Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual, Sister, BDSM, Light Bond, Sex Toys, Babysitter, .
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is the story about Taylor Swift - No, not THAT Taylor Swift. Just a girl who shares the same name and her life in Cherry Lawn Estates. It has a slow build to set up the characters.
My Name is Taylor Swift – No, Not THAT Taylor Swift
Reader’s Note: This is Taylor Swift’s journal, adapted for reading, detailing the events around October 7th (Friday) 2016. The family moved in to 222 Cherry Lane in Cherry Lawn Estates just over 4 months ago and Taylor attends Cherry Lawn High in the 10th grade.
“My name is Taylor Swift – No, not THAT Taylor Swift.” I’ve said it almost every day of my pathetic, miserable existence. I wasn’t named after one the most popular female contemporary singers in the world. I was about six when THAT Taylor became a famous and well known celebrity.
It did, however, profoundly affect my life, because suddenly everyone asked me if I could sing or dance or why didn’t I look like Taylor or didn’t I just love all her music; and why won’t I just love to choke to death on how sugary-sweet her well-manicured image as a pop star is and become a super fan?
It started with giggles and chuckles in elementary school when the teacher would call my name. “Taylor Swift? Do you know the answer on the board? And while you’re at it, why don’t you sing a little of ‘Teardrops on my Guitar’ for us?”
Then came the jokes at my expense, and girl’s inviting me to parties just to say that “Taylor Swift” was coming to THEIR birthday party.
I started to be known as “That’s not my name” and “Don’t call me that” as I rejected the Taylor name and everything about it. I even begged my parents to legally change it, but to no avail—they just grinned and said that a lot of people have famous names. My dad told me that his father was named Jonathon Swift – after the Irish author of Gulliver’s Travels.
Who the fuck cares about Gulliver’s Travels?
I evolved into what could be considered the mirror-opposite of THAT Taylor Swift. I dye my hair black and wear heavy make-up. I am constantly trying new outfits – most of my clothes are dark and I wear a lot of skinny jeans, punk rock shirts, pleated skirts, Doc Marten boots, black converse sneakers, and things you may find at Hot Topic. I would never be caught dead shopping IN Hot Topic (a poser store at the mall).
I just order online with Mom’s credit card! All it took is standing behind her on the PC a few times and pretending to be interested in recipes or macramé or whatever dumb thing she’s into this week to get the number. She has her head so far up Dad’s ass, she doesn’t seem to notice my charges. I once got away with ordering a 500 dollar pair of Jimmy Choos (sneakers). I felt a little guilty about that because we aren’t exactly rich but hey it’s on a credit card – my parents have time to pay it back.
If I were to describe myself physically I would not say I look anything like the actress Ariel Winter from Modern Family. That is because I hate that cute bitch. I follow her on Instagram and have seen everything she has ever been in and I actually do look a lot like her. She definitely has bigger boobs than me and a healthier more positive attitude about life but I get told I look like her about three times a day.
It could be worse – people could say I look like Miley Cyrus or Victoria Justice which my best friends Kimber and Summer get compared to just as frequently. I think boys are awkward and usually have no game so they think saying you look like somebody else who is famous must seem like a compliment to dumbasses like them.
I listen mostly to singers nobody has ever heard of that are always mad at their dads. I also like Primus, Policy of 3, Weezer, Radiohead, and Tool, but if you ask me, I’ll say “No way, fuck you,” because I wouldn’t admit to anything mainstream.
My room is filled with Cure, Misfits, Danzig posters and also cute ones like Adventure Time and Rocko’s Modern Life because honestly I love to keep people guessing.
My attitude is pure and essential snark and sarcasm. I’m the kind of girl that Wonka would drop down the bad-egg chute. I enjoy a bad reputation but I don’t fuck around or flash my tits like the dumb slut cheerleaders at my school. They act all goody-goody American Apple Pie and then half the time they’re out showing what they have in a desperate attempt for validation from some boy.
I don’t need any of that and I’ve never looked for it. I’ve also never been in juvenile detention. I’m down for getting into shenanigans, but I’ve never actually been in a fight – I just look like I can kick ass and most people leave me alone. I’ve done a little shoplifting here and there, but never touched drugs or booze in my life. I look like someone who would, and when I get offered it I just say “That shit? I vowed never again” or mention something about mandatory drug testing.
The truth is – I simply have no interest in getting high, checking out or being out of control of my senses.
I don’t play video games like my two brothers and I’m not a nerd like them either. I seldom even avow their existence or their relationship to me. My oldest brother goes to Cherry Lawn with me – his name is Donny and he has a standing order not to come within 20 feet of me at any time or I’ll spit poison in his eye. He’s tall, shy and I can’t tell if he’s smart or just really good at pretending he is.
My youngest brother just started Cherry Lawn. Scotty’s a little bit of a trouble maker but not like me. He’s always coming up with schemes and practical jokes. He has red spikey hair and of all my siblings he is tolerable. I still don’t like him or want him sitting with me at lunch talking about Pokemon Go or whatever his latest obsession is. When he tries (and he often does) I just tell him to “Pokemon Go the fuck away.”
That leaves my little sister who’s still in middle school. She’s the apple of my parent’s eye and they spoil the shit out of her. I call her a brat and a twerp, but truth be told she isn’t jaded yet by the world like me. She’s blonde and tall for her age – which means most boys her age are a little intimidated. She actually does look a lot like Taylor Swift and loves her music, which only makes her that much more annoying for me to be around.
My parents Tom and Joanne are the typical suburbanite couple. My dad does something for a living – I couldn’t tell you what. I’m sure he’s talked about it at dinner a number of times, but I can’t stop rolling my eyes long enough to give a shit about it. My mom is a stay-at-home mother, except now that we’re almost grown it doesn’t make any sense to me. It seems like a lazy way to sit around and drink white wine all afternoon.
My father is handsome and gregarious with dark hair and well-tanned skin. He works out – but he still looks like a “Dad” to me. My mother is blonde and is sometimes compared to the actress “Connie Britton“ – so if you have Google you can figure out what that looks like if you are so inclined.
We moved here to white-bread Middle America just 4 months ago. We came from Texas where everything’s bigger—including the assholes! I have moved around so much I can’t tell you where exactly I am from and I’m not sure I really care to be from anywhere. I know I don’t want to be FROM Cherry Lawn though. The people are stuck-up, obsessed with material wealth and status and shallow as hell.
Here are some highlights from my past to round out my past before I get into telling you my story.
Whenever I want to cheer myself up I give myself a make-over and discover a new shade of smoky eye-shadow. Then I find a nerdy loser and give him ga-ga eyes. I don’t say a word but I build him up with facial expressions. I wait until I have him on the hook, and he thinks I am going to lean in to kiss him, to tell him how bad his breath smells and offer him a tic-tac.
I like to rub my brother’s toothbrushes in my ass crack for a full 30 seconds in the morning and then put it back on the tray in our bathroom. I’ve been doing it since I was in 3rd grade every school day and most of the summer.
I like to tell homeless people to “get a job” and ask “why don’t they just borrow some money from a bank?”
I don’t smoke but I like to bum a cigarette from a pretentious art-house douche only to throw it away and tell him I just quit smoking and it’s a nasty habit.
I like to shoplift just for the thrill of it sometimes. The adrenalin running through my veins is pretty intense. I’ve never told anybody this- not even the only two people I consider “friends” and I use that term loosely. My friends Summer and Kimber are about the only ‘cool’ kids at my school.
If someone tries to dress Goth or Emo and comes up to me and starts talking about something like vampires or David Bowie or whatever they think I’d like to hear - I tell them “I’m not impressed” and suggest they stop being such a poser.
I have secretly farted at the dinner table every night we sit down as a family to eat and then with a straight face pretend not to be amused when my brother and sisters laugh and blame each other. I have actually stormed out as I I called them emotionally immature and all the while thinking that the drama I create is funny.
I secretly watched the Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn countless times and I love that series. I pretend I’ve never seen it. I actually own the books but I would never tell you where I hid them (next to the bodies).
I once sold our Wi-Fi password and my parent’s Netflix password to all the neighborhood kids in our old neighborhood. The best part was watching them try to figure out “Okay, who watched Human Centipede and Clockwork Orange?” when they saw what Netflix recommended for them.
I created a fake profile of a hot but crazy chick ten years older than myself on Tinder. Then I set up a date with a quiet, shy, geeky dork of a guy in his twenties and let him take me to dinner with no intention of doing anything but free eats. I did my make up in such a way that he had no idea I was still a teenager. I got to eat free at Olive Garden and act like an old crazy bitch – double win! I think I was both flattered and amused he bought my fake persona which was really ancient (26 years old).
I stole candy from a baby once. I am kidding of course – but who gives actual candy to a baby? Babies don’t even have teeth and need nutrition. I don’t know what you feed babies, but it’s probably not candy.
So now that you know some of my extra-secret secrets, and I’ve established that I am kind of a selfish bitch and proud of it, let me tell you why I started this journal.
It all began last week when I came home from school. I love art class, but it’s one of my last periods of the day and I love cutting school even more.
I swung the door open and marched into my living room. I find that if I storm into the house with an angry expression my mom will most likely not ask me how my day went. I don’t actually care if she knows how my day went – I just don’t like wasting my time with small talk.
Today I would not be so lucky.
“Hi, dear,” she said. My mom was in the kitchen preparing some dish for this evening in her customary apron and rubber gloves. “How was your day?” she said in her customary but annoyingly uplifting tone.
“Shitty as usual,” I said. When Mom prompted me to elaborate, as I knew she would, I added “We had a suicide and someone went on a shooting rampage,” with as serious an expression as I could muster.
“That isn’t true, dear,” she smiled, knowing that despite my serious expression that this was my way of joking.
“Wishful thinking,” I said.
“You’re home awfully early,” she observed, asking if it was early release today.
“Yes, that’s what it was,” I said as I picked up an apple from a tray in the living room and bit into it.
“You’ll spoil your dinner,” mom warned me but didn’t take it from me. “We’re eating early tonight, and remember, you promised to babysit for our neighbor across the street.”
“Ugh, is too late to tell them I’ve got a case of the menstrual cramps and I’m like really pregnant or something?” I complained – I genuinely had forgotten I agreed to babysit a few weeks ago, despite my mother reminding me several times since then. I don’t enjoy babysitting – I only agreed because they offered cold, hard cash and to get my mom to shut up about asking me.
“Aren’t the Vulgus’s like fifty or something?” I asked if they’re too old to need a babysitter anyway. “Their kid is probably older than me!”
“You’re sitting for their grandson and they’re counting on you.” She wasn’t going to argue with me.
“What do they have to do?” I quipped, “Old folks’ bingo at the senior center?”
“It’s none of our business,” mom said but she mentioned that my brothers would be out as well at a basketball game and that only left me to do it. “Where are your brothers? Shouldn’t they have gotten out of school at the same time?”
“They take the short bus so it’s probably slow,” Yes - I just made a joke about how mentally-retarded kids’ buses are ‘slow’.
“That’s absolutely horrible and I don’t want to hear you EVER say anything like that again.” My mom gave me the same frowny face of disappointment whenever I showed my dark humor. She knew very well that her words were in vain and that I’d say whatever offensive thing that came to my mind if it pleased me.
I rolled my eyes and she told me to walk and feed the dog because it was my turn.
“The people who had this house before us kept their mutt outside on a chain all day.” I suggested that there was ample shade and a fenced in back yard on the patio and we should as well.
“I don’t know who does that,” my mother shook her head. She considered pets “part of the family” and our yellow Labrador lived inside – usually in the living room, stinking up things. “They get ticks and fleas outside.” She told me to go walk Sandor right now.
Sandor Clegane – my brother is a Game of Thrones fan and he named our dog for “The Hound” from that story. I know – it’s lame. The Dog answers to Sandor, Clegane, Dog, Pup, and “Dumbass” when I call him.
“Here Dumbass!” I patted my hands against my short-black skirt. It’s the one with skulls and Scottish tartan plaid trim. I’ve got about 17 skirts just like this one in my closet. The dog came bounding with his tongue hanging out, happily anticipating for me to walk him.
“I really wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Mom said, “especially in front of your sister.”
“She’s in middle school now,” adding that she probably hears and says a lot worse every day.
“Well, you could at least take the dog collar from around your neck and put it around Clegane’s neck. It would look a whole lot more appropriate there,” she suggested.
“You’re such a prude,” I said as I clipped the leash to the dog. I have a collection of leather collars I’ve been wearing since before I was Janie’s age sitting on my dresser. Shiny black ones, lace mesh, spiked ones – but the ones I like the most are the tough dog-style collars. They seem to get the most raised eyebrows whenever we go out.
I was about to walk the dog when my sister came bounding in with a skip and a tra-la-la ending in a curtsy.
“Speak of the devil,” I handed my sister the leash and told her Clegane TOLD me he wanted her to walk him.
“No way, it’s not my turn!” My little sister stuck her tongue out at me and scrunched her nose up like a spoiled princess.
“Mom, can I punch her in the face now? Or do I have to wait until you aren’t looking?” I was teasing, of course, but my deadpan expression left a little doubt in my sister’s mind that I could actually be serious.
“How was school today, Janie?” Mom ignored my question while my brothers came walking in right behind Janie, looking towards me with looks of disgust. I had walked home but still beaten them on the bus by a good 15 minutes.
“A boy was drawing an elephant,” Janie smiled real big, “but it didn’t look like an elephant!” she said.
“What did it look like, dear?” Mom asked with a slightly patronizing but encouraging tone.
“A penis!” she shouted as she raised her arms high above her head as if drawing from powers on high to expand upon her story.
“How would you even know what a penis looks like?” Scotty my younger brother joked. I chuckled – good point.
“You know!” She said that boys are always trying to draw a penis at her school.
“What on earth goes on at school these days?” Mom made a mental note to hold a parent-teacher conference to get to the bottom of it. My mother has a tendency to over-think and over-explain everything – and she definitely has a tendency to over worry about things like that.
“Wait ‘til you get to high school,” I teased my sister, adding that boys will try to get you to touch it then.
“Gross!” Sis lowered her eyebrows and scrunched her nose in disgust again – mugging like a cute little elf. It made me sick how adorable she could be.
“How about you?” Mom asked my youngest brother how his day was. I was getting bored holding the dog, but I kept thinking if I stand here long enough one of the others will walk him.
“How do bees fart if they have thorns sticking out of their butt?” Scotty asked with a turned-up smile while ignoring mom’s question.
“And on that note, I’ll walk the dog,” I suddenly decided a solitary walk outside the house was better than listening to the stories my brother and sister tell about whatever incessantly boring day they had at school, doing whatever inane and predictable things it is they do. I rarely ever listened, but when I did I liked to imagine a giant T-rex eating them – so I guess in reality I never really actually listen to anything they say.
When I came back inside after walking the mutt, my mom confronted me to ask if I had skipped school. “Your brothers aren’t aware that it was early release day. Did you skip school again?”
“What? I was told it was early release day!” I unclipped the dog and began to dramatically cry on cue. “Someone tricked me, Mommy!”
“Very funny,” Mom nodded, with no amusement on her face at all. “Your father and I will discuss your punishment tonight! You have got to stop doing that!”
“Oh no! You can’t be serious!” I dramatically shielded my eyes with my hand as I suggested she may take away television privileges. “I don’t know how to work the DVR or watch anything on Hulu. If you take away TV it’ll just devastate me!” I said with mock sincerity.
“One of these days you’re going to be held accountable for the things you say and do, and you really are definitely not going to like it,” Mom replied with her boring mom voice of constant nagginess.
“There may come a day when the prophecy comes to pass – but it is not THIS day,” I declared, dramatically quoting from some corny movie about elves and dwarves my brother Donny enjoyed.
“Yes, well...” I loved it when my mom backed down and changed the subject. “You know Halloween’s coming up and we’re all dressing up – even your father and I.” She asked if I had any ideas about decorations or a costume. “We hear that everyone around Cherry Lawn gets into it – not like our old place,” she smiled proudly.
“Yes, I’m going to dress up as a Hillary Clinton supporter!” I answered enthusiastically that I would get a Hillary wig and a vote for change sign.
“Oh really?” Mom seemed excited. She drives a Prius, cares about the environment and women’s issues deeply, is concerned about gun violence, and is a dyed-in-the-wool liberal.
“No, I’m going to dress like I always do – Halloween is for lame-ass losers,” I said just as my brothers and sisters were getting all excited to tell Mom the costumes they’ve chosen this year. “I mean you guys aren’t lame-ass losers for liking Halloween,” I smiled before adding, “you’re just lame-ass losers in general.”