.
The first 3 months, I spent in the greenhouse with Uncle Ron teaching me all that I needed to know about grafting, potting, seedlings and all that. By the end of the 4th month, it was harvest time and for the first time in my life, I worked side by side with the staff on the fields. To say the truth, it was a unique experience and I enjoyed it. Maybe, just maybe there are some truths to her words. It was a slow paced, soothing period and I was treated with respect and attention.
Since planting and harvesting seasons run side by side on the farm, it was a continuous circle that took me to places I never thought existed. So it was adventurous too. Even got lost in the forest but luckily located a cabin and called for help.
I think our farm is too big. Way too big.
I also noted that my itch became more manageable. From masturbating 3 times a day, I was doing it only in the morning and when I returned home at night. Though there were days when I would hole up in Riley's room and indulge just cause I felt like it. But the irresistible impulses reduced significantly.
Then two months into harvesting, an accident happened at the house and one of the male stewards died. One that was very special to us. Joshua
Mum and Dad were devastated. This lead to the firing of all in-house staff except the butler. And since then we haven't hired new ones. I am not bothered though, because after that accident, Mum, who never really stayed at home, now disappears more often and Dad became a grumpy old thing.
The downside of that is that I became his scapegoat. Always looking for faults, always lashing out at the slightest mistake. At first, I was upset because he was never like that before but just when I was about to react, he also suddenly stopped coming home. I got so worried the first time I waited for him to return and he didn't. But a call to his Personal Assistant took care of my fear. I have always waited for my Dad to return home from the fields in my room. I usually don't go to bed until I hear him parking his SUV or truck and it took me some time to accept that I don't have to wait anymore. I missed that.
You must know that my Dad is my most favorite family member and I am his little girl. So this was a very difficult time for me.
It was around this time that the next farmer's open market came around and Dad suddenly said I should start driving the pots to the florist shop and join the sales girl and Uncle Ron in running the business. I knew from the start that I was going to join the florist shop as the last leg of my supposed training in accordance with mum's mapped out plans but delivering and returning flower pots was never part of our bargain. I was mad and would have made demands if there was someone I could demand something from. Mum wasn't there. Dad was invincible. I was practically living alone.
So I let things be and just followed his instructions.
With the only supervision I have coming from Uncle Ron, I am doing as I like. I don't stay at the shop and when I do, I don't help out at all. Uncle Ron tried to get me interested in the flowers and the business to no avail. I have my own plans and it has nothing to do with a florist business.
Even though I have been surviving on constant masturbation and sex with Sylvester every once in a week for some time, the period after that accident at the house was when my condition became really out of control. 3 times, masturbation turned to five times a day. The bluer the day, the worse the itch.
You can guess my default mood.
I started talking back to my Dad and the only glimpse of light in my days are visiting Sylvester and daydreaming about resuming school this fall.
So many uncertainties ahead of me but one thing is sure, I do not want to be here anymore.
Like yesterday, when I got home, I parked the car in the compound. I have time to drive to the greenhouse. I should do exactly that so Dad doesn't chew me out in the morning but my whole being felt heavy. I was suddenly too tired and just wanted to curl up under my shower and cry.
As usual, the house was empty and for the first time, I was grateful for that.
When I got to my room, I once again did what I had to do. After that, I took a very cold bath. Then I found myself in front of my mirror staring.
With an oval-shaped face and lazy-looking, close-set eyes, caught between blue and grey, I have one of the most unique features this side of the United States and when I was a child, these features were the reason I got pushed into modeling. I don't feel special in anyway though because these same features are just clones of my mum. So what is there to be proud about?
My natural red hair has been on a butterfly hair cut for three months and in a mess but there is a sense of power in not attempting to cut it. My nails and my S-shaped brows are overgrown. I do not need to leave the house to get them done but dialing my beautician's number is more difficult than driving down to the greenhouse. And my body could use a spa because I have hair where I normally don't let them grow.
The privilege to decide what to do with my own hair and body is still fresh to me. I want this to last for as long as possible. With college just around the corner, Mum has been drilling it into my ears that it is important to keep up appearances.
With a face like mine, a slim figure accentuated with fashion-friendly, sizable boobs and cute butts wrapped around visibly protruding hips that serve as a testament to my Hispanic origin, all structured on my 5:8ft feather length with a Cinderella waist as Riley would call my midriff, a girl should be called a princess, should be pampered and protected. But why am I being battered on all sides?
Up until the point when Uncle Ron raped me, I was optimistic. Sure that everything would be fine…