Introduction

I am a single middle aged, handsome white male. Some of you may have stopped reading right there. Just another classic story about another uninteresting average run of the mill caucasian, but you would be wrong. I am none of those. Starting with the fact that I am not a single white male, but a single black female. This is not a classic tale or traditional story in the least. I do not or will I ever fit what you would call a “profile” in law enforcement. If that were the case, then I would be exactly what this story started out as. A single white male who has acted in a socially unacceptable manner who will eventually be caught just to show up on a Fox News special. I am not your typical crazy nor should I in any way be grouped with the likes of those who commit their acts out of whims and fanciful thought patterns.

I am Tasha Wolmes.
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“Shut up!”
“I said SHUT UP!”

Pop always yelled when he had a bad day at work and usually followed the yelling with a few hits to the face, body, or any other location I didn't have the time or sense to protect.

Hi. My name is Tasha, but please don't call me Tash. It makes me angry. It's such a base form of what is otherwise a perfectly good name as it is. How does the saying go? “You won’t like me when I'm angry.” That line always made me chuckle.

I brought you here tonight to talk to you about me, I may not seem like much, 'Ol Tasha, but I do have issues. Deep seeded issues that stem from me being abused as a child by him. Him being my step-father. Now don't get me wrong, I had issues way before He came into my life, at the age of 14, but good 'ol Pop made me realize the power one could hold over another human being. It was one thing to show my force to the neighborhood cats and dogs, but a whole other to actually look into someone's eyes and know that they held my life in their hands.

My need for control could be from the experiences I had before the “Age of Pop.” I did have a very controlling mother. She was one of those ladies that had to plan everything to the last detailed second of the day. Shirts where always pressed, and she actually followed the food pyramid for each meal she served! I doubt whether her being a control freak or not really has a thing to do with it, and now it just seems like I am making excuses for the perversions I have taken part in. Okay, that may be putting it lightly since the perverse activity was totally of my making, but enough about my Freudian upbringing. I want to tell you about the time I saw my first dead thing.