-
Women Only
-
Straight Female / 30
So I am going to start and see where this goes.
First I need to give some background. My father was a mail carrier and my mother stayed home. We were six kids, we lived in a two bedroom clapboard house with one bathroom. My parents had the only air conditioner which was in their room. Six kids in one room meant you doubled up and I doubled up with my one year older sister, my other three sisters slept in the other bed and my brother had a cot.
We were poor by any standards and money was very tight. The rent came first and then food, and then if any was left over maybe something for the house. All our clothes were from the Salvation Army. None of had ever brought home a new article of clothing, including underwear. Everything was sharable, and hand me down, I wore my sister's clothes and my younger sisters all wore our clothes. Laundry was at the Laundromat, when we had money, clothes were dried in the back yard, and many times we had to sort clothes to see what got washed. My father's uniform was the only thing that got washed. We wore a lot of clothes more than once before washing and we washed out our underwear when we took a bath.
At the time I was 15. In lower school we went to a neighborhood school so everyone was like us. But in upper school we all went to the big school and that included the kids from the upper neighborhood. Not that they spoke to us, or us to them, we were in class together but that is as close at it came. I always thought to myself how it was that I knew the name of every girl from over there, but none of them knew our names. I memorized what they wore, I could name off their entire wardrobes. Every blouse, sweater, skirt, pair of shoes. when we changed for gym I memorized the color of their panties. I was very observant, and I knew who had what color pubes. I was fixated on their bodies, naked we were all alike and my body was as good as theirs.
Then there were the boys. Our neighborhood boys we knew well, having gone to school with them all our lives, but these upper end boys were different. The upperclassmen drove their own cars, and they always had money to spend. The girls talked about their dates, and the boys did too, making special emphasis on which girl was willing to put out. We were two schools in one, and oil and water do not mix.
One day I was walking between classes minding my own business and this boy came up to me and asked me my name. I said Sharon, what did he want. He said his name was Greg and he wanted to know if I had a date for the junior prom. I told him no, I wasn't going to the junior prom (none of the girls from my neighborhood went to the prom, we didn't have a dress or shoes or hairdressers or anything else, we didn't go to the prom).
He insisted and told me he wanted me to go with him, and I said thank you but I had chores and I didn't have time for the prom. He asked me for my phone number and I had to laugh, we didn't have a phone. He insisted and to get him off my back I told him I would think about it.
That night my brother, who was two years older than me, told me that the upper end boys had made a dare and the boy who asked me out had lost and his dare was take a girl from our neighborhood to the prom.
The next day I said ok.
For the prom my mother took me to this resale shop and we bought a dress. My aunt did my hair. My aunt also fluffed up my top filling my bra with tissue paper and pushing my bust up so that I had cleavage. On the afternoon of the prom, my aunt sat me down. She had serious business to discuss and I had to listen.
She said I had one chance, one. This was my chance and not to let it go by. A girl like me and boy like him were a one a million shot. To make sure I danced close to him, to make sure he knew that his evening wasn't going to be wasted. To suck his dick, and let him know there was more for him. When it came time for him to fuck me, to just let him fuck me all he wanted. To let him know that whenever he wanted to fuck he had the girlfriend for it.
To get pregnant as fast as possible. I was still 15, once I was pregnant he could only marry me, there was no other choice, me being 15 him being older. That my mother and her would help me with the baby, the baby was going to be ok, not to focus on the baby, focus on getting pregnant as quickly as possible, before I turned 16.
I danced close to him, I sucked his dick behind the restrooms, he fucked me in the car, I got pregnant and I got married, and that is how I got out of the neighborhood I grew up in. I laid three kids on my husband before he could figure out that he was trapped for life. All those snotty girls from school have to deal with me in PTA, with the Church Bazar, the Country Club, and their women's voting initiative. My husband's family owns the biggest factory in town. His father is the head of the Business Men's Club. His mother is the first lady of the Church Women's Group. My kids play with their kids, and they go to the same lower school as their kids go to.
Was it worth it? Sure it was, my aunt says that you can love a rich man or love a poor man, why not love a rich man. Better still if the rich man loves you. Being in love is not hard.
First I need to give some background. My father was a mail carrier and my mother stayed home. We were six kids, we lived in a two bedroom clapboard house with one bathroom. My parents had the only air conditioner which was in their room. Six kids in one room meant you doubled up and I doubled up with my one year older sister, my other three sisters slept in the other bed and my brother had a cot.
We were poor by any standards and money was very tight. The rent came first and then food, and then if any was left over maybe something for the house. All our clothes were from the Salvation Army. None of had ever brought home a new article of clothing, including underwear. Everything was sharable, and hand me down, I wore my sister's clothes and my younger sisters all wore our clothes. Laundry was at the Laundromat, when we had money, clothes were dried in the back yard, and many times we had to sort clothes to see what got washed. My father's uniform was the only thing that got washed. We wore a lot of clothes more than once before washing and we washed out our underwear when we took a bath.
At the time I was 15. In lower school we went to a neighborhood school so everyone was like us. But in upper school we all went to the big school and that included the kids from the upper neighborhood. Not that they spoke to us, or us to them, we were in class together but that is as close at it came. I always thought to myself how it was that I knew the name of every girl from over there, but none of them knew our names. I memorized what they wore, I could name off their entire wardrobes. Every blouse, sweater, skirt, pair of shoes. when we changed for gym I memorized the color of their panties. I was very observant, and I knew who had what color pubes. I was fixated on their bodies, naked we were all alike and my body was as good as theirs.
Then there were the boys. Our neighborhood boys we knew well, having gone to school with them all our lives, but these upper end boys were different. The upperclassmen drove their own cars, and they always had money to spend. The girls talked about their dates, and the boys did too, making special emphasis on which girl was willing to put out. We were two schools in one, and oil and water do not mix.
One day I was walking between classes minding my own business and this boy came up to me and asked me my name. I said Sharon, what did he want. He said his name was Greg and he wanted to know if I had a date for the junior prom. I told him no, I wasn't going to the junior prom (none of the girls from my neighborhood went to the prom, we didn't have a dress or shoes or hairdressers or anything else, we didn't go to the prom).
He insisted and told me he wanted me to go with him, and I said thank you but I had chores and I didn't have time for the prom. He asked me for my phone number and I had to laugh, we didn't have a phone. He insisted and to get him off my back I told him I would think about it.
That night my brother, who was two years older than me, told me that the upper end boys had made a dare and the boy who asked me out had lost and his dare was take a girl from our neighborhood to the prom.
The next day I said ok.
For the prom my mother took me to this resale shop and we bought a dress. My aunt did my hair. My aunt also fluffed up my top filling my bra with tissue paper and pushing my bust up so that I had cleavage. On the afternoon of the prom, my aunt sat me down. She had serious business to discuss and I had to listen.
She said I had one chance, one. This was my chance and not to let it go by. A girl like me and boy like him were a one a million shot. To make sure I danced close to him, to make sure he knew that his evening wasn't going to be wasted. To suck his dick, and let him know there was more for him. When it came time for him to fuck me, to just let him fuck me all he wanted. To let him know that whenever he wanted to fuck he had the girlfriend for it.
To get pregnant as fast as possible. I was still 15, once I was pregnant he could only marry me, there was no other choice, me being 15 him being older. That my mother and her would help me with the baby, the baby was going to be ok, not to focus on the baby, focus on getting pregnant as quickly as possible, before I turned 16.
I danced close to him, I sucked his dick behind the restrooms, he fucked me in the car, I got pregnant and I got married, and that is how I got out of the neighborhood I grew up in. I laid three kids on my husband before he could figure out that he was trapped for life. All those snotty girls from school have to deal with me in PTA, with the Church Bazar, the Country Club, and their women's voting initiative. My husband's family owns the biggest factory in town. His father is the head of the Business Men's Club. His mother is the first lady of the Church Women's Group. My kids play with their kids, and they go to the same lower school as their kids go to.
Was it worth it? Sure it was, my aunt says that you can love a rich man or love a poor man, why not love a rich man. Better still if the rich man loves you. Being in love is not hard.
