No One Wants You Read Online Free PDF Page A

happening, they were taking place as I struggled to escape the imprisoning grasp of a pair of large, strong, cow-dung stained, agricultural hands.
    During their thinly disguised attentions, these men were not rebuked by my foster-mother, so they took it as acceptable to continue with their behaviour, despite my protests. If I objected, or ran away, they would make fun of me. The next time that they got the opportunity, they would touch me more aggressively, or invade my body internally with their fingers. If I objected again, my foster-mother would condone their behaviour by saying to me, often while I was in the grip of a large rough farmer, ‘Sure, he’s only having a bit of fun with you.’
    With all the late night visits, I was not able to go to sleep at night. I was afraid to go to sleep, but I was also encouraged by my foster-mother to stay awake, to pander to the drunken antics of these nocturnal visitors. Consequently, I was not always able to get up in the morning for school.
    I found that my reputation was not confined to the house. One afternoon, as I was returning home from school, I realised that a car was travelling slowly, close behind me. As cars were a rare sight on this part of the road, I turned to look at it. It passed me on the road and stopped about ten yards farther up.
    A local man that I knew got out of the car and came up to me. He asked, ‘Will you come into that field with me?’
    ‘Why?’ I asked.
    He grabbed my body in the area between my legs and said to me, ‘That’s why.’
    I swung around in his grasp, in an attempt to escape, but he grabbed me tighter, and tried to lift me. At that moment, a man with a horse and cart appeared a short distance away. The man who was holding me was distracted, and dropped me on the ground. He ran to his car, opened the door, jumped in, started the engine and sped away.
    As soon as I was free of his grasp, I stood up and ran to a house nearby. Three sisters, the Misses O’Mahony lived there together. They often greeted me as I passed to and from school. I knocked and knocked on the door. I thought that they would understand my dilemma, and rescue me.
    The three of them came out to the door together, to see what the commotion was about. They did not invite me in, but I told them the full story of what had just happened to me. Almost in unison, they laughed heartily. One of them said, ‘Ahhh shure Mr Murphy is our friend.’
    The other two ladies agreed with their sister’s opinion. As far as they were concerned, that was the end of the matter. They said ‘goodbye’, turned, and with short little steps, went inside together, one after the other. I was left standing on their doorstep, alone. I walked home dejected, but on guard. I was now aware of dangers that I previously did not expect or know existed.
    At school, some of the children began to call me ‘whore’. When they said it they pronounced it, as ‘you’re a hoor’. I got used to hearing this regular chant of abuse.
    During the day young men in their early twenties used to spend a lot of time around the house. They used to engage my foster-mother in friendly banter, mostly tinged with a sexual flavour. She did not discourage their visits.
    While relatively young, these fully grown adults were always touching me and doing horrible things to me that made me so scared of them. They used to catch me and hold me down on the ground and poke my private parts with their hands, bottles, sticks and anything that they could find. I used to complain to my foster-mother about their behaviour, but she just used to say, ‘I’m not getting any money for looking after you, so you will just have to look out for yourself.’
    I was not going to school very often at this stage. I had certain chores to do around the house every day. One of these chores was to clean the ashes out of the grate, where the fire had been the previous evening. I had to leave it clean for my foster-mother to set the fire again. I put