Pam – The Whore Monger

Pam

They started to grow when she was in 7th grade. Just a school girl not yet interested in boys. She grew up being closest to her father. Her mother, called Grace of all names, was a (you know what). She used to tell me these things but she didn’t like talking about her mother much. She said her mother was the jealous type, even of her. I was her best friend. We met out in the playground while collecting wood chips. I forget what grade we were in, maybe 1st or second grade. Other kids started to think I was gay, or why else would she confide in me?

I didn’t have many other friends, it was just her, Pam. She never liked her name and neither did I. There is something ugly about that name. It’s not like Giovana or Valeria – the most beautiful names always end with an a. Pam agreed. Grace didn’t even have the decency to give her the formal name Pamela. Her mother Grace would only serve Pam fatty foods. Butter on everything. Trying her best to fatten Pam up. It didn’t work. All that fat just seemed to ooze out of her face. Always a new pimple popping up on a fresh new part of her face. Pam had a high metabolism. I did too. We were always out playing; doing something outside. She was a bit of a Tom boy. I wasn’t all that into sports but I liked being outside more so than being inside.

We attended a small private school together, all the way up until 8th grade. Her tits grew in 7th grade and that’s when I started treating her differently, not because I wanted to. It was a natural reaction. I hit puberty at the same time but I’ve been masterbating as far back as I can remember – I think I was around 6 years of age when I started.

We stopped talking about things that only we talked about, like finding corn in our poop. One day I asked Pam about touching her breast. You should have seen the death stare she gave me. I understood never to ask about it again. I also knew that unless there was a miracle, I’d never to see those tits in my life. I had one more year with her before we went our separate ways. She and her family were moving to Hawaii.

I’m not sure if I was naturally a tit guy or if Pam’s tits had an early impression on me. Fast forward 30 years. A notification popped up on my phone. Someone named Pam was trying to connect with me on Instagram. I accepted.  I hadn’t seen her since 8th grade. I’m not the kind of fella to stay in touch with long lost people from the past. Naturally, I looked at Pam’s profile. At first glance the person appeared to be Pam, but where the hell did her tits go? As I kept scrolling further down, I see…

cancer.

Pam got breast cancer. Too young but at least she survived.

I couldn’t help but feel sad for Pam, but at the same time, I felt like I could talk to her again. She was back to no-tits-Pam, the girl I knew before 7th grade. Not feeling nervous at all, I decided to write Pam a message. After all, she was the one the that made the pursuit to find me!

“Hey Pam, find any corn in your poop lately?”