Chapter 3

Pigerly “Kimberly” Stafford’s Story

“I told you earlier that I was a pathological liar. I was addicted to shoplifting. I was addicted to losing weight and controlling it through bulimia. I was cutting myself on the wrists and legs, and I was generally difficult to be around,” Pigerly began.

“That’s just my sister’s GOOD qualities,” Danny joked. She smirked and didn’t disagree.

“I didn’t say that the cutting was a direct result of my guilt. It was pain I could control and focus. I was punishing myself because I knew I was a little shit. When Mom started her training, I laughed at her. I predicted she’d quit in a week and be out fucking some guy that weekend. When that didn’t happen, I said she was only doing it to get her rocks off. Like you, I assumed she was just indulging her most wicked perversions, and this was simply an excuse by Dad to enable her once again.

I wasn’t very supportive of her because I wanted to believe she was simply a piece of shit like me, and that is what a piece of shit would do.

Earlier today, I knew your name. I knew exactly who you are. I said the wrong name because I have an instinct in my brain that tells me to do shit like that. I wanted you to feel pathetic and unworthy of my attention. My brother wasn’t listening, and I could play it off as an accident. I am telling you now because I am working on my own addictions.

One of them is lying, and it is tough for me to admit the truth. You have no reason to believe me, but my father and brother can confirm for you everything I am saying is true. I suppose at first I was amused by my mother’s state. I took advantage of her and made her my bitch.

I even tried to set her up to fail by inviting boys over to fuck her when Dad wasn’t home. I thought if I could get her to fall off the wagon and revert back to her old ways I could prove she was really a piece of shit who didn’t want to change just like me. I just didn’t want to admit I was the piece of shit – not to myself or anyone.

I started getting online so that I did not have to deal with watching my mother’s training. Guys would start talking to me, and I took it as an opportunity to make them feel like garbage. Misery loves company, and anytime I could get a guy to pursue me and make him feel like trash was a victory to me.

Most assumed I was either a guy catfishing them because no pretty teenage girl was going to talk to them anyway or that I wasn’t worth the trouble of getting to know them. That was fine with me. The Internet was simply a way to let off some steam and troll some people. I liked hurting feelings, and it let me do that from far away.

A few of those guys liked it when I was mean to them. They liked it so much they offered to pay me to tell them to fuck off. The more I berated them and found fault in them, the more they loved it.

Eventually, one offered to buy a bottle of my piss. I had nothing to lose. I drank a coke and pissed in the bottle and mailed it to him. If he paid me a hundred dollars, that was bank, and if he didn’t, I lost the time and postage only.

I found out very quickly that almost anything you can harvest off of a female body from eyelashes to fingernails could be sold online. There is an alternative e-bay site that lets me put hairs plucked out of my butt crack online and auction them off. All I had to do was take pictures to prove it.

That is where Mr. Danny comes in. I couldn’t let Danny think he was getting over on me by taking my picture in these humiliating ways. I blackmailed him and made him feel obligated to help me get the images of me plucking my pussy hair out or pissing in a jar to prove it was mine but still keep them secret from Dad.

Naturally, like any good scheme, it came to a head when my Dad found my Twitter and all the money I was making online. I think I wanted to get caught. I had been hurting myself, and my body was covered in cut marks. I used to make such wonderfully ornate designs in my own skin, and I had a variety of razors and needles to suit my mood.

My Dad was willing to suspend me, take my computer away, and forgive me. He took it seriously, but he also knew that I was hurting myself. He offered to get me counseling My mom would have seduced and fucked her counselor. I wanted to mind-fuck him by giving him all the false-positives to every possible mental illness there was and then try to accuse him of touching me.

I had no interest in change or being helped. I was thinking of ways to get my computer back so that I could get back to doing what I liked to do in my comfort zone.