Where there's a will, there's a way

Born to be a monster

My first day at school. Oh boy. Khaki safari suit with shorts and sandals (it’s the first time I recall owning a pair of shoes) This was to be the start of my formal childhood education. I was proud as punch, looking forward to it in a way I couldn’t even begin to describe. I had my head up, shoulders back, and I was off.

In the early years, I excelled at school. Classes were normally a mix of twenty to thirty boys and girls. I was the first to be allowed to use an ink pen. Hell, I was first at just about everything for the next seven years. But, no matter what we accomplished, did or didn't do, as kids from the home, were never really accepted by the other kids. We made them feel uncomfortable. To them, we were, at the very least, bearers of the dreaded lurgy. We were always being bullied, but we had to go to school, so we’d just had to grin and bear it, pretend that we were just like the rest of them.

I was about ten years old, and a tough little s**t. I mostly kept to myself, minded my own business, and avoided any drama whenever I possibly could, but at the same time, I was always climbing trees, digging holes, running everywhere (I was always running, I never walked anywhere) and I got my kicks by filling wheelbarrows with sand or rocks, and then pushing them around for hours on end, and yes, there were the older kids in the home to deal with as well. They were much f**king worse than the bullies at school, and may your god help you, if you couldn’t, or wouldn’t stand up to, or even sometimes openly challenge them, because if you couldn’t, you were royally f**ked.

Anyway, I was headed for school, Iost in a world of my own, splashing my way through ankle-deep puddles, when Sean, our school bully, saw me, and decided it was time for him to open up a can of whoop arse on me. His reasoning, who the f**k will ever know what his reasoning was? Maybe the other kids liked me too much, maybe he wasn’t getting the attention he was used to, or maybe it was Angie, the only young lady at school who had big boobs and who we all wanted as a girlfriend?

Whatever it was, you could almost feel sorry for him, because the dumb arse had just bitten off a lot more than he could chew, but he didn’t know that. How could he? Also, I was much tougher than you’d think, and a lot tougher than I looked.

I’m still not completely sure about how, why, or what actually happened, not a f**king clue, but the next thing I knew, I was standing over him, snarling, spitting, baying for blood, but Sean didn’t want to play anymore. The scrap was over. He was covered in blood and snot and bawling his eyes out like a pissy little b***h.

Other kids, also on their way to school, were milling around. Some of them were cheering for me. Even some who weren’t from the home. I was stunned by what I had done. I’d have bet everything I owned that everyone else was a bit shocked too. No way was this supposed to happen, not to Sean, and not by me. It did happen though; I’d f**ked him up good and proper, and I was glowing shamelessly. I felt great, no regrets, no remorse, and there was no way I was going to apologize to him, or to anyone else, not now, not ever!

That fight was the first of far too many fights over the coming years. It was also the first time I had to bend for a caning at school. I didn’t start the fight, so why was I being punished? I’m sure Sean never got the cane, but in my case, being bent over and caned was something that would be repeated again and again over the next few years. I’m not proud of it, but I think I may have ruined Sean’s life. On the upside, no one at school tried to bully any of us, anymore.

I was pretty small for my age, but in the words of Johnny Cash, “I grew up quick, and I grew up mean.” Way too smart for my own good and now, after beating the s**t out of Sean, I’d become a cocksure little prick, strutting around school with a c**k-sure, up yours attitude.

This was probably why Mr Morgan (our head teacher) blamed me for almost anything and everything that went wrong at his school, whether I was directly involved or not. To him, I was nothing more than a menace, a bad influence on my peers, a bad example, etc. etc.

Guilty or not guilty, your honour, was irrelevant as far as he was concerned, and as a result of his unfounded misgivings, I developed a hate / hate relationship with him, and I hadn’t even turned twelve yet. My teachers never got it though. In their classrooms, I was attentive, polite, and they actively encouraged, even enjoyed, my natural childhood mischief. This smart, cute, little kid, what’s with Mr Morgan? Maybe he had issues with us kids from the home?

I’m convinced that my unwanted infamy helped me to get Angie, so there’s your something good out of something bad. We were in the same class at school and both her and her older sister, Stacey, were living in the same house as me at the home. Angie was my first kiss, but Stacey, her equally big-breasted, older but uglier sister, had plans to relieve me of my virginity, and in the crudest way possible.

I was old enough now, well, according to Stacey, anyway. She’d decided it was time to have her wicked way with me, and I gotta say, I was a bit scared by the whole experience (or should that be scarred). I had my first s*x, lost my virginity (or more specifically, it was stolen from me) in a goddamned TOILET!

Romance, what f**king romance, it would haunt me for the rest of my life, ensuring that I’d never, ever, got the urge to join the mile-high club. It wasn’t through choice, and I guess that I could have put up a little more resistance if I’d really wanted to. It could probably have been construed as r**e at the time, but nervous as I was, I kind of liked it. Maybe it was the older girl thing? Oddly enough, older girls did become my thing.

So, I found myself living in the same house as three very friendly, loving, girls. Angie, it never happened, just a bit of hanky panky, her older sister Stacey, just that one time, and Janet.

For the record, most of us kids in the home were either the result of a malfunctioning family, abusive parents, or single mothers, so us bumping uglies with each other, was strictly prohibited, and god help you, you bastard sinner, if you got caught. As I mentioned before, the home actually had an onsite maternity ward, just in case, but as a mother, once you’d given birth, your baby was taken away from you and earmarked for adoption. You weren’t given any say in the matter, none whatsoever.

Being a boy meant the latter never applied to me. I was a horny little toad, and the thrill of the risk made it all much more exciting and enticing for me, so catch me if you can. As the offspring of a single mom, Janet really should have known better, but then again, maybe she did, maybe she just didn’t care and also, she loved me, or so she’d have me believe (but this was only after ‘Lodie,’ one of the older boys in the home, had used, abused, and then dumped her)

She was always sneaking into my room late at night to provide me with any pleasures or delights she could think of. She played teacher, and I was her very willing student. She was older than me after all. We were still in our very early teens, thirteen, maybe fourteen years old. Where the f**k did she learn all this stuff? How many teenage boys regularly had their balls licked by a pretty young lady, or had their head shoved between her legs?