bullying, school trauma, incipient sexuality, alcohol, memory 

My family moved often, and through many schools I had a large number of bullies, most of them long forgotten, if not the bodily memories of their daily slaps and stomps. I had a large number of physically violent bullies, and a small number of female bullies, but I had only one girl bully who was physically violent. That one, I still remember even her name. Not her birth name, that doesn't matter, doesn't count, her school name, her alias. (Mine at this particular school was "Crane", for my long thin legs—as a nerd I didn't get to pick my name, of course; she did).

I hated her. I despised her petty, pointless cruelty with the haughty moral high ground that only weakness and resentment can fuel. Being a little dork who was a total dupe and couldn't see the scam, I looked down on her disinterest on study matters, on her disruptive attitude in class. I crushed on her, hard, in a way that absolutely was very much sexual. I loathed her punches, I looked forward to the feeling of her skin on me, to her *scent*. Any influence of these experiences in today's me being a sadistic domme I will leave for you to psychoanalise, it seems too obvious but who knows. Do keep in mind that I was a very sexual kid, though, I was horny about a lot of things.

(Oh she was dominant, her presence filled the room whenever she raised her barbed voice. She had an underling, a beautiful snow-white-skinned midnight-black-haired brunette whom she corrupted to the back-of-the-room crew. Underling girl had big round magnificient boobs for her age, and somewhat of a bimbo-ish personality, which earned her scorn, which my hot bully crush would beat down in defense of her protegée. I envied them both so much. I distinctly recall one day underling girl came with a cute bra, full round and white with a Tweety cartoon pattern. Please understand, I'm plural, my memory is very wonky, I remember very little of this period, I don't know what I looked like or wore or what color was the uniform pants or if I had friends, but I remember the white bras with the Tweeties. Brazilian school uniforms use white cotton shirts, low-quality so they get transparent. In my mind I can see clearly what it must have felt for her to pick it that morning, risqué, cute, exhilarating. I can see her in front of the mirror, heart beating, hoping her parents don't notice it, or maybe she had absentee parents, and she must have felt so powerful, so sexy, so free, the very image of glamour and beauty. She was throughly slut-shamed that day, of course, never wore the Tweety bra again. To my credit, I hated how they treated her, refused to join in. To my discredit, I did nothing, didn't say a kind word. I didn't know how to say kind words, wouldn't learn for many years, and they were my bullies.)

One day I actually confessed to my bully. I don't remember what wording I used, only that I said I wanted to make out with her, tried to reason. I was a total dork, had never kissed in my life, had also been permanently horny for years and particularly horny abt this girl, and not just horny but fascinated, my beautiful hot bad girl crush, I was drawn to her like a moth to fire, yes tired cliché but it's just exactly how it felt. At my unusual act of bravery she shed her bully role for a meaningful moment, we were like the sheepdog and the wolf in Looney Tunes clocking out of their daily performance, and she looked at me with, and I swear I could taste this, with actual kindness. She said thank you, you're sweet, but it wouldn't work out between us, it wouldn't be good. Maybe she was right.

The last memory I have of these girls is from when she disappeared from school. Word was she was on sick leave, but there were rumours. She and the underling bff had been hitting the vodka, hard. Ended up in the hospital. Minors drinking themselves into alcoholic coma.

After laying down on the train tracks.

Eventually they came back, and I don't remember if they went back to abusing me or we just outgrew it. Soon we moved again and I was in another school, with a significantly more boring girl bully who was just a prejudiced Christian with no sexual tension between us. There's no resolution to this story, no twist. I think it was the first time I can remember where I had an inkling that bullies were not just these random walking incarnations of cruelty, that there was something else going on, something foul and thick with a darkness that teacher's pet good kid me couldn't imagine. I was afraid of this intuition, of how much it complicated my simple if terrible position in the world. I have no idea what that girl was going through, though low-class Brazilian girl, it's easy to draw hypotheses. I think I only really came to understand bullies when I was a teacher myself, and could see them at a safe position, realise how much bondage even the scariest of them is under as minors in this society.

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slut-shaming from decades ago, eye contact photo 

(Googles her nickname out of pent-up longing.)
(Unlike what I assumed, it doesn't seem to be derived from the shortening of a given name.)
(All of the hits refer to a telenovela actress who went big then disappeared from the spotlight.)
(Looks up broadcasting year, 1997. A match.)
(Telenovela character was a brothel prostitute.)

Well fuck. Maybe she didn't get to pick her school alias after all. She was a bully, she was a dangerous delinquent, but she was a girl.

(The quotation under the headline is "I will never escape the role.")
(The headline itself is "Twenty years later, telenovela actress is still known as a

quenga.")

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