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Wasted Years free porn video
It’s so easy to allow misunderstandings to destroy your life.
So understand
Don’t waste your time
Always searching for those wasted years
Face up…make your stand
And realize you’re living in the golden years
Iron Maiden
___________________________________
The football soared high into the air only to be followed by a group of screaming kids sprinting across the school playing field to be the first to reach it.
‘Bloody first years,’ Simon muttered as we walked across the field towards school. Another day of toil at St Agnes’ school faced us. Simon and I were in the upper sixth form, making us both 18 years old. As members of the elite in the school we found the noise and misbehaviour of the youngest kids irritating in extreme.
Maybe I should tell you about ourselves. I’m Henry Stevens, six foot tall, rugby loving and reasonably academic, I like to think that I mix rugged good looks with a hard, strong body and a great mind. Mind you, the other guys I know wouldn’t agree but there’s no harm in selling yourself hard. In truth most of the stuff I said is true. I played rugby for the first team and enjoyed a good ruck. I was head boy of the school, a post I liked to think was due to all my fine characteristics but the guys reckoned it was just because they wanted a hard man to keep the other kids in line. I didn’t care either way, I enjoyed the responsibility it gave me.
I was studying law, economics, French and politics. I chose these subjects because they offer several lucrative career moves whether as a lawyer, a politician or an accountant. I couldn’t lose either way. Why French? You ask. Couple of good reasons. First my mother’s family are French and I was brought up to be bilingual. Secondly, it seemed to me that anyone entering the world of law or finance should have a second language.
Apart from my interest in sport, I enjoyed music and reading. I was also a devoted diarist. Don’t ask me why but I religiously set down in my diary everything that happened to me and how I felt about things. Maybe it would help me write my autobiography when I became famous,
Simon Harris was my best mate. A total nutter who would sooner get pissed than play a game of football but who had the finest intellect I had ever encountered. Although he was an irrepressible jokester I had no doubt whatsoever that he would take a first class degree at Oxbridge without any problem. He was studying the same subjects as me but was clear in his objectives. Simon had every intention of become a barrister and again I had no doubt that he would do well.
The bell was just ringing as we reached the sixth form building. The first lecture of day was ‘The origins of English law’ – a subject guaranteed to send the most enthusiastic student to sleep. The room was fairly full when we arrived.
Sat in its usual place at the front was the ‘St Agnes mafia’. This was a group of five girls comprising of Shirley Foster and her four brown-nosing sycophants. Shirley’s father was a high court judge and her family lived in a huge mansion in the most expensive part of town.
Shirley had an attitude problem. In essence she considered herself to be of god-like stature – the rest of us being no better than unwashed peasants. Apart from being an unspeakably spoiled girl who thought her shit didn’t stink, she also was the foxiest bird in the school. She had the usual attributes – blonde, slim, fine large tits, a cute rear and long, slim legs. Every guy I knew would willingly give her a good shafting but she never let any of us get a look in. None of us was worthy even to go on a date with her. Simon had once suggested that god had been so busy giving her the perfect body that he forgot to give her a cunt. Purely speculation but I would have loved to have had the chance to check it out.
Mr Syme, our teacher had arrived and launched into the days lecture. Now Mr Syme was a perfect example of someone who should never be a teacher. I had no doubt that he had a first class mind but he had the social skills of tiger with a tooth ache. To him every student was a pain in the arse and we were all treated with the same level of caustic contempt. He was a weasel faced man with thin grey hair who wore the same tweed suit every day and spoke with a whining voice.
No sooner had he started than the door opened and a late-comer crept in. The ‘mafia’ gave a groan of derision as the figure tried to remain inconspicuous as she walked up the aisle. It was Jane Roberts.
Every class has a victim. That misfit or pariah that the nasty bullying faction love to abuse. Jane’s problem was simply that she was overweight and she dressed scruffily. She had long brunette hair which always looked unkept and greasy and her standard clothing was a long, loose skirt, a baggy black sweater and doc Martens boots. She was actually quite a pretty girl but that didn’t seem to matter to the mafia.
I personally had nothing against Jane. I had only spoken to her once or twice so I hadn’t had a chance to get to know her. She seemed pretty shy and very defensive. I suppose what was most unfortunate is that none of us did anything to help Jane out – something I’m not proud of.
‘I’m so glad you decided to honour us with your presence today, Miss Roberts,’ Mr Syme greeted her. ‘When you’re ready I would like to resume the lecture.’
Jane blushed with embarrassment and shuffled into her seat. I felt really sorry for her and quietly resolved to watch out for Jane.
It was raining heavily when we left after the last lecture that day. I saw Jane approaching as I was getting into my Golf Gti. Recalling my earlier promise I called out to her.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ I asked.
She looked surprised, mumbled ‘no thanks’ and walked off in the rain. Very strange.
When I got home I found mum and dad browsing holiday brochures in the lounge. I grabbed a can of coke and joined them.
Unlike most kids, I had an excellent relationship with my parents. Somehow they had managed to tread a fine line as parents of allowing me freedom to do my own thing without either spoiling me or allowing me to run riot. We had a strong relationship based on respect and trust. Dad was a chemical engineer and mum a lawyer. After a few years of following their own careers they had formed a consultancy providing advice to chemical companies on safety, legal and compliance issues. They had found an excellent niche and were doing very well.
We were in fact pretty well off. We lived in a huge house – much too large for just the three of us. Two B’mers on the drive along with my little Gti.
‘Hi, what gives?’ I asked as I cracked my can.
‘We’re pretty well finished the Acme chemicals safety report and we think we deserve a long skiing holiday over Christmas. Interested?’ Dad replied.
I knew that they had worked non-stop for the last three months on the Acme job and that it had earned them a mint. They deserved some serious chill time. I didn’t really fancy skiing and thought it would be nice to be on my own.
‘Sounds good. If you don’t mind, I would rather stay here. You deserve time together without me being gooseberry,’ I replied with a knowing grin.
Mum gave me a sharp look and blushed as she realised the hidden meaning in my remark. She gave Dad a quick look of concern and I guessed what she was thinking.
‘I suppose you are old enough but we will be away at least a month.’ Mum finally spoke.
‘But no wrecking the house with parties.’ Dad added.
‘As if!’ I put on my most angelic face. They both laughed. They knew how much I liked to party but they also knew that my group of friends were OK and unlikely to go on a rampage.
‘Enough of this,’ Dad interrupted, we have planning to do and you should get a couple of hours study in before dinner.
‘Sure,’ I replied and rose to leave.
‘And keep your stereo turned down,’
mum added.
————————–
A couple of days later I was on lunch time patrol duty. This involved walking the school area checking for kids misbehaving. I was stood chatting up a very attractive girl in fifth form when I saw Jane approaching. She stopped and after a long moment of hesitation asked if she could speak to me. Being head boy has a number of perks including a study where I can retire to work. Not only does this room have a desk but I also have a leather couch, radio and kettle. A real home from home.
‘Let’s go to my study, we can talk in private there,’ I suggested.
After making coffee, I sat down on the couch next to Jane.
‘What can I do for you?’ I asked, smiling.
Again she hesitated as if trying to work out what to say.
‘Y…you know how Shirley Foster and her friends are so nasty to me all the time?’ I nodded encouragingly. ‘Well they’ve started sending me hate mail. I don’t know what to do.’ I could see her eyes filling with tears and she began to sob. I put my arm around her shoulders and tried to reassure her.
Once her sobs had subsided I asked to see the letters. There were five of them, all with a similar theme:
‘Piss off you fat slag. We don’t need your type here, go back to where you belong, in the gutter.’
One of them threatened her with a good kicking.
‘How do you know it’s Shirley?’ I asked.
‘I saw one of the gang slip a letter into my locker when she thought I wasn’t around.’
I sat back and thought for a couple of minutes. Shirley wasn’t the type to back off just because I told her. If I could fix her then I knew that her buddies would run off like frightened rabbits. The only option was to play dirty. I needed to gain some leverage over the judge’s daughter.
‘I think I know how to fix her but it will involve you getting some more aggro. Can you hack it?’
Jane nodded.
‘Anything to get them off my back.’
I explained my plan and suggested that we execute it after school.
It was pouring with rain after school when I hid myself in bushes at the side of the school field. I knew that Shirley and her crew passed this way on the way home and I had armed myself with a camera and telephoto lens. In a while I saw the mafia leave school and start across the field. Jane had also been watching and left on a parallel course to them.
One of the mafia spotted Jane and gave a shout. I heard Shirley shout out, ‘Get her!!’
I began taking pictures as they ran after her. Jane began to run but deliberately let them catch her. With a push she was knocked to the ground and the mafia circled her. First they contented themselves with smearing her with mud but Shirley soon grew bored and began kicking her. I ran off half a dozen shots, including two of Shirley putting in the boot and ran on the field to stop matters.
I shouted out and the girls stopped.
‘What hell is going on?’ I shouted. The girls looked at me with blank insolence. Jane lay on floor, wet, muddy and sobbing.
‘She called us names and we taught her a lesson.’ Shirley was unrepentant. ‘She started it.’
‘I want to talk to you, the rest of you clear off before I put you on report.’ I wanted to sort Shirley out on her own. The others walked off reluctantly and stood by the road waiting. I turned my attention to Shirley.
‘I know you are lying, I saw everything. Jane didn’t call you any names, your attack was unprovoked.’
‘Prove it if you can,’ Shirley wasn’t about to roll over.
‘Oh I can prove it. You see I have the whole event on film. Lucky for Jane I was taking some photos of the school building when it started.’
Shirley’s face was now pale and her look of aggression had gone.
‘It seems to me that you wouldn’t like your father and the headmaster see these photos. I can just imagine the judge’s reaction to seeing his daughter commit assault.’ I paused to let the thought sink in.
‘You wouldn’t dare! ‘ she snapped with a little less bravado than before.
‘Just try me. You’ve behaved like a spoilt little shit for far too long and it’s time to put a stop to it.’
‘Let me tell you what is going to happen. You are going to be nice to Jane from now on. So are your friends. I don’t expect you to be her friend but I do expect you to treat her respect and decency. If either you or your friends say or do anything out of line, I will send copies to the photographs to your father, the headmaster, the police and the local paper. I am being crystal clear?’
Shirley gulped and nodded.
‘Pardon? I can’t hear you.’
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘Now apologise to Jane.’
Shirley paused and finally spoke.
‘I’m sorry Jane.’
I could see she hated having to do it, her expression was like someone who had just had a prickly cactus shoved up their arse.
‘Good girl now clear off.’
Shirley walked off to join her friends.
Jane was still sobbing.
‘Sorry I was slow in stopping them but I needed to get the evidence. Did they hurt you?’
‘I’m OK. I’ll have a few bruises but it was worth it. Jane grinned, her face almost comical with its mud and tear streaks.
I insisted that I gave her a lift home. For some reason Jane was reluctant but she finally acquiesced.
Apart from telling me where she lived Jane sat quietly during the drive. Her home was in a block of flats on a notoriously rough estate on the outskirts of town. I parked up and in spite of her protests insisted on walking with her to her door. I was a little concerned that in spite of her claims of being OK that she might be in shock. I thought it best to explain what had happened to her parents.
The block of flats was run down and well sprayed with graffiti. Almost inevitably the lifts were broken and we had to walk to the sixth floor. The door to Jane’s flat was painted white with ‘Slag’ written across it in black spray paint. Jane opened the door and to turned to me.
‘Thanks for the lift, I’m OK now?’ she began.
She was interrupted from a female voice calling out from inside.
‘Brought a guest eh? Bring him in. I like to meet your friends.’
I saw Jane cringe at the sound of the voice but she nevertheless showed me in. The hall was uncarpeted and the flat smelled of cigarette smoke, booze and the unmistakeable smell of cannabis smoke. Jane took me into the lounge. The room had a minimum of furniture – just a worn couch, a coffee table, a TV with video and a rug. Her mother lay on the couch. A fat woman wearing a dressing gown which hung open showing her sagging tit and a pair of worn red panties. She looked unkept, her hair hanging uncombed to her shoulders. She was smoking a joint and had a glass of clear white liquor in her hand.
‘I won’t get up, I’m a little tired today,’ she rasped drunkenly. ‘I was up all night entertaining.’
As she spoke she was looking me up and down as if inspecting me.
‘Well… well… Janie, you’ve got a pretty one there. You’ll have to lend me him sometime.’ She laughed nastily and burst into a fit of coughing.
Jane looked at her mother with undisguised hatred. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room. As we went down the hallway I passed an open door to what I assumed was her mother’s room. The bed was unmade and covered in a stained sheet. I could see an empty bottle on the floor along with several used condoms. At the end of the hall was another door, fastened with a padlock. Jane unlocked it and took me inside. Her bedroom was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. It was neatly and brightly decorated with decent furniture and a carpet.
‘Please sit down,’ she asked, ‘pointing at a chair in the corner. ‘Let me get out of these wet clothes and get cleaned up.’
Jane turned away from me and began to undress. I looked away but caught sight of her reflection in her dressing table mirror. I rather liked what I saw.
Her bulky clothes actually hid a very nice body. Sure she wasn’t slim but she certainly wasn’t obese. She wore plain white cotton panties which stretched nicely over her broad rear. I could never understand the preoccupation that women had with whether their bums looked big in certain clothes. Jane’s looked just right. She wore a white bra which struggled to cope with her significant tits. I’m no expert but my guess was that she was a good DD size. I could see several red marks on her back and stomach where she had been kicked. Jane would have some nasty bruises in a day or two.
Jane slipped on another pair of jeans and a sweater and made some coffee. She lay on her bed and after a moment began to speak.
‘I suppose I owe you some explanation but please understand that no-one else knows what I’m going to tell you.’
I had some doubts about whether I wanted to hear this but I also guessed that she needed to talk.’
‘It’s OK, you can trust me.’
For the next ten minutes Jane told me things which I wouldn’t have believed possible. Her father had left home when she was three. He had been a brutal man who drank heavily and had been generous with his fists. He had had some bother with a local gang and had moved to safer territories up north. Her mother was also been a heavy drinker and chose to earn her living by turning tricks and doing a little drug dealing. She spent most of her time drunk, stoned or in bed with various ‘friends’ she had.
Jane had a part time job which she used to furnish her room, buy her clothes and food. She expected and got nothing from her mother. The lock on the outside of her door and the bolts on the inside served two purposes. They prevented her mother from pawning her possessions and it kept out her mother’s ‘friends’.
This was necessary because one night one of her mother’s male ‘friends’ had fancied a little extra pussy and come into her room. He forced her to give him a blow job. What had hurt most was that her mother had helped the guy by holding her down. She found the ordeal disgusting, the man’s cock was greasy and had stank of what she assumed to be her mother’s cunt. As Jane lay in her bed sobbing afterward her mother showed little sympathy.
‘Swallowing a little cum won’t hurt you. Anyway, we need to keep the customers happy.’
From that time onward her room was kept secure at all times and she kept a kitchen knife under her pillow. The next man who tried anything would get a nasty surprise.
Jane was now waiting to complete her final exams so that she could get away from home. This in itself had been made more difficult by the stress that had been caused by Shirley.
I didn’t interrupt at all as she spoke, simply allowing her to talk herself to a standstill. Eventually when she finished I could see how drained she was. She also seemed relieved to have told someone about her life.
When I considered my own parents and my life, I realised how lucky I was.
I had no idea what to say in response to her tale of woe. Compared to Jane, my life was on a different plane.
‘Come here,’ I told her.
Joan looked bemused but nevertheless left the bed and walked over. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a long, firm hug. At first she seemed surprised but the hugged me back. I tried to ignore the feel of her heavenly tits pressing against my body but it wasn’t easy. We stood hugging without speaking for a couple of minutes before Joan pulled away.
With a small smile she simply said ‘Thanks for listening and the help.’
‘No problem. Look I’m here for you if you need any help, OK?’
Jane nodded. It was getting late so I made my farewells and headed home.
—————–
The period leading up to Christmas was extremely busy. I had a couple of exams to get through, mum and dad had finished the Acme job and were getting ready for their holiday and I was busy planning parties.
Finally the day came for their departure. Mum had stocked up the house with food but nevertheless fussed over whether I had enough to survive – don’t you just hate it when your mum forgets that you are now capable of looking after yourself?
Dad had got an extra Amex card for me so that I had sufficient cash.
Gert
- 26.01.2022
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