13 minutes ago · Like
This is a story about rape, and being raped, and watching rape, and yes, raping. So far, I know you must be
thinking...I am not really going to get anything out of this.
Go on, then.
I don't really see you getting much from reading this. It's more for me than anything.
That was how I came to be John Alden. All-den. Even if I hadn't been adopted then, if I had grown up in the foster home nearby with the alcoholic father and the violent mother, my name would have been near the top of every list, except on backwards day."Brazas" means "fire" in general Lithuanian dialect, and that is a fair description of what I do know about my mother. What I remember being told was that she had run away from home when she was twelve, that her father was touching her, and so she ran away, but she became a prostitute and a drug addict and had me when she was fifteen. What I remember happening is in line with that. Brace yourself, gentle reader. I can see the labia drooping down across my mouth, I can hear the zipper being pulled up as she leaves me in a backpack for days at a time, I can (sorry had to pause there) see the wall she has thrown me at approaching (some days at different speeds), I can still see some of the cigarette scars she left me as a memento of our time together.
As an Alden, it didn't take me long to "act out." I ran away within a week, just headed off down the hill while whomever was watching me went inside for two minutes or something. I was found about 1/4 mile up the street with a load in my pants. I was in therapy (get it? the rapee? Ha.) by age five because I set a fire in the house. (Ok, so I know that sounds bad, so for the record,what happened was that my dad always let me strike the match when we lit a fire, and I wanted to strike a match, not start a fire, so I went to the kitchen and I grabbed a coffee mug, then sat down in front of the family room fire place, struck the match, put the match in the coffee mug, and in my haste to put it out when I immediately heard footsteps coming the stairs, I knocked over the cup and burned a hole in the carpet. In front of the fireplace. Ok?) The lady we went to told me when we were alone that there was a good John and a bad John, and together we were going to get rid of the bad John. I probably told her to go fuck herself. I found out somehow later that this lady had told the Aldens that I was obviously being sexually abused, maybe even by them, and they became indignant and that was why I went to a Different therapist the next month.
Now, yes, I was not a very good kid. In fact, here is a little story that will illustrate the difficulty of the little shit that I was, and the sort of trouble I get into. When I was four, I waited until Trish and Dad left in the morning, she being mad that he was ready to go, and he being mad that she wasn't, the car is warmed up, I'm leaving in five minutes whether or not you are ready, he says, and she is fuming in the bathroom upstairs, and when they walk outside, I bolt across the landing to see what Mom is doing, and if she wants to watch them go. But she is in the shower, and I am excited, so I take off all of my clothes and crawl under thick red plaid bedspread/comforter, and wait. When she comes out and stands naked in the doorway of the master bath and faces the bed, I can almost feel her looking at me. I am on my stomach and spread-eagled, and when she begins to towel off near her side of the bed, I leap out from my wonderful hiding place and ask her if she would like to fuck.
Of course, this probably threw her for a loop. She explained that "this mommy loves" you, "this mommy" won't do that to you, and it starts to kinda piss me off. I want my penis to get some attention, and she is naked, and I am truly not sure what the hold-up is, but I know one thing: this woman doesn't love me. She is freaking out.
I went to a pre-school not five miles away, while Dad (and Mom, part-time, some-times) worked at the bank.(He was some kind of vice-president, she was some kind of vice-presidents wife. Ok, that was a cheap shot, but it felt good.) Six or seven children tied me up, with a rope, while the teacher was inside the classroom one day, to a table, and touched me. To be fair, I might have volunteered. 9 minutes ago · Like
J Quentin Evermann
Someone may or may not have taken you in, but in a nanny-state, people EXPECT the government to do it, and take no responsibility. How can you not see that government is the problem? And you can't tell me you don't take the victim's attitud...See More
8 minutes ago · Like
Soup McGee makes this up for fun. Yeahhhhhh, that's it. The state shoulda given me to the church. Yeahhhhh, that's it.
8 minutes ago · Like
J Quentin Evermann I'm sure you would have met a wonderful priest.
7 minutes ago · Like
Soup McGee is only not blocking your hateful awful inhumanity because I enjoy outing assholes. you get that, right?
6 minutes ago · Like
J Quentin Evermann Oh yeah, you did it, a fictional character online...you showed him/me! http://images.t-nation.com/forum_images/8/1/815919.1131742469560.internet_arguing.jpg
3 minutes ago · Like
Soup McGee ,"...all that you stand for, you Naivist Randian MotherSunnaFucker."
about a minute ago · Like
J Quentin Evermann Well met, sir!
about a minute ago · Like
Soup McGee You know why you're the product of a rape? Because you weren't worth the cost of dinner it would have taken mommy to open her legs willingly. J Quentin Evermann
35 seconds ago · Like