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They would paint my fingernails and put me in their hoop skirts. I loved the petticoats. I got off on it. It was okay for them to dress me up and paint my fingernails, but when it became clear I was getting into it, then I was called a fairy. The other form of abuse that took place was with a sister who seemed to hate me from a very early age. There is a photograph of my blow jobs. family when I was two years old, and in it this sister is gripping my hand. I have a blow jobs. grimace on blow jobs. my face. I remember being physically abused by her, being beaten. She had one wonderful tactic: to stick her fingernails into my wrist until it started to bleed. The brunt of the abuse I experienced took the form of verbal abuse and criticism.
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