For those of you like me, with a long fuse but a hot temper, it takes a lot to set us off. But when the pile of bull shit surrounding us reaches to a certain level it acts as an accelerator to what is usually hard to light ignition. I can take blow after blow, day after day, and get back up and smile in your face, that’s usually my way but when I have hit the point where I just can take anymore I go off like a firecracker, unhinged and wild as heat lightning.
When that point is reached, be weary of people like me. While you may not be the intended target of my rage, you may become collateral damage, if you don’t tread lightly that is.
Life can be a stressful stream of endless bullshit, or a ray of flower drenched sunshine. Most of the time it depends on the mood of the person who walks that life, and the paths they choose to take, or get forced down.
On this particular evening I was stressed before the bull started having stomach pains, and at my breaking point long before it’s tail raised to take a dump on what was left of my last nerve.
Not realizing what a complete and utter disaster still lay ahead of me I drank and herbal tea and smoked a cigarette to try to calm down before the firing squad for the Stupidity Brigade had a chance to start their routine.
Shot after shot they took. Demeaning comments, bull’s-eye. Derogatory gestures, A perfect hit. Invasion of personal space, they were better than Marine Corps snipers at hitting their mark. ( Well, maybe not that good, Semper fidelis)
My fuse was getting shorter and shorter, but still I smiled on. Then came the king idiot. Mr. I don’t care what you say or do, I can’t understand the word respect.
“Leave me be.” Didn’t phase him. “Go away”, only moved him closer. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Only meant I was playing hard to get.
A female with a serious case of PTSD, from the long and sorted stories of her past, I didn’t take well to the word “No” being so easily dismissed. My usually long fuse shorted by almost seventy percent. Final warning issued.
“I will fucking hurt you if you lay your hands on me again, back up, back off and leave me the hell alone.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see you gazing in my direction. Concern for my well-being written in your eyes as if etched in stone. But, I didn’t have the time or patience left in me to ease your mind.
To arms came from behind me, one slid directly under my breasts, creating a shelf-like platform to boost them further out of my low-cut shirt. The other arm wrapped half way around my waist so that the digit covered hand at its end could cup my pussy, even through my pants.
The half giggling voice I had already come to despise sang out in my ear. “You know you want to call me Daddy, while I fuck you senseless. Why fight it.”
Boom goes the dynamite. My instinct took over as the horrific flashes of repressed memories flooded back into my mind’s eye . PTSD met asshole, full force. With an elbow to the ribs, and backwards headbutt, and a quick hip toss Mr. Touchy hit the concrete floor.
My boot wasted no time finding his Adams apple, and proceeded to press down hard, while I held a twisted arm bar on him from above.
In a voice much meaner in tone and scarier in intent than my normal speech I barked out a stern and simple, “Listen well you Son of a Bitch. When a woman say no, go away, leave me alone, and/or back off you had damn sure better fucking listen. Now Apologize!”
The gurgling sound of a mans Adams apple being crushed by a boot is a sound most women never get to hear. But It’s sweet music, when it’s coming out of a would be molester.