I hope you’re ready. Because this isn’t some sweet ‘n sappy love story. Things are about to get crazy. Intense. Dark. And possibly even disturbing for some of you. I just wanted to throw that little warning at ya. I wouldn’t want you to be surprised. There will be some seriously fucked up shit ahead. Keep going at your own risk.
Okay, with that said. There will be no beating around the bush. No, there won’t be the dangling of some depressing backstory about me in front of your face.
You want my backstory, you say?
Alright, fine, but it’s not very exciting.
I was born to two very intelligent people. I’m talking PhDs on top of PhDs. My mother was one of the most sought-after cardiothoracic surgeons in the country with the kind of coldness that you could only imagine. She wasn’t cruel, she just…had no emotions. If someone died on her table she saw it as an undefinable failure, not in the way that she couldn’t save a life, but that somehow she had done something unacceptably wrong. It would become something she would rework over and over in her head for days. No, not wishing she could have saved them because it wasn’t about the human life, it was about never making a mistake. She became determined to never have the same thing happen again. In other words, she made a mistake and that was unacceptable. She saw it as something that should never happen to her.
As for my father, he was standoffish. He was a man that lived in his head more than in reality. A psychologist that sought out to fix the human brain, not necessarily the person. His compulsive need to understand how and why human beings ticked led him to go after and receiving not only a PhD in Cognitive Psychology, but also a PsyD in Clinical Psychology.
So, cool, huh?
As for as how I came along? Well, no clue there. I imagined many times that it was one accident after too many drinks at some kind of charity event or work function. I’d never seen my parents be affectionate towards one another. Ever. Matter of fact, I couldn’t even recall a time they’d been in the same room together for more than sixty seconds unless it was for show.
Well, out came baby me and I was pretty sure they were both thinking the same thing. What do we do with this thing now?
I was raised by “intelligent” nannies. And before you ask about school functions, piano recitals, sports games, and all that shit, let me tell you that there were none. Mostly because I never went to an actual school. The moment I was born they had decided that I was too smart to waste my time in those sort of institutions, that they would mold my brain the way they thought it should be molded and developed.
My life started off with information being crammed down my throat from day one. I was expected to be ahead from the get-go. Crawl before my body could even hold itself up. Talk before I even began to coo. Walk a straight line before I could say my name. And so on. I was born from two geniuses and therefore, I had to be one as well. There was no excuse for failure. There was no reason why I shouldn’t excel, and even exceed their expectations.
I never left the house because they saw no point in it. I learned to play the piano, the violin, and the flute. My father said that it would open my brain to reach new levels and retain even more. I never knew if it helped or not. I was just glad for the break from all that reading. I had so many tutors that I stopped trying to remember who was who.
In a nutshell, my parents weren’t there for me, not in any capacity. They didn’t ever show me they loved me. I only was dressed up and brought out when needed.
I knew way too much for my own good, and at times, even theirs. I would bet that you could see where this was going. Yep, bored out of my mind with the access to a computer at the age of thirteen, I found myself up to no good when no one was looking. At night, I developed my skills alone in a dark room. Starved for not only new knowledge—because that was how I’d been raised—but also too curious and lonely for my own good, I began to search out things that I didn’t understand. Things that I didn’t have. Things that I knew were out there but hadn’t been allowed to participate in. And then it just grew from there, branching out to see what I could do, what I could get away with, and so on.
I think a combination of being over stimulated with dull things during the day, as I thought them, and having virtually no outside contact was what led to me losing my virginity at fifteen. I was limited as far as options went, and some might think it was icky or wrong, but my twenty-five-year-old art tutor was hot as fuck to a teenage boy like me. One thing I learned about myself was that I did have this magnificent charm even at a young age. Some might think that she seduced me, but no, I knew what I was doing. And I sure as hell hoped for that exact outcome.
Man, just the thought of her still made me hard. Long, platinum blonde hair. Cute, thick lips. Hazel eyes that were more green than brown. Oh and that rack. I had big hands for my age and they were overflowing, let me tell you. She was wild. Which was perfect because I was not only a willing and eager-to-learn participant, I was also armed with many questions and suggestions.
Oh yeah, I had stumbled on a few porn sites by then. I had the mechanics and angles of it all in my head like a damn manual. What I soon learned was that knowing and doing was, well, hugely different. But I definitely preferred to have the hands-on kind of lesson.
Okay, okay. You get it. I’ll stop now.
Anyway, as I grew older, I became more restless and felt out of place in my own home. Feeling like I’d outgrown my own home and was really sick of how I was being treated, I took off at seventeen. With the freedom to do anything I wanted, I started taking in everything that I’d been missing out on. Which included not only learning how to drive, but finding that I had a fondness for riding things with two wheels. Maybe it was the danger of being on a motorcycle that I loved. Or it could have been the hum and vibrations as I drove that seemed to quiet my constantly going brain. Whatever it was, from the first time I turned over the engine as I sat on that hot leather seat, I knew I’d found home.
A few years later, after much research and watching different clubs, I found the one I wanted to be a part of. And I had a plan to make myself stand out. A year later, I was a new patched in member of the Steel Paragons MC and I haven’t looked back since.
So, cool. That pretty much sums up my life. And now that we have that out of the way, I hope you’re ready. Turn this page with a warning. This isn’t sweet. This isn’t a love story. Yes, it will paint you a picture of how I found my sexy, amazing, wonderful old lady, but it takes a while until we get to her. And believe me when I say, I had to crawl through hell to get there.