That Girl and her Fairy Godmother

This is the second version because for some reason the first bit was reproduced half-way through in the original, sorry about that -- this should be it mind you...

This story started as a single concept and kind of got away from me, it's very long but that's the way it went.

A large part of it is by way of a suggestion that I have often written stories and thrown in the Army, so for all of the Air Force Boys and Girls, this one's for you. I thought about calling it 'Per Ardua Ad Astra' not just because of the RAF content but it's also kind of what our heroine does...

Here you go then.

The Poor start

My name is Tracy Oliver and I did sex. No two ways about that, in fact I was quite famous for it in my part of the world and there was a popular tale around the estate that if a bloke was really desperate for a fuck I was the girl.

I came from one of 'those families'. You know the ones; both parents on their second, third and fourth marriage, lots of children from various boyfriends or husbands, or girlfriends or wives.

My parents had been on their second relationships and I was child number three although and only met one of them.

I lived in various houses mostly with my Mum, the occasional week with my Dad and very occasionally grandparents. It was always busy, always noisy, and I rarely knew what it was to have an undisturbed night and I remember occasionally sharing a bed with a younger sister or brother. I grew up with one older sibling for a short while and a few younger. I rarely had much to do with my new step-dads, some good, some bad, none that memorable.

I'm not convinced my bat-shit crazy Mum really thought about any of her children as little people, I think she had watched some ephemeral bollocks on a daytime TV programme that children were this essential glue that kept a loving relationship together, something she needed to 'make this marriage the one, the one that worked, the one that was forever'.

Sadly she always fell in love with THE most inappropriate wankers imaginable but because of her amazing immaturity and overactive love gland she thought they were the real thing. The only one she never married was my Dad and much as it sticks in my throat to say it, he was actually the best of the bunch and that relationship lasted two years. That was pretty standard time for her and when it finally went wrong big style she was five kids for five, although four was a cot death. At that time my Grandma came to stay for a few weeks until Mum fell out with her and she went home to her one bed flat.

That was when I started changing stinking nappies, doing laundry and shopping, because, as far as my Mum was concerned such things were optional. People said that I shouldn't, but if I didn't no one did. My abiding memory of that time was when I fell asleep in warm afternoon classes and the first letter was sent home. It was still in my book bag the next morning when I went back to school because I had forgotten to take it out being busy arranging our three lunch boxes for the next day and putting my sisters to bed.

The school phoned and Mum said that she would ensure I got to bed on time. Mum tore into me when I got home and asked what was going on and why I'd hidden the letter. I explained that I'd forgotten it, but Mum wanted to know why I wasn't going to bed on time. I told her and she hit me.

I was sent to bed early with no supper but slept through. My lunch the next morning consisted of a packet of crisps, two slices of unbuttered bread and the scrunched-up juice box from the day before. I don't think it was her being mean, more her being incompetent.

Next day it was empty as I had thrown the empty crisp packet and juice box away in school and so I just drank the water from the fountain. The dinner lady saw this and gave me and my sisters sandwiches and a cake and promised not to tell. I knew there was no point in telling Mum that she'd forgotten as she'd only come up with some shit excuse and I'd get another slap for my trouble.

I got home and she was watching daytime TV again with new baby Connor howling and screaming in the kitchen. I went upstairs and tried to ignore it in the same way that Mum did. I couldn't.

I came down, lifted my brother out of the pram he'd grown out of three or four months before and changed his heaving nappy and looked around for a clean sleepsuit that would still fit him. There wasn't one. That morning we'd worn our school uniforms for the third day as well.

I found a whole mess of clothes that needed washing and took my sisters' school uniforms and loaded them in the washing machine just like Nanny had, separating the white shirts from the colours. I probably used too much powder and conditioner but two hours later and listening to Mum first shouting, then cooing, then shouting down the phone to one of her most recent ex, I emptied the machine and hung the clothes on radiators to dry for the morning. In the meantime, I made up our lunchboxes for the next day like I had done before. The day after the lunchboxes were a little light so I took Mum's card to school, drew out some cash (her PIN was written on the back) and shopped on the way home, all good so long as I didn't go mad.

The clothes were all dry and I folded them and put them into our rooms just like Grandma. I continued to do that for three and a half years.

On my twelfth birthday I got home with my sisters and Mum wasn't there. I guessed that she'd be home eventually as Connor and new Baby Tom weren't there. I made us all sandwiches for tea as we'd started to have free school dinners thanks to Grandma applying and not telling Mum. I was a bit upset that despite my sisters' excitement nothing was done for my birthday, but not really surprised. I doubt Mum had even thought about it.

Mum didn't come home so I put my sisters to bed, did my chores and waited. I woke up on the sofa at a little after three and still no sign of Mum so I went to bed, setting the old radio alarm. No sign the next morning so I did my thing and we walked to school like we normally did and I kept it all together, telling my two sisters that it was all fine, I did have to promise that we'd have my birthday party later.

Grandma came around three days after with my card and present as she had been trying to call and speak to me, but mum had our only phone with her and wasn't taking calls. My two little sisters were getting more and more upset at Mum's continued absence and it showed. Eventually little Jeanie cried to Nanny that we couldn't have Tracy's birthday party until Mummy got home. Grandma asked why we hadn't had it before. My other sister Tess put her hand over Jeanie's mouth and Grandma tumbled that something was up.

"Where's your mother?" said Grandma to me.

"Don't know..." I said.

"When did you last see her?" I tried so hard not to cry but eventually had to confess that I hadn't seen her since the day before my birthday. "and you've been here on your own all that time?"

"We've been to going to school and having baths an' hair washes Grandma," said Tessie, pointing at me, "Tracy done every'fing!"

Grandma looked at me, smiled and shook her head,

"Your big sister is a genuine hero Tessa," she said reaching out and stroking my cheek and seeing that I was scared I would get into trouble, "Don't you worry Tracy," she said, "I'll stay over tonight and in the morning we'll see if we can't find your Mummy."

She walked all three of us to school and told the headteacher that her daughter was missing and she would be staying with Tracy, Tessa and Jean for a few days until Mum was found.

Connor and Tom had been found in the toilets at the local Arndale Centre three days before and the police called. They went into emergency foster care and I never saw them again.

I could never work out where she went for nine weeks, prison or the mental health unit, and while my younger sisters went into care, I was given the choice and moved back with my Dad who I would stay with for two or three weeks of the year.

From Mummy's little helper to Estate Bitch.

I was in no rush to go home to Mum; after all that shit I did still love her but as well as the work of being a twelve year old housewife, I was sick of the constant downer that Mum appeared to be on and the brooding tension, and her ability to make everything that went wrong in HER life MY fault, it was uncanny. She rarely hit me, probably no more than four or five times, but it was the blame game she played, that was only when she wasn't totally ignoring me and all her other children of course.

So I went from the 'walking on eggshells' blame culture of Mum to the comedic irreverence of Dad's place and the total lack of control.

Step-mum Steph was attractive, curvy, always well dressed and made and had a busy social life that only occasionally involved Dad. She was often 'out' and thanks to the briefing her and Dad received from the social worker she knew that I was quite a domesticated little thing and would leave me notes asking if I could 'put a load of washing on' and just 'do that little bit of washing up in the sink'. This was made worse when I asked my Dad to help out and I was met with his usual 'yeah... yeah... yeah... I'll do it tomorrow... yeah' which became as infuriating as Mum's wobbly balance between vague indifference to manic control-freakery. As well as occasionally dirty clothes my three Oliver stepsisters were taking their terrible attitudes to school with them, and I became the unpopular one when I tried to impose some sense of order.

My eldest step-sister in this new house was Clarice, three years younger than me and developing sibling rivalry to an art form. Named after the character from 'Silence of the Lambs' she disliked me from the start and her hatred of me never lessened even though I occasionally cleaned her clothes and cooked her meals. She would throw clean clothes into the laundry to make more work and would throw her meals in the bin every now and again and make a big dramatic statement that she wouldn't feed food that bad to the 'effing dog - just to make a point.

The moment she took on the aspect of 'ugly sister' to my 'Cinderella' my willingness to help out with the housework dropped to almost nothing and I stayed in my room, not seeing Steph's little notes; if she left them on my bed I'd put my bag or my coat on them, even better put them in the bin and blame Clarice.

When eventually challenged I said 'as soon as Clarice does a load of washing then I'll do one as well'. Steph wasn't that pleased but even Dad said it was fair enough. Steph began to ask how Mum was getting on and how I must be really keen to get back to her. I found out from Grandma that Mum had been telling the police and then the social services that everything was my fault, I was violent, aggressive and lazy, caused trouble with my stepdads and that I wasn't welcome back. I overheard Steph asking my Dad if I shouldn't be sent back to social services if I was that bad, Dad didn't seem overly worried so I waited, getting my daily 'why don't you fuck off back to your own family' from Clarice.

I soon realised that my presence in either household was only regarded as optional.

I needed a family to be part of, and at the age of fourteen I found one.

Jackson's Park Estate had a gang, a loose conglomeration of around forty to fifty twelve to eighteen year-olds; sometimes mates, sometimes not, they drank, the smoked (tobacco and weed), a few punch-ups but mostly threats and life went on; we were the Jackson's Park crew, the Boyz and the Bitches. My best mate at school Jodie Blackburn was one of the Bitches and asked me to meet her in the park that evening and that was that.

There was normally a car knocking around the estate that could be started with a screwdriver, if there wasn't then the Jackson's Park Boyz would steal one, and so I learned the basics of how to drive, not worried about the police over much because thanks to the new austerity cuts, there just weren't enough of them to worry about. We ran the place.

As the hormones arrived we started everything else and the clinic on the estate did a roaring trade in various forms of contraception, and while the pill would have been the best form of defence I knew Clarice or one of my other siblings would find and steal mine then hide or throw away 'for a laugh', so I was a condom girl.

Just after my sixteenth birthday I got legal, and found if not love, then at least a Jackson's Park Estate version of it. Everyone 'did it'.

The end of that particular phase in my life came when I was a week shy of my eighteenth birthday and had been invited to a party and got quite pissed with my latest boyfriend, Tony. I say 'latest' because Crew relationships were a bit like that and boyfriends were a bit of a moveable feast. Tony and I had been boyfriend and girlfriend twice over and had broken up and it had been quite a feature on Facebook.

But we tried again (I had to because Tony was jealous and would threaten any bloke I was seen with) and after some very drunk dancing we headed out into the empty garden to cool off. Tony suggested with no real feeling that perhaps we should head into the darkness for a fuck.

I agreed, after all it was just sex. We tried to walk innocently. Hopeless, for every one of the other party guests in view and shouting distance howled and crowed.

I was wearing a tiny skirt and raised it and removed my tiny panties and lay back on the grass and let Tony do his thing. I had barely got into the process when he groaned his release and slumped across me. I pushed him off, grumbling about how quick it had all been -- but it was no surprise, he never had been a great lover and I reached over for my panties to pull on when he let our a loud snore having rolled drunkenly onto his back.

"Tony left you in the lurch Trace?" said a voice. It was Paul, one of our core group and he was stood a few yards away with a bottle of wine, swigging straight from it without a glass, "Want some?"

He handed me the bottle and I closed my knees to hide my embarrassment, my spare hand feeling around for my string. I took the bottle and swigged from it, it seemed quite strong for wine but I drank it anyway because that's what we did after all. In the park, in the town centre, sat on one of the tall graves in the cemetery; we drank, we made noise, got pissed then pissed off whoever was stupid enough to come past us; fuck society, we were the crew.

"So," Paul sat down and took his wine bottle back to take a swig, "you're looking pretty hot tonight I think Trace, Here..." he said raising the bottle back to my lips, "Have some more."

I can only remember Paul chatting to me quite sweetly and insisting that I finished what was left of the 'wine'. He would take a swig from the bottle and hand it to me, encouraging me to take a long pull. He smiled at me and I was feeling good, and a little sexy. I did quite fancy Paul and had never even made out with him; he was very good looking and paying little ol' me some attention...

I woke and felt that Tony had recovered and climbed back over me, or was it Paul?

When I came to my senses it was to find out that it was neither of them. I looked up into the face of a guy I barely knew, however he was on top of me and in me, fucking away to his heart's content.

It was a friend of Tony's, not even a very close one, so I pushed him off me snarling, and he complained.

"Oh come on Trace, you let three other blokes fuck you, what's up with me?"

I can vaguely remember sitting up and feeling a soreness around my puss, my top was rolled up and bra pulled up exposing my tits. I looked around and saw that Tony was further down the garden, and Paul was nowhere to be seen. My head felt really woozy and I struggled to stand up. I held out my hand for the almost stranger, a boy I only knew as Michael, to help me up. He slapped my hand away and I guessed it was the ringing jeers around the garden that were upsetting my disappointed lover.

"Fuck you Tracy you fucking slag, don't know why I even wanted to give you one after three other blokes had been there first."

There were some loud woohoo's from the distant audience, which was probably why he struck out at me and I felt the ringing slap on my face.

The pain in cheek was one thing and it didn't make it any easier to get my head straight; THREE boys?

What?

I looked around for panties and couldn't find them so stood as best as I could and pulled down and straightened my tiny skirt, automatically feeling for my bag which was still over my shoulder, the reassuring weight of my phone pressing against me. I staggered out of the garden and down a side passage and out on to the street. I had no idea of the time but the few cars driving around, mostly taxis made me think that it must be well after midnight. I got to the street corner and felt the world spin violently and before I knew it I was vomiting out whatever crap had been in the wine bottle, then everything else.

A passing car added to my misery as its passengers whooped at the display of my bottom and everything else as I bent forward, puking into someone's front garden. I stood again, felt partially better and restarted my plodding trek home -- wholly on autopilot.

I got home and found the place in darkness thankfully, and let myself in, made it to bed and collapsed on it still dressed, pulling the duvet up and over me.

My raging thirst woke me the next morning, and the throbbing of my hung-over head did little to help. Neither did my cow of a stepsister Clarice. While not strictly a Jackson's Park Bitch, she was working up to it and this seemed a perfect opportunity for her to rise in the ranks a bit.

"Fucking hell Trace, Facebook is buzzing with what you got up to last night!"

"What?" I tried to just focus on Clarice, not the smartphone she was pushing into my face.

"At Jaynie's party last night, everyone's talking about you. Paul Younger has a photo up of him and Danny Graysmill holding up that blue string of yours, look..."

Evidently Clarice was enjoying this, I'd never seen my chubby half-sibling this animated before,

I looked and there it was,

"Fuck brother!" the screen announced, "me and DANNY after sorting out party girl TRACY OLIVER just after TONY. MICKY got bunned off halfway through!" There I was in the background, comatose in the garden and virtually naked. I was to find out later that these pictures were emailed around the estate for weeks afterwards.

There was a virtual blog on how he had told his mates his plan and in the kitchen emptied a third of a litre of vodka into an empty Lambrini bottle, topped it up with lemonade and Apple juice and how I took very little encouragement to drink it. This was followed by some male comments on 'how much I liked it' and that they should have contacted all the Boyz to share that particular Friday night bounty - me.

I pushed her out of the way and went to the bathroom. While I was in there she joined in the fun and posted pictures of me out cold on my bed.

I've never forgotten that awful, miserable feeling sat in the Saturday morning health centre waiting room thinking that everyone would have seen Paul's Facebook page and I made eye contact with no one, until I was eventually called forward and into the treatment room. I looked at the nurse waiting for her judgemental stare.

"OK Miss Oliver, what can I do for you today?"

"I think I need a morning after pill."

"OK," said the nurse with a smile, "Can I ask when intercourse took place?"

"Last night," I spluttered.

"OK," said the nurse looking a little concerned, "Miss Oliver... can I call you Tracy?" I nodded, "I get the feeling that something is bothering you... please don't feel you have to answer this..." the nurse took a deep breath, "was the intercourse consensual?"