Dirty Girl

If you are under 18 and still managed to make it through all that, you’re very
determined and nothing I say now will make any difference anyway.

This is a story about Christina Aguilera. It is not intended in any way to
represent her as she is in real life. This is fiction.

Though some of it is based in fact.

Particularly the part about senior prom.

I should know. Some of my close personal friends were there.

Growing up Chrissy had never known too much popularity. She was known as the
stuck up bitch just about everywhere she went. In Wexford things
were no
different. Though there she added the dubious disstinction of being Poor Hygeine
Girl. I’m not sure where it came from, but that’s what they called her. You ask
me, it isn’t the kind of thing I’d expect to catch on. Just not lyrical enough.
Not quite the sing song quality necessary to become a high school catch phrase.
Even say, Dirty Girl would be a suitable substitute…

Hey, if I were inventing it it would be better. It just so happens that I grew
up near there. Found these things out as they were happening.

No one around here bought those albums. No one around here had enough respect
for her to.

There was a walkout at her senior prom.

They played “Genie In A Bottle” and the floor emptied out. You could barely HEAR
the music over the boos and hisses.

I… I feel sorry for the girl. She may be Queen of the World now, a self-styled
diva and all that jazz, but that’s still an awful lot of baggage she’s going to
be carrying around with her for quite some time.

Nobody ever really forgets their beginnings…

Nobody ever really forgets their beginnings… their beginnings…
their beginnings… their beginnings…………

let’s begin again.

Samuel had aquired her one night, late, from a hotel outside of Pittsburgh.
She’d been drunk. A little girl who’d had a little too much to drink before she
was experienced enough to know how much she could handle.

This was post-Mickey Mouse Club, pre-fame.

He’d had her, and had his way with her, for the better part of a weekend. He’d
never had to answer for any of it. She’d never told anyone. Anyone. She’d never
told anyone for a variety of reasons. One being the shame, one being the way she
knew it would expand within the community, another being the way she knew she’d
have to wear it on her sleave in social circles – not that she was ever really
accepted INTO PROMINENT social circles… Mostly, it was the shame. But that
shame stemmed from what you might consider an unlikely source. Her shame was
that she’d enjoyed it. Her shame was that it had secretly been a thrilling time
for her that she wished very much she could return to. She didn’t want to own
up, even to herself, to just how much it had gotten her off.

A little too much to drink… A little too much to drink…

SHIT, she thought. I’ve had A LOT TOO MUCH TO DRINK. But Damn this all feels so
good.

She stumbled down the alley, trying to make her way home from the party she’d
spent the majority of the evening at. From time to time she had to grab the side
of a fence ot garage for balance. She’d knocked over a large metal trash can. It
had been empty which made it worse. The sound seemed to go on forever.

She’d been reduced to hysterical laughter despite herself.

She was having a great night.

And it was good.

She didn’t have many great nights. 18 was turning out to be a bitch.

She stopped at the crossing of the alley and Hampstead, the next major street.
She noticed the van, that is to say she saw the van. But she didn’t really TAKE
notice of the van. She was too busy being young and being drunk and being free
from the downer that made up most of her existence.

“Excuse me. Miss?”

She honestly had not heard.

A little louder. “Excuse me. Miss?”

She turned. Not her head, her whole body. She stumbled, kept her balance? Shot a
lopsided smile. “Yeah?”

“Could you give me a hand?” There was a man behind the van, trying to load a
decnt sized sofa into the van. He wore a cast on his right arm. He was having a
hell of a time with it.

Sure, she thought and thought she had said out loud. She walked over to the van.

He already had the further end up on the lid of the van’s bay. But lifting the
second half had requied a little more dexterity than his one workable arm was
allowing him. SHe grunted as she helped him lift. She never even felt it as the
casted arm slammed down into the back of her skull.

She woke up on a bunk bed in a cage in a basement room somewhere.

She was still wearing the orange party dress. It fit tightly to her blossoming
chest and to about mid thigh. She was a little surprised to find that she was no
longer wearing panties. She hadn’t had a bra on to start with.

A man walked in. She was seeeeeinggggggg trrrrraaiiilllllsssssssssssss….
stillllllll grrrogggggggggggggyyyyy. He handed her a glass of water. How was
she to know it was laced with Ecstacy.

He left her again….

She came to with a start. She was in the middle of a dark place. She couldn’t
tell ANYTHING about it, actually. Just that it was dark.

There was one, VERY bright light. and it was trained on her. Stagelight style.

She was bound to the place where she was, kneeling, head very straight, straight
because of the choker around her neck connecting upwards.

The man walked into the light. His arm was fine. He looked much clearer without
the facial hair. It hadn’t been real. If she hadn’t been so drunk that would
have been obvious.

He wasn’t particularly good at what he did.

She was beautiful, still a bit groggy. You could tell it by her eyes.

He reached up with one hand and loosed the leash from it’s hook above into his
hand. He pulled tight and the choker started to cut off her airways. She opened
her mouth to gasp. He slapped her face, open-palmed. He backhanded her.

He said, “For as long as I say, you will do what I say? Do you understand?”

She nodded. She was starting to sober up from the alcohol. The X was just taking
hold.

He forced her to her hands and knees, paraded her around the small area like she
was a show pony. He smacked at her ass lightly. He pulled her to her feet. He
wrapped his hand around her neck. Held her just a little too high, just a little
too tightly. He stared into her eyes.

The lack of air. The X.

She fell into his eyes…

She felt herself begin to moisten…

She felt herself begin to like this…

He wasn’t hurting her, not really. This wasn’t painful. It was spicy. A lot
different than those brief runthroughs she’d had with football players or MMC
execs.

He pulled town her dress front, sharply, harshly. Her bountiful sprang free, her
large round nipples at full attention. Without noticing, her right hand flew to
her crotch. She begin to bring her clit to full arousal. She had forgotten
everything but this moment.

He kissed her hard on the mouth.

Pushed her away.

Kissed her again.

He spun her around and bent her over. He pulled his hard cock from his pants. He
didn’t even bother to undress further. He plunged his cock into her ass without
a moment’s hesitation.

She loved it. She squealed. Panting. Her breasts heaved, dipping low as he’d
bent her down. That feeling alone was enough to send her over, the feeling of
her massive breasts swaying free in the wind and she was fucked hardcore by a
man so clearly enjoying her.

He had his way with her a few hours later. And again a few hours later.
Frequently. And in all her life she would never come as hard.

She hadn’t even had to invent a story for her few days’ disappearance. The sad
truth is, no one cared. She hadn’t seen much of her mother in the last year,
wouldn’t again until she achieved some semblance of fame.

Remember how I’d said some of my good friends were there?

…Nah. Forget about it.

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END