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 Christie and Me

   Chapter 9 Christie's Life: A Series of Unfortunate Events

   by knight_b_4@hotmail.com

   Story codes: Mff, hum, les, rom, preg

   Author's Note: This story involves sexual activity between a variety of
people, some of whom are underage.  If it is illegal in your jurisdiction
to read about such things, please delete this story immediately.  (And know
that you have my sympathies for living in such a repressive atmosphere.)
This story is entirely a work of fiction; none of the events described
herein actually took place (at least not to the author's knowledge).  The
author does not condone sexual activity with minors, although he does
recommend most of the following if done with a consenting adult.

   This story may be posted with no changes or deletions on a free site, or
the free area of a commercial site.  The work is copyright 2012 by the
author, and all rights are reserved.



   "Mom and I live in this crappy little apartment near Elm and 10th.  Know
the area?" I nodded.  It was a pretty rough part of town.  If trailer park
trash moved in, the area would move up a couple of notches in social
status. It wasn't where the crack dealers and the hookers hung out, but
they were only a few blocks away and probably drove through it on their way
to "work." "It's the..." her lips moved as she silently counted "ninth
place I can remember living, and the first place I can remember, I must've
already been 3, maybe 4."

   "I've never met my Dad, because even Mom doesn't know which one he was.
Mom's a drunken slut who'll fuck anything that moves.  I mean, she'll fuck
guys that would make Lily gag.  -Most- of `em would make Lily gag.  Guess I
came by it naturally, huh?  A genetic slut."

   I opened my mouth to protest, but she shook her head.

   "No, Harry.  Don't say anything, not anything at all.  This is hard
enough.  Just let me talk."

   "I didn't have to tell Mom I was staying at Lily's last night.  I didn't
have to tell her anything, `cause she never knows if I'm there or not and
doesn't care enough to check.  Last night was Friday night, and that's bar
night #2 for Mom.  She went out, got drunk and brought some sleaze bag home
to fuck.  She might've fucked a couple of guys in the parking lot first,
maybe even blown one or three or a dozen in the bathroom too.  Doesn't
matter to Mom.  Keep the drinks coming and she'll do anything.  Sometimes,
she even remembers it."

   "She never wanted a kid, and she's let me know that for as long as I can
remember.  She's always told me I'm a fucking -accident.- When she thinks
she's being funny, she calls me her -fucking- accident.  And then she tells
me to get her another drink and a beer for Uncle Tim.  Or Uncle Fred.  Or
Uncle Jack.  Or whoever's attached to the cock she's rubbing right there in
front of me.  I can mix a lot of different drinks, Harry, at least the ones
Mom likes, and she likes variety.  I had to learn how to cook on my own,
but Mom taught me to be one hell of a bartender.  And I learned quick,
Harry, `cause if I didn't mix it just right, I did it again and again until
I did, then went to bed without dinner."

   "A lot of times I went to bed without dinner anyway, or maybe got a
couple of crackers or some bread.  Mom wasn't real big on grocery shopping.
And if some guy was there, little Christie got sent to her room if she'd
eaten or not.  Couldn't have the fucking accident around while Mom got
laid, now could we?"

   "Not that it ever bothered her much if I walked in on her.  The first
time it happened, I must've been about 6 and some guy had his dick shoved
in her ass, pumping away for all he was worth.  Mom was moaning and
grunting, and had that look on her face people get when they're about to
cum- all scrunched up, looking more like they're in pain than like they're
having a good time.  I thought the guy was hurting her, so I ran up and
started hitting him with this little stuffed bunny, yelling at him to quit
hurting my Mommy.  He just laughed at me and kept fucking her."

   "Mom, though, got pissed.  She reached back and grabbed my arm and threw
me across the room, so hard I slammed my head on the wall.  And while I was
laying there, holding my head and crying because I hurt so bad and the bad
man was hurting my Mommy, she started screaming at me to `get your fucking
ass back in bed, you little cunt.' I was wearing one of her old t-shirts,
`cause pajamas cost money, and Mom always thought good booze was more
important than clothes for Christie.  It must've ridden up when I slid down
the wall, `cause I was laying there with my legs spread and my bald little
pussy out in the open.  And the guy behind her looked over and said, `Nice
cunt there, little girlie.  Want me to do you next?' "

   "And Mom, dear sweet Mom, told him, `Finish me first, you bastard.  If
you want the little cunt, it's a hundred bucks.  The big slut's free, but
the little slut'll cost you, Rex.' And she laughed.  Funny how I still
remember his name after all this time.  That was the first time she said
that, `the little slut'll cost you.' Wasn't the last time, though.  Not by
a long shot.  And no, Harry, Rex didn't do anything to me.  Guess he wasn't
into little girls, or blowing his load in Mom's ass was enough for him. 
But I crawled back to my bed- and I mean I crawled, because my head hurt
too much to stand up- and cried myself to sleep and he never came in after
me."

   "Mom seemed to like her new phrase.  Whenever I came out and found her
getting fucked or sucking some guy off, she'd tell all of `em, `The big
slut's free, but the little slut's a hundred bucks.' None of `em ever took
her up on it, not then at any rate, and by the time a couple of `em did, I
was already fucking on my own so it didn't really matter.  That made Mom
happy- she was finally getting some use out of her little accident."

   "Mom wasn't all one-night stands.  Sometimes she'd have a boyfriend for
a few weeks or even a couple of months.  Most of `em were broke ass losers
who moved in to sponge off her, although a few somehow managed to get and
keep jobs.  Usually, they ignored me, other than as something that could
fetch their beer or make `em something to eat.  Some of them tried to act
like they were my friend, but they weren't very good actors.  They really
would've preferred not to deal with me, but since I was there, they at
least pretended to try."

   "A couple of them were actually nice to me.  I remember this one guy,
Paul, when I was maybe 8.  He was kinda bugged by the way Mom treated me.
Paul bought me a few clothes, probably from Goodwill, because everything I
had then was at least a size or two too small.  He bought me a doll and
some stuffed animals and some books and a couple of games, too.  I think
that made Mom jealous, and that's why Paul didn't stay around too long."

   "I see that look in your eye, Harry, but no, Paul wasn't like that.  He
didn't try to touch me or anything, he was just nice to me.  He didn't
really seem interested in talking to me or being around me though.  Once
he'd given me my presents, he was kinda done with me, so I went back to my
room, outta their way."

   "I spent a lot of time in my room.  I'd probably have gone nuts if I
hadn't learned early on how much fun books could be.  Books could take me
away from whatever shithole place we were living, away from being an
accident, away from Mom and her current asshole, away from feeling
worthless and crappy."

   She sighed and was silent for a few seconds, staring at her fingers
twisting around each other.

   "When I was 9, we moved into this big apartment building that had a lot
of other kids in it.  Most of the other places didn't have too many, for
some reason.  I don't know if Mom picked those kinds of places on purpose,
or if it just worked out that way, but I didn't have too many friends
growing up.  Plus, since we moved so much, whatever friends I did have, I
didn't get to keep very long."

   "The new place was better, though.  There were probably 4 or 5 kids
about my age, and I don't know how many more older and younger.  There was
this girl Karen who lived on our floor, she was my age and we hit it off
right away.  Mom liked that, because I spent a lot of time over at Karen's
place and she didn't have to have me around as much.  We used to play with
dolls, and play games, and giggle about the stupid boys at school.  I think
that's the first time I ever felt almost normal."

   "Karen had a brother, Pat, who was two years older than me.  He was
really cute, and would always say Hi and talk to me for a few minutes when
I went over to see Karen.  I started thinking about Pat-- a lot, and
wondering if he had a girlfriend, wondering if he could ever like me."

   "I found out soon enough that he did.  I went over to see Karen one
time, and she was off somewhere with some other friends.  I don't know
where their parents were, but it was just Pat at home, playing some game on
this old computer they had.  I'd dressed up nice before I went over there,
or as nice as I could with what I had.  That meant jeans that were only a
little too small, and a t-shirt that had been washed so many times it was
almost see-through." She laughed a little, a tight, bitter laugh.  "Lily
would've liked that t-shirt.  You could almost see my nipples through it.
If they could've gotten hard, they would've poked holes in it."

   "But anyway, no Karen, no parents, so it was just me and Pat.  And we
talked for a while, and then he started telling me how nice he thought I
was, and how I was his favorite of all Karen's friends, and how pretty I
was.  You get the idea, Harry.  Eleven years old and he was playing me, and
I was eating it up.  And it wasn't too long before I was eating -him- up."

   "Yep, that's right, Harry.  I gave my first blowjob at 9 years old.  I
mean, Mom was my example on how you acted around guys, so I thought that's
just what you did for a guy you liked.  I probably wasn't very good at it,
but it was his first too, and he sure liked it.  And he asked me if I'd be
his girlfriend, but I'd have to be his secret girlfriend, because Karen
would get mad if she found out."

   "And I bought it.  I was a stupid little kid and I thought I was in love
and for the first time in my life I thought someone actually cared about
me, the fucking accident."

   "I started looking out the window to see if Karen was outside playing,
and if she was, I'd go down to their apartment and pretend to be surprised
she wasn't home.  But Pat would ask if I wanted to play a game or some
other excuse, and we'd go into his room and he'd stick it out of his pants
and I'd blow him or he'd stick his hand down my pants and we'd have a
little fun.  He was too young to squirt, so we never had to worry about a
mess to try to hide.  His Mom was there a lot of the time, but she never
caught us.  Sometimes, he'd come down to my apartment while Mom was working
or passed out on the couch and we'd actually get naked and do it."

   "It wasn't too long before he asked if he could put it in me, `just to
see how it feels'.  I didn't care; I loved him, it must feel good because
Mom liked to do it so much, so I said yes.  And it wasn't too bad.  He
wasn't too big, and I didn't even bleed.  Don't know if I was lucky or
maybe just didn't have much of a cherry, or if maybe it'd popped some other
way.  But my first time didn't hurt at all, and after he moved it around a
little, it started feeling pretty good.  It didn't last long enough,
though; after shoving it in and out a few times he pushed hard, held it
there while he groaned, and then pulled out.  I wanted him to put it back
and keep going, but he was limp and made some lame excuse and left."

   "I felt good about it, though.  I knew I'd made him feel good, and he'd
kissed me before he left, so I thought I was a good little girlfriend."

   "We fucked a few more times before I caught him behind the dumpster
kissing Kim Fisher, a girl in his grade.  I started yelling at her to leave
my boyfriend alone, and you know what he did, Harry?"

   I shook my head.  I was so numb with pain at this point I couldn't have
talked if I wanted to.  I was hurting so badly for Christie, and I think I
was crying, too.

   "He laughed, Harry.  Told me I wasn't his girlfriend, just some dumb
little whore who sucked his cock and fucked him.  A whore just like my
mother, and he wanted a cool girl for a girlfriend.  And Kim laughed at me,
too, and said," and Christie drew a deep shuddering breath, "and said, `Go
away, little whore, and leave my boyfriend alone.' And she kissed him, and
he told me to go the fuck away."

   "They call it puppy love, but a puppy can hurt just as much as a big
dog. I cried for hours.  And when I finally came out of my room, there's
Mom on the couch, one guy's cock in her mouth, one in her pussy.  And I
thought it was so unfair that she got to have two guys when I couldn't even
have one."

   "Pat had a friend, Josh, and Josh came up to me a couple of days later
and said he'd heard I liked to fuck, and did I want to fuck him?  And
that's when it hit me, Harry.  I was a -fucking- accident, so the only way
anyone would like me was if I fucked them, like Mom did.  That's how she
got guys to like her, so I guessed that was the only way they'd like me. 
So I decided to be just like her."

   "So I said yes to Josh.  I said yes to his friend Adam, too.  And his
friend Ryan.  And a bunch of other friends and guys he didn't know and even
a couple of girls who wanted to get their rocks off but weren't ready for
boys yet.  And so little Christie the fucking -accident- became little
Christie the -fucking- accident.  `Cause when they want to get into your
pants, even if they know you'll make it easy for them, they tell you they
like you and they tell you you're sexy and they make you feel, just for a
little while, like you matter.  Like maybe they care, even when you know
all they care about is their cocks and cunts."

   "It wasn't too long after that that Mom finally got her first taker on
her hundred dollar special on `the little slut'.  It was maybe a month or
so after I turned 10, and he was some scrawny little guy, not Mom's usual
type at all.  Mom likes `em big and beefy.  I was watching TV when they
came in, drunk as shit and pawing all over each other.  And they weren't
inside 10 seconds before Mom had his cock in her hand, and I saw why she
picked him up- he was hung like a horse.  To this day, that's the biggest
cock I've ever seen.  I mean, I know I was only 10 but I'd already seen a
lot of cocks, and this sucker was huge."

   "When they finally noticed I was there, the guy said, `Is that the
little cunt you were talking about?' Mom took her mouth off his cock long
enough to make her `big slut/little slut` joke, and when she started to
suck him again, he stopped her and said he'd take it.  Mom whined for a
while about didn't he want her instead, how she wanted his big dick so bad,
but he told her he'd do her after.  When he pulled the money out of his
wallet, Mom shut up.  She told me to take him to my room and do whatever he
asked.  He'd paid for me, and I was gonna make him happy or she was gonna
make my life hell.  Yeah.  Like it could get worse."

   "Even with all the fucking I'd already been doing, there was no way that
thing would fit in my 10-year-old pussy.  He tried.  Oh God, did he try,
until I wanted to scream from how much it hurt.  But I didn't.  Maybe Mom
would use a little of the money to get me a pair of pants that fit, or
maybe she might remember to buy food.  But even if she didn't, she'd be
really pissed if I screwed this up, so I just laid there and cried while he
tried ramming it into me."

   "When the stupid asshole finally caught a clue that it wasn't going in,
he yanked me up by the arm so I was sitting on the bed, stood next to it
and tried to shove his cock down my throat.  Hell, I couldn't even get the
head in my mouth, it just wouldn't open that wide.  I was still crying, and
he just grabbed the back of my head and tried to force it in.  I couldn't
get my mouth around it, but I could tongue it, and I licked that thing as
fast and hard as I could.  I wanted him to cum so he'd quit hurting me. 
But it didn't work.  My tongue wasn't good enough for him, so he finally
quit trying."

   "So he did the only thing left.  He had me get up on all fours and
shoved his cock up my ass.  First time I'd had a cock in my ass, and the
bastard didn't even bother spitting on it first, and I hadn't got it all
that wet with my mouth.  It hurt.  Oh my god, how it hurt.  And I didn't
say anything.  I just cried.  He grabbed me around the waist and started
yanking me back and forth, pretty much just using my ass to jerk himself
off."

   "That was my first time to get paid.  10 years old and I was officially
a hooker.  It's enough to make a mother proud.  But Mom wasn't proud enough
to share the money.  She got booze for a couple of days, and some pizza she
shared with her guy-of-the-night but not me.  Probably got some other stuff
too.  But Christie got bread and a stale Twinkie for dinner, and wore the
same old torn jeans for another three months, before they finally ripped so
bad even Mom knew I couldn't wear `em any more."

   "By the time I was 11, Mom was whoring me out every 2-3 weeks or so. 
She'd even got to the point of calling me out of my room and asking `em if
they wanted me, before she'd even done anything with `em.  She liked the
money, and if it was a choice, she'd be happy to take the money instead of
getting fucked.  After all, she could always go back to the bar and find
someone else to fuck her."

   "And it's been like that ever since.  I fuck guys and girls for free,
because I want to, and Mom's guys because she gets money for me.  I don't
have a clue who this kid's father is.  I'm usually pretty careful about
condoms, but sometimes I like it bareback so I don't.  Picked the wrong
time once, and now the fucking accident has her own little fucking
accident. And I'm gonna try my best, but I'm probably gonna screw it up
like I've screwed up everything else, and this poor kid'll wind up as
fucked up as his mother and grandmother."

   She stopped, tears rolling down her face but head up, fingers laced
together on the table in front of her.  And she just cried and breathed
deeply for a few minutes.  And I couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't
sweep her up in my arms and just hold her and hug her and never let her go.

   "You remember the night we went to Murray's?  When I finally got home,
Mom was pissed as hell at me.  I'd just had such a wonderful evening with
you, and she's waiting for me with another `customer' for me to fuck, some
guy who'd done me before and wanted some more of the pregnant kid.  I had
to fuck the guy then suck him off for his second cum.  And while the guy
was cumming in my pussy and mouth, Mom drank herself stupid and passed out
on the couch."

   "I wanted to puke, Harry.  Puke up that guy's cum and puke up all the
other shit I've had to swallow.  After a while, I went into the kitchen to
get something to eat, just to get the taste of his cock out of my mouth. 
All we had was some moldy cheese.  I went to the knife drawer and when I
opened it, right on top was this big butcher knife.  And I picked up that
knife and I just stood there, for a long time.  I thought real seriously
about just cutting my throat and putting an end to all the shit.  And I
walked into the living room, stood over Mom for a while and thought real
seriously about just cutting -her- throat.  I'm still not sure why I didn't
do either, but I finally cut the mold off, ate some of the cheese and went
to bed, and laid there for a long time thinking how nice it'd be if I just
died in my sleep."

   Christie shuddered and took a deep breath.

   "So that's the story of my life, Harry.  Pretty fucked up, huh?  So now
you know.  I'm screwed up, I'm a hooker, and I'm so not good enough for a
nice guy like you.  I'll just get dressed and go home and you'll never have
to see me again.  But thank you for one of the best times in my life, and
I'll never forget you." She put her hands on the table and started to push
herself up.

   "SIT THE FUCK DOWN!" I roared, and shocked both of us.  Christie's head
snapped up and she stared at me, scared, but she slowly sat and put her
hands on the table and just watched me.  I was breathing hard, and I'm sure
my face was red, and I have never, ever in my life been as angry as I was
right then.

   I tried to say more and couldn't.  You've heard the phrase, "incoherent
with rage"?  I was so far beyond that I couldn't see it with a telescope.
So we sat there for a while and I tried to push the rage down far enough
that I could talk.  And while I was working on that, I was picturing all
the things I'd like to do to Christie's mother, and most of them even the
Spanish Inquisition would have rejected as too extreme.

   I finally took a deep shuddering breath and managed to force some words
out.  I spoke low and slow and may even have managed to sound calm,
although I was far from it.

   "You are never going home- no, you are never going back to -hell- again.
Even if I have to kill that cunt so you can't, you are NOT GOING BACK
THERE." Christie jumped again when I shouted and slammed my fist on the
table, and I could see fear in her eyes.  I hated the idea she was afraid
of me, but I was furious and couldn't stop.

   "My dearest, darling Christie.  Don't you ever again tell me you're not
good enough for me, not even as a joke.  I don't care if people have paid
to fuck you.  I don't care how many people have fucked you for free.  Or
been blown by you, or eaten you, or screwed your ass, or any other
goddamned thing they could do with you, because it doesn't fucking goddamn
matter." I was breathing hard, and my voice was starting to rise, so I took
deep breaths and tried to calm down.

   "You are truly an awesome and amazing person, you know that?" She looked
skeptical at that and opened her mouth, but this time I told her to just
shut up and listen.

   "You don't think so?  Then let me ask you something.  You get drunk a
lot?"

   She shook her head, started to say something, then just shook her head
again.

   "You like to smoke pot or take pills?  I know you don't do needles,
`cause I've seen you naked." She gave a weak grin, but shook her head.

   "You ever ask anybody to pay you if they wanted to fuck you?  Not your
mother, but you yourself.  Ever get paid by somebody other than your
mother's guys?"

   Again, a head shake, hard and emphatic.

   "You steal from stores, grab money from a guy's pants when he's not
looking, take things when you visit a friend's house and then sell them?"
Emphatic shake.

   "And you don't understand why you're awesome and amazing?" Puzzled
shake.

   "Because you -don't- do any of those things.  My God.  With all the shit
that's been done to you, you should be so fucking bitter and angry..." I
held up my hand as she opened her mouth, "and yes, I know you are, but not
by half as much as you ought to be.  Not nearly half.  You have been abused
since the day you were born, and mental abuse is worse because bruises
eventually heal.  You have been fucked over so bad, you ought to be
spending most of your time drunk or high so it doesn't hurt so much.  You
should have given in and started charging because, hey, if you're going to
do it, you might as well get something out of it.  You should be stealing
clothes and CDs, ripping guys off while they're laying there recovering
from a good fuck, stealing from your friends, anything to get a little
money and get everything you can however you can because the world fucked
you over so the world fucking owes you."

   " `Cause that's what most people would do, Christie.  They'd have said,
`fuck it!' a long time ago and just started grabbing everything they could
get for themselves, and saying `fuck the rest of the world.' And you're not
like that.  Because somehow, some way, through a pile of bullshit bigger
than a mountain, you've miraculously managed to stay a decent person. 
People have fucked you over one after the other, and you don't get even by
fucking over others.  You reached out to people and got kicked in the teeth
every time, but you kept reaching.  You didn't give up and you finally got
lucky enough to reach out to Lily and then her family, and you found a
little of the caring you wanted.  And now you've got me, and you've found
all the love and caring you could ever want, if you'll let me give it to
you."

   "I told you that, Christie, remember?  I said I couldn't imagine you
telling me anything so ugly it would make me stop loving you.  And boy," I
laughed bitterly, "I couldn't have imagined anything this ugly, alright. 
But it doesn't make me love you less.  It makes me hurt, for that poor
little girl who got called a fucking accident when she should've been
called a fucking blessing.  It makes me mad.  I want to bitchslap Pat and
his little buddies, and I want to put my foot up the ass of every son of a
bitch who ever paid to fuck you, and I want to choke the living shit out of
your mother until her eyes pop out and her head explodes, but I do NOT" I
was shouting again "EVER want you to think that you're not good enough for
me and have to leave."

   I finally remembered how to walk, so I got out of my chair and knelt at
Christie's feet.  She pulled back, still looking scared, so instead of
grabbing her arms the way I wanted to, I just rested my hands on her
thighs.

   "You've made it through now, you're safe.  You've put up with the worst
fucking horseshit for your entire life, but now I'm going to help you get
out of it.  Somehow, some way.  Yea, though you've walked through a valley
of bullshit, you need fear no more evil, for Harry is with you." She
managed a small grin at that.  "Because I'm going to help you to- well, I
guess you probably won't ever -forget- all that, but I'm going to try to
make it hurt a lot less.  And I'm going to show you how sweet it can be
when someone really cares about you, you-" and I jabbed my finger at her
chest "and not how good a fuck you are."

   Her eyes were big and shiny now, and her lip trembled, but she still
managed to sound bitter.

   "That would be so nice, Harry.  But I'm 13.  I can't just tell Mom to go
fuck herself and leave.  If Mom wasn't getting money out of my ass she
probably wouldn't care.  But she likes that extra cash, and if the cops
come to take me back, they'll take you away.  And I can't let that happen
to you.  I've gotta go home."

   "Drop that!" I ordered sternly.  "Drop it right now.  That shithole was
never a home, and quit thinking you have to go back to it because that's
not even an option anymore.  I meant it.  If I have to kill your mother to
keep you away from her, I will.  And I'll go to jail, and you'll get stuck
in foster care, but no matter how much foster care sucks, it can't be as
bad as living with that cunt." I paused and took a deep breath.

   "I know what else you being 13 means, too, Christie.  It means that
after a little while you'll probably decide you're tired of me and want
someone else, someone younger and better." I held up my hand when she tried
to talk.  "And don't say anything, because you don't know the future. 
Maybe some day you really will be Mrs.  Potter.  And maybe some day I'll
walk you down the aisle and give my darling Christie's hand to another man,
for him to have and to hold forever after.  And if that's your choice, I'll
do my best to be happy for you.  Christie, this is your home- a real home-
for as long as you want it, on whatever terms you want it.  If you want me
to be your lover, I'll do that and be overjoyed.  If you want me to be your
father, or your big brother, or your friend, or something else, I'll be
that, too, and be happy.  I just want you to stay here until you've had
time to heal, time to grow up, time to learn how to face the world on
better terms than you've had to face it so far.  Because I love you.  And I
want you to be happy, with me if possible, without me if it's not.  But you
can always call this place home."

   She started crying again then, and pulled me into a tight hug.  We
stayed there so long my bare knees started to hurt from the linoleum, but I
ignored them.  The pain wasn't much compared to the pain Christie was
releasing, finally, into me.

   Shared pain is halved, or more.

   We wound up in the living room.  I sat at one end of the couch, and she
curled up and rested her head on my lap.  We sat there for a long time,
silent, my hand stroking her, her hand resting on my leg.  And while we
sat, the glimmers of a plan started to form.  And I chased after it while
it darted this way and that, until it finally became solid enough that I
could grab it and start to build it up into something workable.