sticking it to the man

My father was a single dad. He raised my siblings and I by himself. Reason was probably because almost each one of us had his/her own mother. We were 7. Dolling out all the affection in equal quantities was not easy I imagine. Coz I saw some of my sisters get by ignored. Anyway, I was lucky to be among the favorites but even then, there were things I could not get away with. But one day it happened. And since then, I had my father on a short leash.

He had two beds in his bedroom. The second bed was for each one of us to sleep in when we got sick so he could keep an eye on us, but he also used it as a ploy to throw us off when he brought a lady friend that stayed the night. Infact, in the morning, said lady friend would slide into second bed to make it all believable. Not that we believed it or anything, but he carried on the charade. And we played along.

 So this one time, I was sick, and as usual I slept in daddy’s bedroom. The old man had gone out like he did most Saturday nights. And like he usually did when he went out, he came home with a certain lady friend, and as all men who bring back lady friends from the bar do, he proceeded to take advantage of her. So you know how when you are sick sleep does not come easily? I was wide-awake the whole time. I heard it all! I also heard the whispers and heard too when lady friend snuck out at just before sunrise.

Right after the deed was done, dad came over to where I was sleeping to take my temperature and check on me and all that, but I acted dead. Next morning he asked how I was feeling, and whether I had slept well at which point I tell him I was not feeling well at all and that I had hardly slept at all

 “What do you mean you could not sleep? Does this mean you heard me when I came in last night?”

And I nodded yes with a gleam in my eye…

 After that day, he made sure I had everything I ever asked for

Now that I know that manipulation works, I think that is the trend this blog is going to follow. That means I am going to gather information on each one of you that I can use to my advantage.

Now that that’s out of the way, I will come clean on this ka one fib I might have told. Remember how I said my dad abandoned me? Well, he came back that day and pretended to love me for who I was. But unbeknowst to my mum, the evil man had plans that he would later introduce me to;

Well, every so often, my dad would tell me what a handsome chap(he loved that word) I had turned into. So when I was about 7, he convinced me beyond reasonable doubt that he could change me into a boy. I hear he knew of a great factory that turned gals into boys. I believed him. My dad would never lie to me. Consequently, I got into a lot of fights at school beating up anyone who ridiculed my father’s plan. And I promised all the girls that I would ‘show’ them once I was made into a proper boy.

Father never took me.

My brother came 2 years later.

I got used to the idea of being a girl all my life.

I am a girl.

Okay so like starting this blog, starting me was not easy. You see, my father and mother were not supposed to get together. They call it cross-generational sex I believe. My mother was in S.2 when she met my father. My father was her history teacher. They fell in love. Or rather my father charmed her with his good looks, suave words, and a distinct swagger, and my mother could not resist. So she fell in love. And so did my father.

They thereafter started sleeping together. Yes, I am afraid. My father and mother had sex. So anyway, they slept together the first time and had my sister whatshername. Then they slept together again and had my other sister whatsherothername. I guess they stopped misbehaving, because there is no evidence of their ever sleeping together again for four years. Because you see, that is when I happened along. I think they fought and shit during that four-year gap and then I was a result of make-up sex. Now, you would think that because I was a result of a love, my parents would feel like that about me. But no!

A story is told, of how on the day my mother brought me back from hospital, just as she was approaching, my dad asked the first people of the entourage (because you see, those days there were no mobile phones and he could not call ahead), “what did she produce?” and they said “a girl.” My father took to his heels. I wonder what had happened to all that love they had had going the night they had made me. Anyway, so there I was. A girl. Who would one day open a blog and hope that anyone reads it.

Oh please read it. Please. I beg you. Please read me. I cannot be rejected again. Don’t be like my father who took off from me. i cant handle that kind of pressure. I hope that kind of persuasion (read, manipulation) works