This story is true and only printed here to amuse me, or maybe more. The names have been changed to protect the guilty and forgotten...
The Swimmer
I don't like the water. I've always been a very private girl and I find the water oceans, streams, lakes, or pools to be very public environments. Manly because I have never been ignored in the water. As early as I can remember I have been fondled while in the water. Boys can be cruel to girls with certain body types. We often forget certain beauty attracts certain madness. I attempt to be blind of my own attractiveness, but while in the water...well there is no privacy. The Swimmer was a Fascist. For his own protection but also out of pure boredom. I became a Fascist out of a lifelong desire for Roman levels on industrialized torture. And also for the boots. For as long as I can remember the idea of wearing steal toe leather boots...well maybe it all will not be said.
The Swimmer enjoyed social experiments. Extreme Social Experiments. So he began to show me how the school world was similar to a concentration camp. With all the leaders and servants and captives. More details of this will be given in a later post entitled. "The Swimmer and The Master." What I did not know about the Swimmer when we began these Social Experiments was that well...why? Why was he a Fascist in the first place? Why did he feel he needed to protect my innocence at all cost? It was because someone had taken his. The entire performance was for this cruel little fat man...the swim coach.
I hate team sports really. I didn't always. I loved Soccer and Basketball, and Hockey. Sports of violence. Where you can really break a nose or two. The Swimmer told me he hated sports because of coaches and the other people involved. In the next post I will go into more detail, about how he taught me to never take a shower during P.E. and to always change my clothes in private in a bathroom stall. Protection of the female body above all else was strictly enforced by The swimmer. So I became his creation. In silence, as Fascism is always preformed.
Let's begin at this point to call The Swimmer, J. Why did J hate sports? Why did The Coach who taught our non sports related class always push us around and bully us? Why did he take our very private letters and tell J. he would talk to him about them in private...later? Where was later? I had no clue. What I do know is that one day after The Coach took our letters and told J. he would speak about this later, things between us changed. They became more extreme. J. became more violent. The Experiments became public and brutal, (more details to follow). Next time The Coach attempted to bend my little girl hand back and take our letters, J. stood up to fight him. We held on to the letters as J. threw himself on top of me and The Coach threw himself on top of J and started beating him. Right there in front of everyone. J. looked me right in my eyes and told me to eat the letter. Since our Experiments had covered me eating all sorts of strange objects (i.e. orange rinds, the industrial size napkins from inside of the girls bathroom, pins, erasers, and other such strange items). I seriously think he made me eat tape once. But I diverge. I had no problem just eating all three pages we had been sending back and forth between us. The point is we were kid fascists and this adult Fascist was not going to get always with trying to control us. Or so I thought. The Coach told J. he was going to really have to explain this later. J. did not give a fuck and since I knew he hated sports there was no way The Coach could do anything to him anyway. Right.
The next day it seems, but maybe it was some time the same week. My friend, lets just call her, L. Invited me to go to one of her swim practices. I knew my friend L. loved to swim and was confident and good at it. Since I have my previous phobia to public water I never supported her in her sport. I jumped at this opportunity to go see her. After all she was the real Mermaid and all. What I did not know and what L. did not reveal until the last minute, is that her coach was going to be picking us up and taking us to the meet, or practice or whatever the fuck. I got nervous when L. told me we were going to be walking shortly down the block from her place to meet her coach. Because I did not know him and I hated coaches now after having to deal with The Coach abusing J. and myself on a daily basis, and disrupting our Sexual Social Experiments. The Coach was always trying to convince me to become a fucking Cheerleader, so I figured he must have been the stupid Football Coach. J. always told me to ignore him when he requested private talks with me about my very personal letters to J. that he had forced J. to hand over to him. He sometimes found time to talk to me about his goals for me as a mini skirt wearing Cheerleader and J. always found time to pull me away from him right before...I don't know what.
When L.'s coach pulled up to let us in the car. I think I might have actually thrown up when I saw that her coach was The Coach. My only thought as I climbed into his car was that, A. he has read all of J's and my personal words, and B. does he fucking coach everything? Because in my mind this asshole had to be the football coach. The way he bullied J. it just had football written allover it. I wanted to run and grab L. and tell her everything. But what would it mean to her at this point? I didn't even understand. I believe at one point she told me he requested that I come with her to this meet or practiced or whatever the fuck. I was thinking the whole way there, why the fuck?
Once I got to the school. The God awful institute of education and brutality. I waited for L. to get dressed, or undressed as swimmers do. While she was in the locker room or what have you The Coach wanted to talk to me. Understand I had avoided him all semester and now I was alone with him and in public. What the fuck and of course he wanted to finally talk to me. For what, I wondered? When the boy swimmers came out I was in a sort of state of shock to see J. there is his Speedo. Like what? He was a swimmer. The Fascist, who never allowed me to wear less then six items of clothing including a collar was a fucking swimmer. And captain crazy who left me bruised way too often from snatching letters out of my hands was his coach. Fade to black because at this point I was ready to pass out. Like for real. I mean the implications. I mean the everything. They knew each other intimately the entire time. This old man knew everything. Because J. had showed him and at this point it was clear, obviously told him everything. What level of perversion is this?
I could go through all of my emotions at this point. To tell you how afraid I was. How I was trapped and J. was trapped and how L. never even knew any of this, or how I could not even begin to...well process the idea of it all. I wanted to run, but to where and to whom? The Coach took me to the side and began to explain what he wanted me there for. He told me he wanted me to see J. He asked me to explain what I saw. To tell him what I though about J's body. All I could really do was cry. So I cried. It was like no one even knew I was crying but I fucking cried as The Coach begin to explain to me what he thought about J's body and to remind me I could still become a cheerleader and all the benefits that would come with such an opportunity. I looked at the place and I just wanted to be Drew Barrymore so I could burn the whole thing down with my eyes. But instead I cried. Fade to red. I can not even remember how I made it back home. At some point J. came up to me to see what I was doing there and what the coach had been talking to me about. But he could tell by my face and I can tell by his he was terrified. By my presence? What if anything was he putting up with during those private talks about our letters? Fade to gray...I never went back to the class I had with The Swimmer again. I still wore his collar and the piercings he gave me. He began to withdraw more from the public places at school. I began to cover up even more than he taught me. But that could be attributed to The Master. He will be introduced in part II. "The Swimmer and The Master."
- Angel Lisa
No comments:
Post a Comment