Hot Becky: The early years

I was quite the hussy at junior school. So much so that most of the girls my age hated my guts with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns. I remember clearly one day all the girls (including my friends) followed me around like zombies saying some shit like 'we need a doctor, we are under Becky's spell'. Fucking whores. (this is my historic inner tween rage speaking. I don't really think you are all whores).

They weren't sick, nor had I administered any sort of evil black magic upon them. They were just suffering from what I like to call rampant bitch jealousy.

The truth is, I had something boys liked that none of the other girls had yet. And that something is called BOOBS. I started growing my bitch lumps when I was 10, much to my dismay. I actually thought I had chest cancer & ran over to my neighbours house to get her mum to have a feel & tell me what the foreign lumps were that had invaded my flat chest. She informed these were indeed boobs & not chest cancer. I was gutted.

FIND THE AWESOME AMONGST THE SCARY MASKED PEOPLE.

I'M THE ONE WITH THE POOF FRINGE, BERT & ERNIE BROWS, & A ROCKIN AUSTRALIA KOALA JERSEY. 

(I have protected everyones identity by giving them another face)

According to my chest I was starting to 'bud'. But as far as I was concerned, tits could fuck right off. I was not ready for my body to be taken over by the perils of womanhood. And I was extremely upset at the prospect of not being allowed to run around the back yard in summer with no shirt anymore.

I delayed the bra buying process for aslong as possible but eventually gave in after my mum told me if I didn't start wearing a bra my cha chas would be hanging down by my knees by the time I was 15. Well mum, the bra wearing did not make one shit of difference. My tits are saggier than a well used prosti beave. And I haven't even had a baby yet. Boo.

From about the age of 12, I had a new boyfriend every week. Why you ask? Because I dam well could. They wooed me with rad bmx tricks, soft toys, candy, bags of cherries, pages of fun stickers left in my mailbox (I was an avid collector) & showed off in front of me at every opportunity. They would leave me notes asking me to meet them in the forest at lunchtime or begging me to 'go out' with them/be their folk dancing partner. I lapped this up & worked it to my advantage, much to the disgust of every girl my age.

Please note, 'go out' meant be ones girlfriend. Basically giving them all bragging & hand holding rights.

One boy in particular was named Tim. I had the hots for him hard & this was one of the rare occasions where I had to work it to win his affections.

Every week day after school I used to do a paper delivery around my little country town on my green Raleigh 20 bike. I was so ashamed of this ugly ass bike but my parents refused to buy by me a better faster flashier mountain bike because the old Raleigh was the business & served it's purpose. I used to ride miles on that thing & says little prayers in my head that none of my boyfriends would see me driving my Granny wheels.

THE SHIT BIKE.

Please note that this is not the actual bike because the real bike is in bike heaven.

It was gay. And green. And even though I tried to pimp it out with spokey dokes I was still ashamed to be seen on it. I used to leave it unlocked in the school bike yard on purpose in hopes that someone would thief it. Not even the local badass bike stealer's would take it.

FYI - SPOKEY DOKES. TOTALLY BITCHIN'

One afternoon I was down the road from Tim's house, putting a paper in his neighbours mailbox. It was a covert operation & I used to time the run down his street for when I knew he was at rugby practice. However, this particular afternoon I had noticed a dude on a bike a fair distance away heading in my direction. Initially I thought nothing of it, but once he was 50 metres from me I realised it was my beloved Tim.

Hell to the no was he seeing my hideous green bike. So I picked the fucker up & biffed it over the fence of the house I was currently delivery the paper to. To this day I don't even know how I physically managed this? Those gay bikes weighed about the same as a small car. In moments of desperation you always find the power.

I stood, with my helmet on, & my paper bag hanging around my throat, & waved sweetly at him as he got closer. He stopped & asked me where my bike was, & I told him, 'I decided to walk today'. As you do.

It was at this time that the elderly resident of the house I was currently delivering to chose to come out to the mailbox to ask me why he just witnessed a green bike flying over his fence & inform me that it was now laying in pieces on his driveway.

FUCK. A. BITCH.

Tim rode away laughing at me. And I had to carry my stuffed bike all the way home with my helmet still on & a heavy ass bag full of undelivered newspapers. The next day he went to school & told everyone that I went around wearing a helmet all the time because I'm special & that I tried to kill an old man by throwing my bike at him.

As it turns out, when a boy throws dirt in your face & spreads lies that you are an escaped mental patient from The Cherry Farm (infamous south island mental institution back in the late 80's/early90's), it actually means he likes you hard out. By weeks end, Tim was my boyfriend.

All you need is a little bit of 12 year old tit cleavage & a nice tight t-shirt in gym class.

Has anyone else suffered the bliss of early puberty?

My October giveaway is so cool that I want to keep it all for myself. But I won't because I already have these. All you got to do to be in to win my bloody awesome prize is become a follower of my blog (as in I want to see a little mug shot of you to the right of my posts under 'followers') & comment on any of my October posts. Every comment gets you an entry. Too easy cuz!

Read all terms & conditions here.

WIN YOUR VERY OWN PLUSH PEE & POO!!

Every time you look at these gorgeous creatures, you will think of me. As if you didn't already!

Peace!