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Who Am I? free porn video
Who Am I?
By dkb
"Who Am I?" is, I think, a rubbish title for an essay. But there it is,
this is what I've got to do. I guess the teacher wants us to think
about what makes us the kind of people we are, personality, social
background, all that stuff. So here I am trying to dictate some notes.
If I burble away enough maybe I'll get some ideas. But what can I say?
I'm an ordinary girl. I'm Amy Gardner, I'm sixteen, my likes are...my
dislikes are...blah, blah, blah. I live with my mum, just the two of us
since Dad died. That's my stepdad, not my real dad. Daddy Bastard's
still around somewhere, probably. We haven't heard from him in ages.
Not that we want to.
And I really can't concentrate on this because Aunt Lucy is moving into
a nursing home and I'm worried about her. It's not, like, really,
really serious yet, but she can't really look after herself any more
and it's so sad. She's not really my aunt, but she helped look after me
when I was a kid, when we moved out after...after my dad did what he
did to me. She was like a granny, always giving me sweets and things,
and I could go round any time, whenever I didn't feel like being at
home. She was always there and now I won't see her so much. But I'm
going to visit her this afternoon. So maybe I'd be better doing this
later.
***
So Aunt Lucy doesn't think she's ever going to come out of the home.
She needs to sell her flat to pay for it and she's getting rid of most
of her things and she says she wants to give me a whole bunch of stuff.
There's her clock and a whole bunch of ornaments and she's got some old
jewellery she wants me to have as well, and it's too much, and Mum says
we can't afford to insure it. So I think we've persuaded her to hang
onto it for just now. But I've got a big old cardboard box she insisted
I have. She was like, "I really haven't any room for it, you know, and
I'd hate to throw it away. When you come to visit maybe you'll bring it
round again and I can remember all the times we had."
So what it is is, oh blimey! I think it's everything I ever gave her.
There's a complete collection of Christmas and birthday cards here,
everything I ever made for her at school, a whole bunch of other stuff
as well. It looks like my whole life's here.
There's an old report card here. What's that doing there? I guess I
must have handed it to Lucy instead of Mum that day. Results: A, A, A,
A. Comments: "Amy is extremely [underlined] bright, but she will not
work [more underlining]." Heh, heh! That is what it was like actually.
It was all, "Amy gets good marks, but if she is to continue doing well
she must learn to start working," and "Amy must realise that good marks
are not everything. She must do the work as well." Also I was a
"disruptive influence" with the other kids. I was distracted and bored,
particularly in primary school, always messing about.
I just found it so easy it was boring. I was reading and writing almost
as soon as I got to school and arithmetic was a doddle. I always read a
lot and I must have picked up a lot of stuff because I never seemed to
need to actually learn anything. It was almost as if it was all there
already and I just had to remember it. My teachers always worried that
the stuff I was reading was "too advanced" for my age and that I would,
like, get ahead of myself, but I never did. I think they just didn't
like it that I never paid any attention to them.
Even now I think I know a whole lot about all sorts of stuff that
nobody else at school does. I help Greg with his homework and I know
way more physics than he does and I'm not even doing that subject any
more. Mum keeps on worrying about that. She's always asking me, "But
why did you give up science when you were so good at it?" But I don't
think I was good at it, not really. It just always felt like I knew it
already. Maths, physics, chemistry just always seemed obvious and easy.
Like, I know all that so what's the point? So I've switched to doing
modern languages and literature and history and stuff. And I don't know
what the difference is but that stuff is actually hard. It doesn't feel
like it's there already. I do actually have to work to get it. I don't
get only 'A's any more and that's, well, that's all right. I don't feel
like such a swot all the time.
There's a lot of old pictures of me here. Here's one of me before a
school dance, all dressed up, too much make-up. I never manage that
right. I never think about it usually and then it's a special occasion
and I just slap it on.
Greg's with me, so I must be almost fourteen. He looks dazed. I look a
bit bored. I want to get going. I think I enjoyed it. I danced with
every boy I knew. I even danced with Greg a couple of times. He was
totally nervous. He seemed too scared to touch me, except round my
shoulders or holding my hand. It seemed funny. He must have been
virtually the only boy there who hadn't felt me up behind the bike
sheds. When he asked me it seemed like such a joke. He was the quiet
one in the corner who nobody noticed. I couldn't believe it when he
came up to me and started stammering at me, "A-Amy. W-would you do me
the honour...?"
I was like, what the fuck? The honour? Who is this guy? And I thought
it'd be a bit of a laugh. I'd be all dressed up, all sexy (too much
make-up, like I said) and he'd be trailing after me like a dog. I
wouldn't have to stick with him when we got there. I could leave him
and have my own fun. But, also, I hadn't actually been asked by anyone
else up to that point. One of the guys would've asked me eventually, I
think. But maybe they all thought I was going with one of the others.
Or maybe they weren't that bothered, seeing I was giving it away at
school most days.
Anyway, I actually stayed friends with Greg after that. We'd hang out
after school, walk around a bit, talk about stuff. I slowly realised
what a nice guy he was. I still hung around with all the other guys as
well, though.
See, I was a total tomboy when I was little, playing football, running
around in the mud, climbing trees, all that. But when I started growing
up it wasn't exactly the same any more. I still hung out with the boys,
but they were interested in different things then. They'd be telling
stupid sex jokes, talking about snogging, trying to shock me I think,
maybe trying to shock each other too. But I just played along. I was
like, "Hey, look what I've got. Wanna touch them?"
I went through a phase of, "It doesn't matter. They're only boobs. Who
cares if some guy wants to play with them?" I thought they were jerks,
a bit. They didn't want to play football with me any more, but they
wanted to look at my chest. But I didn't care. We hung out. Some guy or
other always had a bottle of something or some ciggies he'd nicked off
his parents and we fooled around and had a lot of laughs. At parties I
was always outrageous, stripping off and dancing around. And we sort of
egged each other on. They knew I'd do almost anything if they dared me.
One of them, maybe Rob, had some magazines he'd got from his brother.
They were just soft-core really, but we'd read the letters out in silly
voices and I'd be like, "Oh yeah, I know all about that." We'd get
drunk and fool around. I used my hands and my mouth on them and, you
know, it seemed quite normal.
And when I was fifteen, that'd be a year and a half ago now, I got into
school and found someone had written "SLUT" on my locker door in big
black marker pen and I felt like I'd been slapped. And it really wasn't
fair. It wasn't like I'd actually slept with anyone. I just... I
thought people liked me and I felt I'd turned inside out. I saw myself
in a window. I had felt sexy when I got up and then I felt like a tart.
The janitor came and scrubbed it off and he was like, "Don't worry. If
I catch the little bastard that did this they'll know what for." But I
couldn't look at him. Something shrivelled up inside me and I felt sick
the rest of the day.
And Greg was like totally oblivious, like nothing happened.
"Oh yeah, I heard about that, some little shite messing about. I get
that all the time - 'loser', 'wanker' - it doesn't mean anything."
Or maybe he wasn't oblivious. Maybe he knew exactly what I'd been doing
but he wasn't bothered. Or maybe he just didn't want me to think he was
bothered. God bless him. I do not understand that boy in any way, but I
think I love him.
God, what's this? Old pictures in crayon - me and Mummy, Aunt Lucy,
Mummy and Daddy (that's my stepdad). This one's a bit savage, all
spiky, red, orange, black. Oh, God! I think it's a car crash. There's a
weird looking car. There's a boy or a man lying in front of it with his
arms and legs sticking out and there's a girl standing watching. I've
written "ME" directly underneath in huge letters. Actually, I've
written it under the man, but I guess I'm supposed to be the girl
watching. This is really quite creepy because I don't actually remember
seeing anything like this. I do remember I used to think about crashes
quite a lot. I just don't know why. I remember the psychologist who saw
me telling Mum it was a "recurring motif". I was quite frightened of
cars for a while. I was totally scared of crossing the road and I guess
this picture comes from that time.
That was about the time that... Well, I don't remember it myself but
Mum says she came in one night and found Dad fiddling with me. So we
left. Mum says I had a total personality change then. All of a sudden I
was really moody. I just moped around all the time not really doing
anything. And I seemed to forget about people and places I should have
known. Mum says I had been very friendly and then suddenly I was very
shy and clingy. I do kind of remember that. I really hated it when she
wasn't there. This is all why I was seeing the psychologist. And of
course when my stepdad got run over, when I was ten, I totally freaked
out all over again. I felt like my nightmares were coming true and I
went totally hysterical at the funeral, shrieking and sobbing like
crazy. But why I got obsessed with car crashes in the first place I
cannot remember. Maybe that's not so weird. I was only four. But still,
I feel like there's some black hole in my life, right there, like
something terrible, not just my dad, happened that might, I don't know,
explain everything. God, listen to me. I sound like a nutter. Nothing
makes sense, right, unless you find the secret. And then everything's
clear. Yeah, right!
***
I've just had a very strange dream. It started off like some of my old
nightmares used to. I'm a wee girl again, in bed, and Daddy Bastard is
looming over me, like a pantomime villain with his evil eyes and his
big evil laugh, "HA HA HA!" And I know he's going to do something
unspeakably horrible to me, but I'm stuck, frozen, and I can't do
anything about it. I used to wake up in a sick fear, screaming until
Mum came to comfort me. But this time it's different. I look down and I
suddenly notice I have... Ok, this is weird shit. I notice I have an
enormous cock sticking out between my legs. Look, it's a dream, Ok? Ok.
So, anyway, Daddy Bastard takes one look at my big cock and he jumps
back, all scared. And then Mum's with me, shaking her fist at him, and
he just seems to turn round and run away, a pathetic little coward. And
then Mum...this is the weird shit again...she takes my cock in her hand
and, gently, gently, she tugs at it until it sort of slides out and my
little puss is back to normal again. It seems to shrivel up in her
hand, like a dried up worm, and she throws it away. It's like, we don't
need that any more. And then she smiles at me and hugs me and I wake up
feeling so warm and happy I feel like everything's going to be all
right.
Greg's parents are out late tonight so I'm going round to watch a video
with him. Maybe afterwards we'll... Well, let's wait and see.
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Jo
- 19.06.2021
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