I was 13, and I'd just been sexually assaulted. I pulled the dildo out of my ass and looked at it in shock. Without saying a word, I bent down, still holding it, and pulled my shorts up as blood dripped down the back of my legs. I began shuffling toward the door, eyes saucer wide, staring at the soft rubber sex toy in my hand. It was filthy, covered in dirt; there was even a wet leaf stuck to it midway along the shaft. And It was long, with a dick head on each side. I held it firmly, from the bottom of one end, and it wobbled back and forth, comically, as I staggered forward.
I woke up to the sound of loud thumps, and looked over to Pinter’s bed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I’d heard of blanket parties before, hell I feared them for a long time, but I'd never seen one. We came to see the blanket party as a tall tale, told to new kids to keep them frightened, but there it was, right in front of me. Four boys knelt on either side of Pinter’s bed, pulling his blanket down tight and trapping him underneath. Each had a sock with a thick bar of soap in it, and they were beating Pinter over and over again.
Introduction Getting older sneaks up on you. No shit, right? I mean, I’m cognicent enough to know my age, but I don’t feel my age. Maybe it’s arrested development, maybe it’s just wishful thinking; I said I was cognicent, not smart or wise. What I do know is that I have a longer timeline with... Continue Reading →