“So…what about this?” And Nick proceeded to outline a plan…
It took me a little time, but with the help of the sewing teacher, I managed to make an undergarment to fit under my shirt. I told her I was making a suit of armor for a history project and though she looked at me uncertainly, she showed me how to do what I needed to get done.
I used the flat-backed thumbtacks you can buy at any stationary store and sewed them, point side out, onto a short undershirt. As long as I wore a baggy shirt over it, the tacks sewn into the undershirt weren’t even visible.
I showed the results to Nick, who laughed grimly and took some pictures of my new defensive undergarment. He loved photography club, which was one of the other extracurricular he had chosen for himself, and often borrowed one of the school cameras to take nature photos and candid shots of school life.
The first time I wore my new “porcupine shirt” as I called it, I knew all the hard work I’d put into it, laboriously sewing each tack into place, had been worth it. Naturally I had to be careful to keep my own arms away from the sharp points, but I could do that. And, as I said, wearing a big, baggy shirt over my new undergarment hid it completely.
One of my foster father’s favorite tricks was to come up behind me when I had my hands full with a laundry basket, reach around me, and grab both my breasts at once. He would squeeze and fondle them roughly, often twisting the nipples painfully before I could get away.
“You like it, don’t you? You know you love it!” he would breathe in my ear as I tried to elbow him and twist away from his groping hands.
“I hate you! Don’t touch me!” I would scream at him. But Gary would just smirk at me and try to grope me again. Now that Alexis was gone to college, he didn’t even have to pretend he wasn’t a disgusting pervert anymore. He felt free to try and grab me anywhere in the house, so I never felt safe because of course Nancy Spalding didn’t give a damn.
Even when Nick felt his brand burning and came on the run, he couldn’t usually get there in time to stop one of these sneak attacks completely. And though he threatened Gary, he couldn’t really do anything except push me behind him. There was always the threat of a call from our foster parents to the police if Nick punched him, so Nick couldn’t do it, though I know he wanted to—badly.
That first day I wore my new undershirt, Gary was hiding behind the shower curtain of one of the upstairs bathrooms when I came up to collect the towels. I had my back to the tub and a basket I had just loaded with dirty towels in my hands.
I heard the shower rings jingle but I had only just started to turn my head in surprise when a familiar and hated pair of hands reached around me from either side and grabbed my full breasts.
The thing was, Gary never touched me gently. He was always as rough as possible when he groped me, so he grabbed my breasts as hard as he could…only this time he got two handfuls of sharp spikes.
“Ouch! What the hell!” he gasped, yanking his hands away from my chest and nearly falling backwards into the tub.
I dropped the basket and whirled around to face him. To my fierce satisfaction, I saw that he was staring at his palms and fingers, which were bleeding.
“What the fuck did you do, you little slut?” he growled, looking up at me.
“Gave you a taste of your own medicine. How do you like it?” I glared at him defiantly. By that time, Nick was already there, standing in the bathroom door staring at both of us. When he saw Gary’s bleeding hands, he gave a short, hard laugh.
“Looks like you bit off more than you can chew this time, Mr. Gary,” he said mockingly. “Or maybe I should say you groped more than you can handle.”
“You two little shits!” Gary glared at both of us and then pointed at me with one bleeding finger. “I don’t know what you did but you’re going to pay for this!”
“I did what I had to in order to keep you from grabbing me!” I snapped. “You just remember this the next time you want to try something nasty because I’ll be ready for you!”
Then I turned and, with a final glare at our foster father, Nick and I left the bathroom.
After that little incident Gary Spaulding left me alone for quite a long time. He stopped groping me, stopped ambushing me—he even stopped coming down to watch me take my shower at night which was a big relief. I began to think that I had taught him a lesson he wouldn’t forget…that I had won the war between us.