Under Roberta
1. Man Hater
Roberta Johnson learned to hate men at an early age. Her mother had gotten pregnant in some random drunken fling, and had no idea who the father was. Her mother was a small, mousy woman who was consistently abused by the men in her life. The only thing Roberta inherited from her was the delicately feminine face. Everything else must have come from the unknown father; her coarse blond hair, her muscular build, her athletic prowess, her aggressive attitude. She found that she had a remarkable ability to pick up new sports quickly. She was a soccer star at age six who quickly advanced from the recreational leagues into the competitive ranks. She was fast and agile, and liked to play rough. Yellow cards were common. She tried lacrosse and loved it until she found out about the girl’s rugby league. She had to play up by two years just to feel challenged.
When Roberta was ten, her mother married. He mistreated both of them just like all her mother’s other boyfriends. He had two boys from a previous marriage. One was her age; the other was several years older. They were pricks, just like their old man and took pleasure in harassing Roberta. They lived with their mom most of the year, but visited dad during school vacations and one month each summer. One spring break things got out of hand. Roberta was raped by the two boys, aged 14 and 17.
Roberta decided she needed to know how to defend herself. She enrolled in a karate class and kept it secret from her mom and step-dad. She found that she was a complete natural. Everything made sense: the stances, the techniques, the drills, and the kata. She did knuckle push ups and sit-ups by the thousands. Her instructor had to constantly reprimand her for losing control and hurting her sparring partners. Within months her knowledge and skills outstripped her nominal rank in the style. Anger and a desire for revenge drove her on.
When her step-brothers visited in July, she was ready. She promptly beat the crap out of both of them. She bruised them up pretty good. The next day they tried to take her on together. She broke two ribs and a wrist on one. She had tried to break his kneecap, but missed. The other older brother she pinned on his back with one knee about to crush his throat, and one hand gripped firmly on his balls.
She offered him a choice, "The next time, I will crush either your windpipe, or your nuts. You choose." She held him there for half a minute, her iron grip ready to rip his family jewels off, her steely blue eyes looking deep into his, scaring the living shit out of him.
They never fucked with her ever again. When their dad found out, he called the cops. They dismissed it as a domestic issue. The police woman who helped answer the call gave Roberta a private wink, "You go, girl!"
Six weeks later the old man came home drunk late one night. First he raped Roberta’s mom. Then he came down the hall naked after Roberta. Stupid fuck never had a chance. She didn’t miss this time. First contact was a center-line side kick that splintered a kneecap. The second was a rising elbow smash to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and stopping just short of tearing his aorta. He was on the ground and unable to defend himself. She straddled his chest and started to wail on his face, knocking out three teeth and laying open his upper-lip, nose, and cheek. Then she felt around carefully until she had a hold of one testicle, his left. Roberta was high as a kite on adrenaline. She set her jaw and squeezed hard until she felt something go squish in her fist.
He was still bawling like a two year old when they hauled him off to the hospital. There they surgically removed the useless ruptured remains of his left nut, did a half assed job of repairing his knee, then turned him over to some rookie intern who tried to sew his face back together. The same two cops investigated and they came to the same conclusion as the last time. Apparently her step-dad had a reputation, and the police just figured he deserved it.
Roberta and her mom moved out the next day.
She turned fourteen in August and entered high school that fall beaming with self confidence. In every sport she tried she was instantly successful. She loved that burning sensation in her lungs and legs when she ran hard, so track and cross country suited her perfectly. Although she was only average in height, she liked to mix it up under the basket and made an aggressive forward. Her speed and agility made her indispensable to the volleyball team. The football coach hated her; the feeling was mutual. The wrestling coach argued in her favor, but the league rules disallowed girls from participating. The boys on the wrestling team were secretly happy she wasn’t allowed on the team. Roberta was known as that Ball-Busting Bitch. Besides, they knew how good she was, and didn’t relish the prospect of being pinned by a girl.
Her reputation preceded her like a tidal wave. The alpha girls uniformly shunned her. Other than her face, she wasn’t feminine at all. Her muscular build and flat chest weren’t up to standards. But there was a strong undercurrent of girls who admired her. The stories of what she had done to her step-father sparked the imagination of many of her female classmates. Turns out some had often fantasized doing something similar. None of the boys dared ask her out, which was just fine with her. She found she preferred the company of girls, anyway. Before long she had her first lesbian relationship, then another.
Roberta found it easy to be the leader in her relationships. Because of her reputation, naturally submissive girls were drawn to her. A kind of hero worship took place and Roberta quickly learned she could take what she wanted from these girls. In her mind, she deserved it. She gave them something they seemed desperate for. None complained about having to share her with the rest. Whenever some lonely girl became infatuated and thought she wanted exclusive access, the others quickly took her aside and explained in clear terms that she had to stay in line and wait her turn.
By half way through her junior year, she had a clutch of girls at her beck and call. She was afforded a sort of cult leader status. She referred to her group collectively as the Pussies. Each one had a pet name supplied by Roberta. The Pussies used their nicknames to refer to each other, yet kept this name secret from outsiders. The school administration tried to put a stop to it, but that only drove them underground. They called Mrs. Johnson in for a conference, like that would accomplish anything. She loved her daughter, but also held a fearful respect of her. Roberta had learned long ago she could do as she pleased and her mom would say nothing.
There was some effect that Roberta didn’t understand, but she shamelessly took full advantage of. Most of these girls would have hated any boy that mistreated them. Yet whenever Roberta treated them like shit, they creamed their panties. Weird, but she liked it. She also had an instinct for truth and lies. She could tell instantly when talking to someone if they were lying to her. Given her direct manner, she would expose someone immediately if they tried. Soon the girls stopped even trying. This inability for someone to hide from her increased her psychological hold on them.