Posted by Barbanne on June 02, 2001 at 00:38:27:
IN THE BEGINNING.
When I think back it seems to me that it all started that day in school.
I have always been a smart mouthed little creep and often the throw away remark hops into my mind and then onto my lips without passing go. Afterwards I think "gawd that was rude" but by then its too late.
That day, in the school yard, I said something awful about Clarissa.
It just came out.
Thing is I like Clarissa and I really know she can't help being so fat and so, as my smart mouth shot off, I thought, "Jeez Barbanne you are a bitch!" but all too late.
Clarissa just lost it. I had so hurt and humiliated her that she just went wild. Wild and physical and she grabbed my hair and started pushing and shoving me and with her free hand she was raining punches at me. I got such a shock I couldn't fight back and just went with the flow but screaming and yelling and back pedalling like the true coward I am.
Clarissa's punches were largely ineffectual but she got lucky and one busted my nose and blood poured out.
Our school uniform was a longish tartan skirt (green) and a white shirt and long socks and sensible lace up shoes. As well there was a matching tartan jacket but of course I never wore that in the school yard.
Blood sprayed from my nose onto my white shirt and I squealed and went backwards and caught my heels on one of the really low seats the kindies used for their play lunch and over I went backward with my arms flailing. Clarissa held onto a chunk of my hair that ripped out and I landed WHUMP! on my back with my feet up on the seat and my skirt hoicked up and one sock down around my ankle and the other up and my bare legs on show and some cottontail panties displayed too.
I was winded and stunned and lying there thought "I'll teach her," and went limp with my eyes closed and my arms out and blood leaking from my nose and my shirt splattered with crimson.
"Oh God, you've killed her!" I heard Sally say.
"Barbanne, get up," Clarissa said in a whiney voice.
"She's dead," said Prue, "look at all the blood."
"She isn't moving," said Sally.
Then I heard Clarissa crying and I heard running feet and some of the boys called out.
"Look she's showing her legs."
"She's showing her PANTS!"
"What's wrong with her."
I heard Miss Carey's voice, "What's happening here. Oh heavens what's wrong with this girl?"
And then a whistle blew and Miss Carey pulled down my skirt and felt my pulse and called out, "She's not dead but she must be unconscious."
Then the school nurse's voice said, "Clear away children, clear away."
Then, "Bring the stretcher."
Then hands (I think it was the nurse) loosened my tie and undid my top button and she rolled my head and said, "Can you hear me child."
I lay as though truly dead.
...............and, I WAS ENJOYING IT!
The nurse put a neck brace on and she and someone else lifted me onto the stretcher and turned me onto my side. I decided to stay completely motionless while they carried me inside. They carried me into the sick bay and lay me on a bed and there the school nurse took off my shoes and socks and then removed my skirt and shirt. I was left lying straight out on the sick bed in my cottontails and a trainer bra which I had just started wearing more for a confidence boost than from necessity.
"Barbanne, can you hear me?" said the nurse, "squeeze my hand if you can."
I stayed resolutely "out."
I was tingling.
"Has the doctor been sent for?" It was Miss Johnson, the head mistress.
"Yes, ten minutes ago." That was Miss Carey.
"What happened to this girl?" the head again.
"Some sort of fight and Clarissa pushed her (did not, she slugged me) and Barbanne fell over one of the seats and hasn't moved since."
"Here's doctor now," said the nurse.
I decided it was time to resucitate.
I groaned awfully loudly and rolled my head and fluttered my eyes and said, "Mummy, Mummy are you there?"
"Her mother's been dead for years," said Miss Carey.
"What's wrong here?" said doctor.
I groaned some more and thrashed about and said, "Where am I? Where am I?"
Doctor decided I had had a slight concussion and that I should be sent home.
I was the soul of wretched contrition and crawled like a worm for the teachers. I dumped Clarissa right in it and felt even worse and even more of a shit and went home for a day.
I had discovered my favourite fantasy.
I thought I had better explain how I came to be the Actress. The dead body supreme of Vic's flicks.
I had had those wierd urges when playing dead in kid's games and didn't know why that was except that I really enjoyed it and got wicked little thrills from doing it. Then that day when Clarissa clobbered me and I went down and felt the hot urges and decided to stay down and play acting being helpless gave me the oddest sensations and I realised that for me, being displayed as a defenceless and impotent victim with an audience was just the greatest stimulation and gave me wonderful excitement throughout my body and just tingled my nipples and pussy something amazing.
I was like a drug addict seeking a fix.
The big shopping mall down from the school has one area where there is a coffee lounge on the lower level with an opening in the higher level above it and people on the higher level gather to look down onto the lower level concourse. The idea came to me one day there and I decided I had to do it. I rehearsed it over and over in my mind.
Then one Saturday when the girls asked where we were going I suggested going to the mall. I had skipped the jeans and tee shirt that were de rigeur for going out and instead wore a short velour dress I had bought just that season. Bare legs, clunky shoes and nylon naughty panties and no bra. I didn't need one anyway. If the girls thought my wearing a dress was odd they said nothing about it.
When we had mooched around the mall for a while I suggested we get food at that coffee lounge. They didn't quibble because when we were out mooching nobody wanted to make a decision anyway.
I had my period and had risked a slim line pad and had plotted to use this as an excuse for what was going to happen if an excuse became necessary.
When we got to the coffee lounge and were sitting at a table with our stuff, I whispered to Clarissa (yes, Clarissa and I were inseperable that summer) that I had to go to the toilet and I wasn't feeling too well. She asked me did I want her to come and I said no, but we always do things like that en masse and she said she'd come and I got up and she started to get up too and I wobbled and then swan dived onto the floor and did my out cold routine.
I cracked an eyelid and peeked between my heavily mascaraed lashes so no-one would see that my eye was open a weeny bit and people were crowding the upper walkway to look at the girl who had fainted down below.
The people in the coffee shop stood around too and Clarissa was crying again and the other two were getting flappy and I was lying there with most of my legs on show because that dress was really short and I knew just the greatest thrill of sexual excitement possible because I was the centre of attention and I was submissive. Limped out, helpless and being looked at by just everyone.
My blood coursed like mad and my body quivered with arousal.
Security was called and I had another stretcher ride to the mall first aid post where I recovered and feigned embarrassment and the girls took me home.
I couldn't believe my naughtiness had paid off like the jackpot.
Then there was the time I was in the fashion parade.
I was older then, although not much, and was working as an assistant dresser. I mean I had the skinny breast deprived look to be a model but I was way too short.
This one designer, she was a woman, had this range of casual wear called the fight club collection and had like big belts as a feature that carried through all of the styles and she wanted to present it to a boxing theme. She wanted two girls dressed as boxers to pose on the catwalk while the models walked around them showing off the threads. None of the models were all that keen and I shot up my hand and she looked at me and said like, "Well I suppose so," and I couldn't hardly hide my delight. There had to be two and so one of the models snootily agreed to do it too.
So, when the lights went up, the music from Rocky started belting out and the smell of liniment was squirted into the air conditioning and filled the place and one spotlight was trained brighter than all the others onto the end of the catwalk and there was this model in everlast trunks and lace up boots and a sport bra and gloves and there was I in everlast trunks and lace up boots and gloves but topless, sprawled out at her feet and she
had like a championship belt around her waist and was posing like with her arms in the air like "look at me I'm a winner."
I did nothing just looked KO-ed.
The music belted out and the models paraded their stuff and as they walked by they looked down sneeringly at where I lay and the exposure was fantastic and although most everyone looked at the clothes I'm sure a few sneaked looks at me lying there topless and helpless.
My blood boiled around my arteries and my bits just tingled like mad.
And then I creamed myself, but I hoped nobody noticed.
After school I became a waitress.
I mean I'm no mastermind and it was about all I could do.
I was forever short of cash and when someone suggested I could make money doing porno stuff I jumped at it.
I wanted to be a sex object, but..........what I hadn't told anyone yet.............I wanted to be a dead sex object!!
Just after I started doing porno as a sideline three things happened one on top of the other and these affected me too.
The first thing, well I should have known better, I mean when you have had your childhood ruined by alchohol abuse within your family you get very wary of any kind of substance abuser or you should do anyway.
I guess I'm just a slow learner.
I had been out with this guy a couple of times and while he would have a few drinks and I hated the smell of that, he nevertheless didn't seem to be affected and was quite nice and thoughtful and polite and I fell for that. This night he had been drinking before he picked me up and he kept on drinking throughout the meal we had at the little Italian restaurant down the road from where I lived. I recognised all of the symptoms, the false joviality and then the intense introspection, the over the top compliments and asides and then the slow growing vicious nastiness.
Eventually I had had enough and walked out on him and hurried home. He came after me and caught me as I was going inside. He was apologetic and then miserable and I told him to rack off and sober up and then he turned nasty and started pushing and I swore at him and pleaded with him to leave and then the drink took over completely and he shoved me inside and followed me, slamming the door behind him. I started shouting at him and yelling that he must leave.
Then he hit me.
Out of the blue, a roundhouse swing that knocked me down and then he started punching me again and again. His blows hit me on the face and breasts and by now I was screaming but he went on with it and then he threw me down on the floor and assaulted and raped me.
I went to the police.
I shouldn't have had much trouble making a case because I looked like I had been the distance with Mike Tyson.
A sympathetic women's PC comforted me and a police MO came and they took me to the rape suite and took samples and photos and everything.
He was arrested and finally we went to court. Smart ass lawyers attacked me and threw up my invovlement in the porno stuff and the bastard got off with a suspended sentence and a good behaviour bond.
My self esteem plummeted.
The second event was that time when I was accidentally knocked cold while playing netball. I've told you about that before, but being knocked senseless and going icy cold and floppy was something else and I knew that sexual release for me involved being hurt and humiliated and made totally submissive. After the rape I had turned to females for companionship and eventually for sexual release and increasingly I asked them to use bondage on me and, while I lost a few friends because this made them very uncomfortable, I found enough willing participants to keep me satisfied.
Then the attack in the car park happened.
This was the third event I told you about.
I was walking from the supermarket to my car with a couple of personal items I had picked up when two teenage smack-freaks in a bomby old heap grabbed my bag and I hung on and they took off and I ended up in the gutter with my specs smashed and cuts and bruises everywhere.
My ideas about my self worth went through the floor and into negative territory.
As my self hatred grew I found I could only achieve sexual arousal by allowing myself to be abused. I thought about drugs but couldn't do that. I really thought about suicide and began to fantasise kiling myself in such a way as to become a pretty corpse in a very public place. My dreams were filled with fantasy situations where this happened.
Then I met Vic.
I was doing porno for Vic and he told me about how he wanted to tap the necro market and make films where girls died and had sex afterwards. Guys may be able to write their names in the snow because of their external plumbing but girls' slits mean they have the advantage of being able to have sex after they are dead.
I died for Vic's camera.
My first effort was simple and simplistic.
I was nude from the word go and a hairy brute (actually Vic himself) strangled me and I died with a lot of wriggling and gasping and close ups of hands wrapped around my throat and bugging eyes and drooling pink tongue. Then my nude corpse was hauled and heaved around and finally a big anonymous cock fucked me. (Vic again)
Lots of people were going to buy this film and watch it.
I was "dead" and I had an audience.
A HUGE audience.
I was in my own seventh heaven.
The Actress was launched!