Chapter 1

My parents must have been drunk or on drugs when they named me. Can you imagine calling a baby girl Fanny? Not Francis, but Fanny, a shortened name for Francis, go figure. I’m an ass in America or a pussy in England, according to slang. Now I understand why other kids teased me so much in my early life and with the surname of Osgood. I have the unfortunate initials of F.O.

Often teased by the boys with an English background when they say, “Fanny, show us your Fanny.” Resulting in them getting a punch to the face, similar to the boys with American knowledge when they say, “Can I put my meat in your Fanny?” That left me in trouble with the principal again. Either suspended or detained for a week. Mum didn’t care. She was a drunken no-hoper.

I never knew my father. I’m probably the result of a one-night stand or some ill-gotten fling Mum had. Since I can remember, it was a revolving door as far as men were concerned, with a new one coming to live with us for several months before moving on, with Mum living on social security, and whatever she could screw out of the men who came to stay.

We lived in the poor part of town. You know the type. Low socioeconomic area, the girls are cheap and easy. The boys are rough and tough. Well, not this chick. I’m not cheap, but I’m rough, and maybe that’s why I’m still a virgin at almost sixteen, unlike the other girls, with most of them having their cherries popped at fourteen.

In my second year at high school, year eight, I called myself, and anyone who met me for the first time, Naf, by using part of my Christian name. Yeah, so cool. That was neat, giving me the revised initials of N.O. Naf off, yeah, that was really smart of me. However, the teachers and older students called me Fanny.

Mum’s latest guy had been around like a bad smell for a year. His name is Antonio. Maybe Mum liked the name, but to me, he was a Dropkick, pissing his wage away every Friday night after work at the pub and not getting home until eight-thirty, reeking of beer, demanding his dinner.

Then, on Saturday, he would spend the afternoon at the TAB (Totalisator Agency Board) betting on the horses, always looking for the big winner that never came. When he came home later that night, drunk again, I would hide in my bedroom as he slapped Mum around, fearful he might hit me. She was his punching bag, and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t throw him out.

With Mum not having a lot of money, I wasn’t expecting anything for my sixteenth birthday, so when she gave me my birthday card with fifty bucks inside before going to school, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

“Wow, Mum, thank you so much for the fifty. So cool. Awesome, like It’s more than I expected.”

What she said next almost made me vomit.

“I had no money, so Antonio gave me the fifty so I could give it to you as a present.”

Man, that was so disappointing that her Dropkick boyfriend gave me the fifty through her. Why didn’t she make out it was from her, or not give me anything? I know we’re broke.

That evening, we had a birthday party for three: Mum, me, and Dropkick. Although still underage, Mum gave me a vodka cruiser to drink with tea, and after the first, Dropkick got me a second. Wow, my first taste of grog, what an effect it had. I quickly lost any inhibition as my head became fuzzy.

The drinking continued, and by this time, Mum was drinking straight vodka, glass after glass. Dropkick kept filling it up every time it was empty and continued to ply me with more grog. By the time ten came around, Mum had passed out on the lounge, and she didn’t look pretty with her mouth and legs open, the top three buttons of her top undone, and arms by her side. She looked a real tart.

After falling asleep in the chair, I dragged myself to bed with my head spinning and feeling drunk. I stripped off, leaving my panties on, put on my nightie and climbed into bed. The room spun when I closed my eyes. Oh shit, this didn’t feel good. The door opened, and Dropkick came inside, put his hand over my mouth and said, “Don’t you dare scream, or you’re dead meat.”