Young Whore Stories

Young Whore Stories
My (So) Bad for March 10, 2008 By Audrey Fine PUBLISHED: Mar 10, 2008
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"One day I was at the bus stop alone with this supercute guy who I really liked. I thought that he hated me, but boy was I so wrong! Well, we were just standing there getting bored, and before I knew it, he kissed me! I was in total shock and couldn't move or talk until the bus came! That sure was a great way to start off the day!"
"So, there was this girl Emily in my freshman class who was SO conceited. Seriously, she worshipped the ground she walked on. I didn't like her because she's the school slut, but everyone else seemed to think she was so nice. Well, I recently found out that she was addicted to drugs and sex. I felt so bad for not liking her after that."
"I went to the movies with an old friend, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend's friend. I thought her BF was really hot, and he must have thought I was too because he kept staring at me. Before the movie her BF said he wanted to buy us popcorn, so I went with him. Right before we went back into the theater, we started making out! Right at that moment, my friend walked out the door and saw us. She was so mad and didn't speak to me EVER again. Perhaps we should've picked a more private place to make out!"
"My parents and sister were out of the house one night, so I invited over this boy I had a crush on to watch a movie. There happened to be a thunderstorm that night, so right in the middle of the movie the power went out. I got up to get a flashlight in my closet, and when I got back, I tripped over one of my (many) shoes and landed on the bed right next to him! So we start kissing, you know, just the innocent stuff, but it quickly got steamier! Before we knew it, we heard my sister's car in the driveway, so I had to put on my shirt and he had to get his shoes on and make it to the back door in lightning speed! It was so devious!"
"Once when my parents went away for the weekend, my older sister had to baby-sit. Well, in the middle of night I found her in the pool with her boyfriend making out. It was going pretty far when my parents walked through the door! They asked me where my sister was, and I pointed outside. My mom caught them in the pool, so they never let her baby-sit again!"
"One day I was at my friend's house riding on her sister's skateboard when I crashed into her sister's puzzle. We tried putting it back together but couldn't, so she decided to lie and tell her mom the cat did it. I was totally against it and wanted to tell the truth, but I knew it risked our friendship. So her mom and sister still think the darn cat did it!"
"One day at school my friends and I were playing around with a bottle of Victoria's Secret perfume spray during recess. A few of my friends had the bright idea that I go up and spray the perfume on my crush. Well, I did, but it went right into his eyes. Oh no!!! I could not believe it. He doesn't hate me, but he hasn't been paying much attention to me either — just in case I have another bottle of spray!"
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In September 2000 my daughter was nearly 13 and had just started secondary school. She had always got on well with other children and worked hard. But after a couple of months things began to change. She started wearing lots of make-up. The school was a stone's throw away, but friends began calling for her as early as 7.30am. Next my older daughter spotted her hanging about in the local park with some lads from school who introduced the girls they befriended to older boys and men. I was very alarmed. Then she started missing certain lessons, sometimes whole days.
When she started disappearing overnight, I trawled the streets looking for her. I had no control over her. Sometimes she would say she was going to have an early night, then she'd turn on the shower and climb out the bathroom window. Once when she disappeared, I went through the park looking for her and asked a teenage boy if he'd seen her. I was horrified when he said, "Yes, all the prostitutes hang out by the bowling green."
I confronted my daughter. "That's not true," she said. "Those boys are my boyfriends."
As far as she was concerned, she was doing what she wanted to do and I was hindering her. Money didn't seem to be changing hands, but the girls were getting drink and drugs and mobile phones. The men flattered them into believing they loved them as part of a process of grooming them to have sex with lots of different men, some in their 30s and 40s. People ask me why I use the word "grooming" rather than referring to them as paedophiles, but most of these men haven't been convicted.
I felt as if my daughter was sliding away from me and I'd never be able to get her back. Every minute of every day became a nightmare. I couldn't eat, sleep or function properly, and I could see no way back. Every time she disappeared, I thought I'd never see her alive again. If a girl is over 13, she has to be the complainant in a case of sexual assault. Because this was happening outside the house, there was nothing I could do. The worst thing, as a mother, was not being able to prevent my daughter from being abused.
At the end of 2001, a year after her first disappearance, I put her into care. She didn't want to go, but I could no longer cope. My lowest point was the first time I visited her. Seeing her and having to walk away was unbearable. Everything exploded while she was in care, and I had a breakdown.
My nephew killed himself unexpectedly during this time. My daughter and I attended the funeral, and were both extremely upset. Afterwards, I took my daughter firmly by the shoulders and said to her, "You'll never know how many times I thought I'd be going to your funeral."
Then I walked away. She seemed to turn some sort of corner that day, and so did I. She started to realise what she was doing to herself and I could see for the first time that she needed me. I think I had to feel as low as it was possible to feel before I found the strength to fight what was happening to her and other girls.
I started campaigning with Ann Cryer, the MP for Keighley, for a change in the law to make hearsay evidence admissible in grooming cases, a change we secured last year. I'm proud of what I achieved and my daughter is proud of me, too.
After two years in care, she came back to live with me, went back to college, got qualifications. At times she feels down about what happened to her, which she now recognises as abuse. Last year Channel 4 made a programme about the grooming issue in this area and, although some white men were involved, the BNP hijacked it as a race issue: Asians exploiting white girls. I was furious because this is not a race issue.
The men live locally and we see them from time to time. They call my daughter names, and me, too, if I'm with her. I say to them, "I'm not frightened of any of you." My daughter calls out, "I've moved on with my life and it's a shame you can't move on with yours." Our relationship is better than it has ever been. We talk to each other and if she goes out with friends, she leaves a note on the fridge telling me where she's gone and when she'll be back. It's fantastic to get those notes.
· Do you have a story to tell? Email: experience@theguardian.com

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argh...13 yr old - not 10 year old, sorry

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Daily Kos moves in solidarity with the Black community.

Years ago, when I was a kid growing up in Appalachia, a new girl moved into the community. We'll call her "Annie." I went to school with her during the 7th and 8th grade. She was very pretty, with long dark curls that hung in ringlets down her back, and sparkling blue eyes. Unlike some of the other "pretty" girls, she wasn't a bit snotty and stuck up--she was friendly towards everyone, always cracking jokes that made even the teachers laugh. She was an instant hit with everybody.
I got to know her well when we were both picked to represent our school in the county speech competition. We were both in the storytelling category--and spent a lot of time together on the playground practicing our little skits. After that, we started meeting at the playground after school, along with a bunch of other girls, to hang out after class and on the weekends.
Summer came, and that year, my mom took us to Indiana to visit with relatives while my dad worked on a big construction job he landed in Florida. I didn't see Annie or any of my friends until I went back to school to start the 8th grade.
I was glad to be back home, and happy to see all my buddies again. Everybody had stories to tell about their summer, and I got a chance to catch up on all the gossip--who was dating who, who had broken up, who got into fights, and who had moved away. Annie revealed to us, that she, too, had gone and found a boyfriend, and the way she talked, she seemed like she was crazy over him.
Though things were starting to change a little in my area during the early '80's, people in that part of the country still held very conservative moral views. The ten commandments still hung on the wall over the blackboard in our classroom, and at Christmas, we always did the story of Jesus' birth. If you acted up in class or got into a fight, you got your ass swatted with a paddle. It was still commonly assumed that most girls would end up getting married, having kids, and living the life of a stay at home wife and mother. By 8th grade, some of the girls had already started "going steady" with boys--a few even talked about "being in love" and getting married to their boyfriends, like Annie. This was not seen as unusual by many people--though my own dad would have never allowed me to date at that age. I knew better than to try, because half the teachers at the school were kin to us, and I knew I would never get away with it. Sometimes, I wondered why he was so strict--but looking back now, I'm glad he was.
At first, I assumed that Annie's new boyfriend must have been some guy she went to school with before she moved. Then, I later learned who "David" was--he was a thirty-something year old man who lived next door to her. I couldn't understand why she would want to date somebody that old--but as the word got out about them, few people, not even the teachers, really made a big deal about it. Apparently, this was all right. It never dawned on me--or any of the other kids, that there was something wrong with a relationship like that--it just seemed a little icky.
After a few months, Annie quit coming to the playground after school as much. David didn't want her to go--he wanted her to stay home. She stopped coming to the school basketball games. Every time you saw her out in public, she was with him.
Then, everything took an awful turn. Annie was pregnant.
All of a sudden, she became a pariah. None of the kids wanted to hang out with her on the playgound during recess. Some, like me, were no doubt uncomfortable because we didn't really know what to say, or what to think. Others, however, really hated her. They called her a slut, and repeated the rumors they heard their parents tell at home--that her mom, a single mother, was a whore who had a bunch of different men in her house all the time, and that Annie had already been sleeping around with a bunch of different boys and men. At least one girl tried to pick a fight with her on the playground during recess. For weeks, hers was the name on the whole community's lips. When she turned 14--two weeks after my birthday--the teachers didn't give her a card, or have the class sing happy birthday to her, like they did with the other kids. They weren't exactly mean to her--but they stopped calling on her in class, and seemed to avoid her, like everybody else. The one person you didn't hear anybody talk about, however, was her boyfriend, David.
Then, one day at school, Annie announced that she was getting married. A few days later, she stopped coming to class.
People stopped talking about her as much, once she dropped out of sight, and out of the public eye. Some people even said she had done the right thing by marrying the baby's father. To many folks, it seemed like it was a much greater crime to for her to become an unwed mother than it was for her to be married and pregnant at age 14, to a man more than twice her age.
8th grade graduation came, and then another summer. The scandal involving Annie faded into the background. Our class went on to high school. Along the way, some of the girls I was friends with quit school for various reasons--some because they didn't like it, some because they got pregnant, a few because they got married--in some cases, like Annie, they were disappeared into marriages to much older men.
After high school, I went on to college. Like generations of Appalachian kids before me, I left the mountains in order to get a good paying job, and start a new life with the hope of a better future than I could have had back home. Childhood was far behind me--I didn't think much about the kids I went to school with anymore--I was busy trying to claw my way up the career ladder, and prove myself in the workplace. Everybody in my family was so proud of me--and to be truthful, at that age I was a little stuck on myself as well. I had worked hard and done "all the right things" and as a result, overcame my "raising" in a poor rural community, and was on my way to a great life. Or so I thought at the time.
A few years after I started my job in Michigan, I came home to visit my dad. By that time, it was getting harder for him to drive long distances, and he had been wanting to visit my uncle in the nursing home in Lexington. So I loaded him up in my shiny new car--the first new car I ever owned--and drove the hour and a half trip to the city.
While we were there, a group of musicians were visiting the facility to put on a show for the residents. My uncle and dad went down to the nursing home common area to watch. I wanted to find a spot where I could go smoke a cigarrette and get something cold to drink, and one of the nurses directed me down one of the halls to the outdoor smoking area.
I scooted down the hall, weaving my way between elderly people in their wheelchairs, glancing into the rooms as I walked along. An old man in a leg brace in one room, an elderly woman sitting on her bed, a figure lying on a bed in yet another room--
And then I stopped cold, turned and went into the room where the bedridden woman lay. A photograph hanging on the wall near her bed had caught my eye. I had one just like it. It was my 7th grade class picture.
It took me a few minutes to realize who she was. I hadn't heard anything about her, or even thought of her for years.
With a shock, I realized it was Annie.
The girl she had been, full of smiles, and humor, and life was gone. Her long dark ringlets had been cut short, various tubes connected to her body. Her twisted, curled figure lay propped up with pillows. I think I may have said her name, but got no answer. She was comatose.
An older woman, probably a nurse aide, stepped into the room. "Are you a relative?" she asked. I explained to her that I had once been one of her classmates. That I never knew what happened to her, but was here with my dad visiting.
"You're the first person I know of to visit her in a long time," she said. "I've been working here about 15 years. She came in not too long after I started here. She had a stroke that caused her to be severely brain damaged."
She emptied the catheter bag hanging at the side of her bed and left the room. I stood there a little while, listening to the piano music from the front of the building float into the room, the soft clicks of the pump attached to her feeding tube. There was a picture of her mother, a sign on the wall that said, "Turn every two hours." On the nightstand near her bed was a picture of her in a white dress with David, the man she married.
I was feeling kind of numb and sick. Looking back on everything that happened back then with a woman's mind, I realized what a horrible thing had been done to that girl. I went outside, and chain-smoked a few cigarrettes before going back in to sit with my dad and uncle. I didn't mention Annie to my dad on the way back to his house--his health was starting to fail, and I didn't want him to be upset. I waited until that night, when I could talk to my cousin Mary Ellen, who was supposed to stop by and visit.
As a child, she had been one of my favorite relatives. She used to stop by and talk to my mom for hours on end, and we kids spent many nights at her house. I thought that maybe she would know more about what happened to Annie.
I told her that I had seen her in the nursing home, and the condition she was in, and asked her if she knew what happened.
"I had heard that she got real sick toward the end of her pregnancy," she said. "But her mom moved off as soon as she got married, so she was no help. That man didn't think she was very sick, and didn't take her to the hospital till he found her laying in the floor one day when he came home from work. They say she had a real bad stroke, but by the time the doctors could work on her, the baby had already died, and she had such bad brain damage they said she would likely never get better. I'm surprised she's still alive."
Then I asked her the question that had been eating away at me all that day. "Why didn't anybody try to help her? Why was a man that old even allowed near her, let alone marry her?"
And she said, "That girl didn't have a daddy, and she was too sorry to stand up for herself. That girl brought it all on herself. That man may have been too old for her, but at least he took responsibilty and married her."
I am not the kind of person who normally gets violent, but in that mom
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