Strip her
I'm 26. I can't tell you my name.
I'm a stripper at the local club. I have three kids: Tessy, the oldest, 14; Kaycee, 12; and Lace, she's 10.
I don't know why I'm doing this. Maybe it's because I'm tired of holding it all in; maybe it's because I've done all I know to. Maybe it's because I don't want the kids to turn out like me. I'm tired of hearing people say "You shouldn't be a mother; you don't deserve those kids"
The kids attend at the local school and it kills me every time Lace runs back home to tell on her teacher. He'd grope her and say "the stripper's daughter. Can you dance like your mum?"
And It astounds me every time Kaycee wears my make-up, wig and hills and he'd always wear his sister's clothes.
Tessy, She's all so grown up already. I beat her again yesterday. I know she's doing our neighbour, but she won't admit.
But isn't this all my fault? Maybe it is.
I don't even know how to raise them, or how not to. Sometimes I want to just protect them, other times I hit them; fine, I hit them a lot. I don't know any other way.
You know I'm still confused as to why I'm doing this. But I heard the Pastor of the local church across our house say, "admittance is the first step to repentance."
I didn't have a childhood, myself
I'm trying to give my kids what I never had. But I don't know, I don't think I'm doing it right"
When I turned eight dad died. Mum was a drunk and a slut dad tried to ignore.
Dad was a good man, bless his soul. He never hit mum, I wonder how he did that. I was their only child; he would take me to my room and lock us there when mama was drunk and would bring some haggard looking men to her and dad's room. Dad would cry as he held my hand asking me to pray. I wouldn't know what to say. He'd hug me and call me beautiful.
After papa died, I had to stay with my uncle, papa's brother. He was nothing like papa.
He'd come into my room with his friends when his wife was out. He'd say to one of them "Strip her!" Then they'd make me dance and then go in, in turns at me.
I'd cry all night after they'd left. I still do after I come home drunk, feeling sore from all the hands that must have groped me at the club, and I beat the kids and throw up and go to bed wishing the kids had a father.
I got used to uncle and his friends. I got used to dancing for them as their eyes took in my undeveloped eight year old body.
At eight, I got used to their lengths and smell; dancing at night with large eyes on my flat backside.
From eight I fell for those words, an unholy desire awakening in me when I hear them
"Strip her"
Little wonder I'm a stripper, right?
But I don't want my kids like that.
Me, I don't know if there is much help for me. I can't see any help for me. I just want the kids fine I just want the kids fine.
I'm a stripper at the local club. I have three kids: Tessy, the oldest, 14; Kaycee, 12; and Lace, she's 10.
I don't know why I'm doing this. Maybe it's because I'm tired of holding it all in; maybe it's because I've done all I know to. Maybe it's because I don't want the kids to turn out like me. I'm tired of hearing people say "You shouldn't be a mother; you don't deserve those kids"
The kids attend at the local school and it kills me every time Lace runs back home to tell on her teacher. He'd grope her and say "the stripper's daughter. Can you dance like your mum?"
And It astounds me every time Kaycee wears my make-up, wig and hills and he'd always wear his sister's clothes.
Tessy, She's all so grown up already. I beat her again yesterday. I know she's doing our neighbour, but she won't admit.
But isn't this all my fault? Maybe it is.
I don't even know how to raise them, or how not to. Sometimes I want to just protect them, other times I hit them; fine, I hit them a lot. I don't know any other way.
You know I'm still confused as to why I'm doing this. But I heard the Pastor of the local church across our house say, "admittance is the first step to repentance."
I didn't have a childhood, myself
I'm trying to give my kids what I never had. But I don't know, I don't think I'm doing it right"
When I turned eight dad died. Mum was a drunk and a slut dad tried to ignore.
Dad was a good man, bless his soul. He never hit mum, I wonder how he did that. I was their only child; he would take me to my room and lock us there when mama was drunk and would bring some haggard looking men to her and dad's room. Dad would cry as he held my hand asking me to pray. I wouldn't know what to say. He'd hug me and call me beautiful.
After papa died, I had to stay with my uncle, papa's brother. He was nothing like papa.
He'd come into my room with his friends when his wife was out. He'd say to one of them "Strip her!" Then they'd make me dance and then go in, in turns at me.
I'd cry all night after they'd left. I still do after I come home drunk, feeling sore from all the hands that must have groped me at the club, and I beat the kids and throw up and go to bed wishing the kids had a father.
I got used to uncle and his friends. I got used to dancing for them as their eyes took in my undeveloped eight year old body.
At eight, I got used to their lengths and smell; dancing at night with large eyes on my flat backside.
From eight I fell for those words, an unholy desire awakening in me when I hear them
"Strip her"
Little wonder I'm a stripper, right?
But I don't want my kids like that.
Me, I don't know if there is much help for me. I can't see any help for me. I just want the kids fine I just want the kids fine.
From Sleek Revealtor: Thanks for reading this story till the end. If you liked it, share with someone who would too, and please do comment in the comment section.
Model: Nimi Ngiangia
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