You’re not the only one that I know…

I’m going to tell a story here. One for the ages. It’s the story of how some of my friends came to know me as Peppers. It’s the stuff legends are made of.

I’m not kidding. This is the story that my friends tell new members of our circle. This is the story my sister will tell my children and my grandchildren and generations from now they will tell this story with pride, knowing their great great great great grandma Debbie was one fierce bitch.

I was 23 and dating a man named R. We had been dating for about 3 weeks and, from what I remember, everything was going pretty okay with the budding relationship. I don’t remember him being too weird or anything like that. Normal guy who liked to drink and have a great time.

So, one night we went to an old haunt of mine. Back in those days I was a force of nature. A party girl. A vixen. A temptress. Anyhow, I had haunts and I was well known.

Back to…we’re at one of my favorite bars in Philly. I remember that a few of his friends were with us and we were having fun. After about an hour there, I noticed that a few of my friends had come in and sat down at a table across the bar. These were a group of gay men I lovingly called, The Fudge Pack. Yeah, I was good enough friends with them to call them that. I think they would have skinned anyone calling them that outside the group. You know what I mean?

I get up when I see them and run over to give hugs and kisses. I loved these guys. I bullshitted with them for a while and then went back over to my table. R asked me who those guys were. I told him they were friends. R didn’t say anything else, so I thought it was the end of the conversation.

Fast forward a few hours. We went back to his apartment and I walked into his living room laughing about something. When I turned around to look at him, BAM!!!!! He punched me. Hard. Like I was a man. I hit the floor, dazed and more than a bit scared. After a while I got up and he was sitting calmly on a chair watching TV. I got myself up onto the couch and he asked me if I knew why he hit me. I told him I didn’t. He informed me that because I was ‘his girl’ that from this point on he would be the only person I knew, anywhere, and that there will be no more talking to other men. I told him that the men I talked to that night were gay and therefore no threat to him, but he only asked me if I wanted to get hit again.

I finally decided to agree with him, if only so that I could get out of there in one piece. I didn’t want to be beaten within an inch of my sanity again. Once in one’s life is more than enough. I finally did leave his place and while I was driving home, I devised of a plan that would make me a legend in my friends eyes.

I woke up the next morning to a terribly bruised face. This only made me more determined to seek revenge. I got my keys and went to the grocery store. As I walked up and down the aisles, I debated calling the cops. The police are useless in these situations, I concluded. I wanted R to remember me forever. I wanted to mark him and hurt him so deeply that he would be afraid to hit another woman again. I wanted him to be petrified of me.

I bought 3 habanero peppers, a bottle of massage oil, and a box of rubber gloves.

I put the gloves on and cut the habaneros. I then dumped the peppers, seeds and all, into a saucepan with the whole bottle of oil. I warmed the oil for about 45 minutes, until I was sure that it was infused with the habanero’s heat. I then put this mixture in a container and let it sit for two weeks.

During those two weeks, I was pretty busy so avoiding R was easy. I saw him a couple times during my breaks at work and stuff, but we weren’t alone. Finally, when I thought it was time, I called R and told him I wanted to take our relationship to the next level…that I wanted to make up for being so thoughtless and stupid when I left him to talk to my friends.

He was thrilled by this. Not 1 minute after I hung up the phone was I in the kitchen straining the oil and putting it back in the original ‘Massage Oil” bottle. I dressed sexy and off I went…with my oil and gloves.

As we were getting hot and heavy, I whispered that I wanted to give him an erotic massage. He was excited by this and laid down on his bed. I put the gloves on and he asked me what they were for. I acted bored and told him that I didn’t like having the oil all over my hands, “I find it irritates my skin” is what I said exactly.

I smiled as I poured about half the bottle of habanero infused oil over his penis and then I started rubbing it in, concentrating on getting it right in his urethra. It took about 10 seconds for the pain to register and by that time I had the rest of the oil all over his balls and up his asshole. Through his screaming he was calling me every curse word one can think of, but I just laughed.

I asked him over and over again if it hurt. His penis had turned a nasty shade of red and he was hoarse from screaming. I leaned over him and told him that this is what he gets for hitting me for no god damn fucking reason and that I hope the next time he even considers hitting a woman to think twice because I might not be the most fucked up woman he ever meets.

And then I left.

I wish I could feel bad for what I did, but I don’t. He deserved it. I heard he had pain in his nether regions for days. I never saw him or heard from him again.

And that’s why my friends call me Peppers.