollywood and make some shit happen. And they would rue the day they picked me last for kick ball. Those fuckers.

I shifted my focus from masturbatory fodder to composing my Oscar speech. “I would like to thank God, the Academy, and Shannon O’Malley, whose unbridled evil has served as the fuel to my rising star. I would then cram in the name of every wrong doer who had crossed my path until I was drowned out by Oscar music and cut off by a commercial break. …

Tags: Megan Fox, Playboy, Sex, Tiger Woods

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