I was dozing on the couch in the living room at home, not really tired, but it was a wet, cold Saturday morning, which didn’t give me any incentive to do anything or go anywhere. I must have drifted off.
My Auntie Allie came back from shopping and gently shook me awake. She’s my all-time favourite auntie.
“Wake up, Anna dear. I bought you an ice cream on my way home; your favourite.....chocolate.”
I sat up a little groggily and smiled at her as I took the ice cream from her. It was one of those really old-fashioned ice cream cones with a round conical wafer base and a scoopful of chocolate on top, the kind that I used to love when I was about ten or eleven years old.
What am I talking about? I AM eleven years old, aren’t I? Of course I am. I can tell because I’m wearing a Sailor Moon outfit and my hair is in pigtails.
I loved to give those old-time cones a good licking. I started at the base of the spherical blob of chocolate and I licked slowly and sensuously upwards and sideways, carefully twirling the biscuit in my right hand until the sphere had become a small peak with a pointed top. Then I licked straight upwards all around the creamy construct until the soft confection was shaped into an elongated slender tapered end which began to flop over and threaten to slip sideways. This is when I attacked it from the top, pursing my lips into an “O” and lowering them over the very summit and sucking it slowly into my mouth, truncating the little mountain as I gradually brought my lips together.
In glorious slurps I repeated this process until most of the ice cream above the biscuit was gone, leaving just a slightly convex shape protruding above the cone. I then transferred my attention to the rim of the biscuit and delicately nibbled my way around its circumference, thus exposing more of the ice cream concealed within so that I could lick the soft creamy confection away, licking my lips in absolute ecstasy as I wallowed and swallowed in depravity.
When I could finally no longer repeat my circumferential nibbling I bit a hole in the base of the cone, encased it within my lips and sucked the remainder of the ice cream out through the hole so that it jetted into my mouth, the final act being to crunch the wafer into smithereens and swallow the fragments. I cleaned the remnants of the sticky semi-liquid from my fingers with lascivious enjoyment.
I turned to thank Auntie Allie for the treat but she was nowhere to be seen. I wondered where she had gone but just then there was a knock at the front door. My parents had taught me that young girls must be cautious about letting in strangers so I took a look through the peephole in the door without opening it.
There was a man standing outside. I somehow knew he was like something evil out of a Stephen King story. He was short and very fat, with a beard and was wearing one of those hats with a peak over the eyes and a long white coat. The coat had one of those huge campaign-type buttons on it that said “I LOVE TRANNIES”. As I peeped at him he drew the front of the coat aside like any common flasher, revealing that he wore nothing underneath other than an enormous throbbing phallic erection . The Greek god Priapus would have been proud of it.
I gasped in horror at the enormity that was his penis, but I could not take my eyes away from it. He was evidently aware that I was on the other side of the door because he gave a wide “friendly” smile, which unfortunately exposed a set of shark-like teeth and the smile did not reach his eyes, which glittered coldly and greedily.
“Let me in Anna.” He spoke in a voice as smooth as butter. How did he know my name?
“I watched you eat that ice cream and I know you would enjoy doing the same to me,” and he grabbed his enormous tool in both hands and waggled it up and down before my terrified eyes.
I finally managed to back away from the door without replying to the monster outside. What is an eleven-year-old girl supposed to do in the face of something like that?
A sheet of paper came through the gap under the door, and against my better judgement I picked it up.
“Life is a beautiful picnic.” It said.
Another came through.
The message this time was,” I love trans-girls like you. I understand you.”
“I’m not a trans-girl,” I yelled. “I’m just a girl. Go away.”
“You can’t fool me, you sweet little thing,” a reply made hollow by the closed door between us.
A veritable storm of papers poured under the door.
“Life is a bowl of cherries.”
“I love your outfit but your skirt should be shorter.”
“I want your cherry.”
"Ice-skaters' outfits are cute, too."
“I’m from the Government and I’m here to help you.”
“I wonder if she’s a real girl?”
“The cheque’s in the mail.”
“Does she have periods?”
"I didn't hurt her. I only looked."
“Of course I’ll still love you in the morning.”
“I had permission; I swear it.”
“Plastic vaginas are as good as the real thing.”
“I never take your life too seriously.”
“You’re as good as a real girl.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Thank you for posting.”
“I know why you feel the way you do.”
“If you want a predator, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“I’m always looking for weak girls.”
I was getting overwhelmed by this tornado of inanities, irrelevance and obscenities and felt like vomiting while I cringed away from the door.
“Go away!” I screamed, but the stream of messages continued unabated and he began to hammer on the door.
He burst through, grabbed me, and began to shake me violently. Slime dripped from his hands onto my skin like acid and drool sprayed out from that shark’s mouth. His breath stank like rotten meat.
“You’re a T-Girl and you’re mine now. T-Girl! T-Girl! T-Girl! Not a REAL girl…a T-Girl!”
I awoke to find myself in Auntie Allie’s arms. She had shaken me awake because of my screaming.
“There, there, luvvie. It’s all right. It was only a dream.”
But I knew it wasn’t. It was a daymare and I would never be able to escape that awful spectre.
Comments
Daymare
Where did she learn such a horror?
May Your Light Forever Shine
"Not a REAL girl…a T-Girl!â€
Know that feeling well.
Yeah, I never been a fan of that label
I may be a T-girl, but I wouldn't go through a transition just to be a T-girl. It's like you're not good enough to be the real deal. I spend my life wanting to be a girl, and rather be accepted as such. Some people use the term T-girl as a form of pride. I feel like it's segregating me from the rest of the female community.
A special friend to make a special girl feel special
Why do I always wind up reading the weird ones?
A funny if horrific satire. That kind of prurient obsessive interest with a girl and the status of her parts that probably sees itself as supporting and accepting, without realizing how damned patronizing and demeaning it is. And aside from the OTT wagging around of his prodigious manhood, I suppose it is better than the violent hatred of the evil tg-hating thugs ("LET US TEACH THIS TRANNIE FREAK WHAT IT IS TO BE A REAL TWAT!") from another type of cautionary story. But the sad part is your nightmare- uh, daymare assailant with his deluge of hoaky Post-It notes would no doubt see himself as a supporter of special girls, ever ready to remind us of our specialness, and crazy as it sounds might possibly not even recognize himself in a tale like this if he read it...
~~welcome, new author! Veronica
.
Now I want ice cream.
"Government will only recognize 2 genders, male + female,
as assigned at birth-" (In his own words:)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1lugbpMKDU
The mark of 'good' satire?
...you almost have to struggle to see that it isn't true; the way things are woven together in this piece it feels 'real!' The horror that actually happens in real life crafted together with the fancifully creepy feel of many horror stories. As the notes slid under the door, the one that I expected to see, since many of the words paralleled my experience?
"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. I'll just look."
The excuse that was both true and false at the same time, as if my uncle's perverted voyeurism was something 'safer' for me and my sister than the actual physical acts. He even told my grandmother, and this is a new memory for me (don't worry, I'm okay) "It's alright...I never touched them!" It's hard and probably more than a bit odd for some to witness, but I'm thankful that Annalise posted this today.
Love, Andrea Lena
Young girls
'learn such horrors from the deviates who prey on them,the deviates who defile
them,the deviates who like "a girl who is different"! They are the deviates who
hang around schools and get their 'rocks off' by watching children,the same ones
who frequent chat rooms and other sites on the net.There is a place for them,it
just hasn't been dug yet! Please don't believe that it can't happen to us,so be
aware and report anything you feel is untoward.Thank you Annalise.
ALISON
Should I Laugh Or Cry?
How do you skewer a target that doesn't seem to know it's a target? Neatly written first story,
Hugs,
Theresa
THERESA99
Is Monty Python A Snake?
I resemble that remark. There must be absolutely no reflection in the mirror for this monster.
I do like that Stephen King imagery. It summons up that dreadful clown, laughing and jolly on the outside, pure evil inside,
Joanne
Absolutely...
BRILLIANT!!!
Da Brat
This nightdaymare is too creepy!
The notes are almost a dream representation of grooming a child to be molested. With a child who almost seems unacceptable but for the kind gentleman? Disgustingly real.
Where indeed, Stan? This horrible daymare is not unlike some
of the horrible nightmares and daymares I have had through the years, since 1961. Not a real girl ... A T-Girl! Yes, I have been told that several, several, several times, and I am still reminded of my birth sex even today by certain homophobic family members. They are nice to my face, but as soon as they are away from me, they talk about me like I was a diseased cur dog.
This story is written with a very important message in it. Thank you for sharing.
"With confidence and forbearance, we will have the strength to move forward."
Love & hugs,
Barbara
"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."
the check is in the mail?
I liked it. Kind of a nice scare with real fears.