# # #

Thriller

3902 Words | 0 |2.25
By

This is a true story, based on works of fiction. No copywrite infringement applies, because it’s Not For Profit.

I’m sure you’ve seen the meme of Michael Jackson eating popcorn. “I’m just here for the Comments.” If you haven’t seen that video before, watch the longest one you can find. The one with a voice-over by Vincent Price. That’s what I grew up with.

This isn’t about him, slowly becoming a white woman, nor even a Monster you tell stories about to scare the children. “Because I’m Bad, I’m Bad, you know it!”

I grew up with MTV, and Madonna. Rolling around on the satin table-cloth in white lace, “Like a Virgin.” People remember that image, even if they forget the lyrics. “Didn’t know how lost I was until I found you…” Nor, the Lion stalking her around the streets, and canals of Venice. Of course, we knew all the words. All the dance moves, because we were the MTV Generation. Mom, and dad put it on for us to watch, so they didn’t have to watch us. MTV was our Baby Sitter.

I guess this is about Role Models, to help understand who I am. How I turned out this way, so Billy Idol, Cyndi Lauper, or Lopper. “Girls just wanna have fun,” and the fight she had with her parents over that video. “Parents just don’t understand,” and The Beastie Boys. “You have to fight, , for your right, , to paaartay!”

That haircut. That Cyndi Lopper haircut, so I suppose you want a description, at some point. Pause it while you fire up Youtube, and watch The Art of Noise: Close (To the Edit) Version 1. I went over to my friend’s house to play, and I took my “Tooter” with me. A plastic saxophone, with big bright buttons, and whacked on the keyboard of her mom’s piano with it.

I also got a haircut. That haircut. I had makeup on, because even a little girl (I’m gonna guess she was about 7, just going by the dates when that video was on MTV) could figure out that makeup. All the clothes we had to tear up to make that dress. The fuschia quarter shirt, the black tights stretched over my arms with holes in it to stick my fingers through, because we didn’t have long black gloves.

I remember this most clearly, because it was my first spanking. I didn’t get invited over to play with Sally any more, even without my “Tooter,” because pianos are pretty expensive things to repair, and that’s not how you play the Piano. Sally’s mom would know, because she was a Piano teacher. Why she had a baby grand in the dining room, instead of a table.

I didn’t enjoy my first spanking. I cried to my mom, she called Sally’s mom, then agreed not to press charges so she didn’t have to pay for the piano I wrecked. Then, I took my “Tooter” out, and smashed it up with whatever I could find. My dad didn’t buy me another.

The next experience was going to school, without any makeup. Without that dress, and the tights we ripped up to make gloves. I couldn’t take off that haircut, so I got bullied by the boys. Pushed around, even beat up, but I didn’t cry. They even asked me, “You gonna cry, baby?”

“No? It didn’t hurt.” So, they tried to hit me harder, and it still didn’t hurt, because honestly even boys that age don’t really hit that hard. Even though they were bigger, and stronger. Older boys, and they ganged up on me. They didn’t have any sticks and stones to break my bones, so I took a beating until my hair grew back out.

I guess you could call it a “Mullet,” but it was the 80s. MacGuyver had a mullet, and he was cool. At least the hairdressers evened up the sides, if not the top, and bottom. That’s what this is about: Top and Bottom. Domination, and Submission, “S&M,” though I hadn’t heard of that. I hadn’t even heard of Gay yet, if anything the meme was “Like a girl.”

You throw like a girl, or fight like a girl. Which means you get your ass kicked like a girl, which you wouldn’t know unless you hit girls. That was another thing the boys said “I don’t hit girls,” which is a lie. They didn’t hit girls when anyone was watching except their friends. The other boys beating up girls for being girls, but they won’t tell the Principal that.

They could get in trouble, because that’s a cowardly thing to do. As if ganging up on a younger kid, 3 against one when any one of them was already bigger and stronger. “Hey, pick on someone your own size!”

I didn’t think that that haircut was “Gay.” Sally didn’t think it was gay, we just saw it on a video, and tried it. Hey look a piano! I tried playing it by whacking it like I saw in the video too. She was busy truing to saw off one of the legs with a butter knife, so she didn’t scratch the paint.

Kids don’t think about how fragile a Piano is. Let alone how fragile another child is, even when they’re trying to hurt your feelings, and make you cry. It didn’t kill me, it didn’t make me stronger, I just started to like it.

So, I started to Tattle. I guess that was the next step, in all this pre-sexual foreplay. I could take a beating, then use that to get them in trouble. Ironically, I felt a little Control over my life. I got a little Power Trip, and also a few days off, while they were suspended. For fighting, but it didn’t take a genius to sort through everyone pointing the finger, and claiming “He started it!”

It didn’t matter who started it, when it’s 3 on 1. A 5th grader, and 2-6th graders beating up the same 4th grader week after week. IDK if they even enjoyed skipping school, they sure got held back for missing so many classes, but I started picking fights to get beat up. I looked forward to the next Monday, when they came back from being suspended. I thought long and hard about what I’d say to push their buttons, and get beat up again.

Then, I started running. Not to get away from them, but to get away from School. The faculty, and the principal. I stopped reporting them so they got suspended. So I could get them to chase me after school. Beat me up 5 days a week, and learned to fight that way. My violent fantasies became sexual, and I started fantasizing about them. Getting my licks in before they got their dicks in, and rubbing myself off to dry orgasms with my legs wrapped around whatever I could find to wrestle.

Then, school ended, I passed the 4th grade, and didn’t move onto 5th grade until the fall. It had to’ve been the summer of 1983, because I didn’t turn 10 until later that year, on Christmas break. I missed them, and they forgot about me. I didn’t have anyone to play with besides my brother, but he didn’t play rough enough, because he was my brother, and he didn’t want to hurt me. My sisters didn’t want to play that rough, and Sally. She wasn’t allowed to be my friend any more.

So, that’s probably why I started getting into Bondage. I was already into Wrestling, and you can’t really wrestle without a partner. (Let alone 3 that are bigger and stronger.) At first, I pretended it was a Snake I was rolling around with. A Python, a Boa Constrictor, an Anaconda. (Nikki Minaj hadn’t come out with that sample of Sir Mix a Lot, but come on. You know what an Anaconda is. I don’t have to explain what “Milkshake” brings all the boys to the yard. Just that I didn’t have any milk to shake.)

I started taking my ropes, and getting dressed up to play with myself in the woods. I got a chair from somewhere, I don’t remember. A “Steel Chair” like the wrestling guys don’t really hit each other with, because they’re not really trying to kill each other. I even yelled “Help help! Somebody save me!” Even though I didn’t want any help. Anyone to save me, I just knew that I could struggle hard enough. Rub my legs together, and the ropes crisscrossed between my legs hard enough to get an orgasm that way.

Then catch my breath, untie myself (I tied myself up, so I could get out of it) stash the chair with the ropes, and the fetishwear I was still making, because nobody made Fetishwear for 9 year olds back then. Not really, they don’t make “fetishwear” for 9 year olds now.

Pause it while you do an image search for [Kids Child Girls Sexy Naughty Nun Costume…] Assuming you haven’t yet, pick your own Keywords. Assuming you haven’t yet, but I came up with a PVC version for [Carnival Fetish Halloween Sister Cosplay…]

Fetishwear, for kids. Out in the woods, tied to a steel chair, yelling “Help, help me!” as loud as I could, until I struggled to an Orgasm. Eventually, I got lucky. The boys came, to help themselves, and not the same 3 boys, just 2 of them. The 12 year old, and his 10 year old brother. Not the other 12 year old he’d be starting over 6th grade with, but they didn’t recognize me.

I grew my hair out, again. This time I had bangs, and fetishwear. No lace, but I didn’t have Latex, PVC, or any of that to work with, either. I had nylon, lots of pantie hose, because they wore out. My mom forgot to cut her toenails once, and caught them in her pantie hose, which started a run. She couldn’t wear those, so she bought another egg of L’eggs, and I dug them out of the trashcans, for years.

Twisted them up into “Ropes,” ripped them imagining their hands. Boy’s hands pinching them. Pulling them out, sticking their fingers in, and ripping them, but that ripped Jordache look was still fashionable. Nobody really noticed you walking around with the knees blown out of your jeans, because you could buy them that way. The “Stone Washed” look hadn’t even come out yet.

I don’t remember what they said. I could never remember what they said, once they got their hands on me. Already tied up, this close to an orgasm, they didn’t have to touch me. I was already deep in subspace, and hardly believing that this was really happening. Just the way I always imagined it, except for one thing, that snapped me out of it. I imagine something like:

“Hey, little girl.” Looking around the trees, at each other, and nodding. Agreeing with their brother, yeah let’s take advantage of this little girl tied up in the woods. “What are you doing out here?”

I don’t remember if I even said anything out loud. Then the youngest. I’m just going to call him Paul. So then Paul asked, “What’s your name?”

“Uh?” I shook my head. “Dani? Danielle!” I tried again, only this time, I mimicked him. The way he said that, every time he called me that to make fun of me, before they chased me. Caught me, hit me, pushed me down, kicked me, and pinned me with their butts over my hips. Holding my hands down with their legs, or both hands, so I couldn’t cover my face. I couldn’t stop them hitting me in the face, or kissing me like I always imagined.

They never kissed me of course, because they didn’t love me. They hated me, but when neither of them even remembered me, that’s what broke my heart. Then, they started touching me. “No, don’t touch me.” I knew what to say, “Leave me alone, stop.”

“I have to touch you to untie you.” Paul’s big brother, I guess I’m going to call him Jeff didn’t untie me. He ran his hand up the torn pantie hose I had on to the itchy frayed yellow nylon rope I had twisted double between my legs. Then split to wrap around my legs, and tie them to the chair’s. To hold my legs wide open, so I couldn’t even cross them to hold his hand between my legs.

“Don’t hurt me. Uh!”

One of them hit me. Right in the face, and I closed my eyes. Let my head loll back, and just felt my sweaty bangs peel off my forehead.

“I don’t know man.” Paul said. “I think she likes it.”

“HUH!” Then I felt knuckles, a backhand across my cheek, and snapped my head the other way. Rolling with me. “It’s doesn’t hurt. UH!”

“DOES THIS HURT?” Goeffrey got in my face, spit in it through clenched teeth. Twisting the ropes so they dug in hard between my legs, then I was falling. Tipping back, and maybe I hit my head on the ground. Maybe not, there’s gaps in my memory when I’m this deep. It’s like meditation, until it’s like Hypnotism, if the men are gentle, but these boys. They weren’t gentle, they were rough.

“Uh, huh?” I blinked, but Pauley somehow got his shirt off, his pants down around his ankles, and bumped my knee sticking up. On my back, still tied to the chair, my arms hurt from the back landing on them with all my weight, then Scott got the ropes out of the way.

“What the fuck?” Pauley got a shoe off, and pulled his leg out of his jeans, but I was distracted by his boner bobbing when he stood up. His pale balls wrinkled, and tight so they didn’t swing until Geoff hit me again. “Gay ass FAG!”

“What?” Paul looked over his brother, to see my boner sticking out under the tight crotch of my panties, and pantie hose with the ropes pulled out of the way.

“He’s a boy!”

“GSH!” Then he started beating me, so I couldn’t tell him no. I’m not a boy, I’m a girl! Nobody else would ever believe me, not even my own family. Only Sally ever believed me, and now I’ll never see her again, but I don’t know how many times they hit me before they finally knocked me out.

“Uh?” I woke up, and felt my head. The worst bumps before I realized that I could. “My head,” I rolled over in the leaves, and pine needles. Then, I felt my butt. My butthole, it wasn’t actually torn, but I knew what they did to me. One of them, I don’t know which, maybe both raped me. When I was unconscious, so even if I wanted it that way. Even though I tied myself, and cried for help, hoping that someone would find me, and help themselves to my body.

I cried, because I missed it. I couldn’t enjoy it, because they knocked me out first, and all this was wasted. I had just been raped for the first time, just like I always wanted, and it was even 2 of the 3 boys, I always wanted. They just had to untie me, and rip off enough clothes so they could rape me.

I cried, because I still didn’t know what that felt like. However, that was just the first time they raped me, just like I always wanted…

;

Dani (Bt Rape Cons)

Seth knew where I lived. (I’m just going to call him “Seth.” Names are changed to protect the guilty.) Just like his friends used to chase me home, so I could slam the door, and look out the windows to watch them run off. Before my dad could go out, and chase them off. This was my “Normal.” I don’t have to tell you that I’m not normal.

I didn’t have a normal childhood, I wasn’t even a normal little boy, but nobody noticed. Because it was the 80s, watch the video for “Body Talk,” or the biker fight scene from The Golden Child. Look at Steve Percy singing, the hair, prancing around the quarter shirt barely held on over his shoulder, with a nipple showing.

Role Models. Now, does that look sexy to you? Gay? Like a Girl? Nobody really talked about Drag Queens, crossdressing transvestites, let alone transgender girls who want a sex change when we grow up. It might surprise you to know that I wasn’t never called “Gay” before neither, because it wasn’t on our radar.

Hair bands, glam, that was just Hard Rock. Most of us thought Billy Idol was “Punk Rock” FFS. That’s why I had to get that out of the way at the start. Michael Jackson didn’t really come off as a weirdo sex pervert. That’s why parents were willing to let their sons go over to spend the night at his “Neverland Ranch.” They grew up with Elvis, and Graceland. Dolly Parton, and Dollywood.

Nobody thought that Liberace was gay. Nor Elton John. Everyone was shocked when one of the Wachowski brothers, then the other transitioned to the Wachowski sisters. Bruce Jenner set the world records in all 10 events of the Decathalon, and nobody noticed. This is about Role Models, before we had any.

Everyone was shocked when Kurt Kobain killed himself, too.

“Rape me. Rape me, my friend. Rape me. Rape me again.
I’m not the only one…
Hate me. Do it, and do it again. Waste me.
Rape me, my friend.

I’m not the only one…”

I didn’t have any friends to make love to me. I just had enemies to make hate to me.

This time, he rang the doorbell. He asked my mom if he could “Talk to Danny.” I spelled it Dani, and nobody noticed. Mom wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, but I ran down in my Jordaches, and practically slammed the door on the way out.

Handmedown Jordaches from my big sister, and nobody noticed.

“Hey, uh.” He was actually a little nervous, and hesitant. Reluctant to ask: “You’re not really gay, are you?”

“No,” I put my arm around him, and he pushed me away. I looked around, since he wouldn’t let me whisper in his ear. “I’m a girl.”

“No you’re not, you’ve got a dick, and balls.”

“So? I want to be a girl when I grow up, then.” I never could bring myself to cut them off myself. “It’s called a sex change?” Even with scissors.

“Well, you’re not a girl yet, but. Geoff told me what you’re doing.”

“Oh yeah, what did he say?” He’s a big fat liar, they all 3 are, but know to tell enough of the truth to be believable.

“He said that you’re going out to the woods, to dress up as a girl, and cry for help to lure men into gay sex with you.”

I scoffed, “Uph?” and shook my head. “No, not men, boys like you.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Me neither, and it wasn’t sex.”

“He didn’t have sex with you.”

“No? I just said that, weren’t you listening? I don’t know if it was him, or Paulie. They knocked me out first, but I bet it was him.” I shook my head, “No wait, it was Paulie that got his pants off first.” I think.

“NO!” He pushed me, “They didn’t have gay sex with you!”

“I know,” I grabbed his arms. “They RAPED me.”

“Let go of me!” He tried to push me off. “Fairy.”

“I’m not a fairy.” I let my knees out. Went down backwards, and held on so I dragged him down with me. Kicked my legs out to wrap around him, and even locked my (Sister’s hand me down) pink Keds behind his back. “I’m a girl. I thought you knew that! All the times you called me a girl, chased me, and beat me up because I’m a girl. I’m not a baby, I’m not a crybaby, I’m a girl!”

Or something like that. I don’t black out, I just don’t remember exactly what I said, because when I get like this, that’s the first thing to fly out the window before it hits my memory.

“UHN!” Finally he pulled his hand out. “GUHN!” I didn’t have to fight, any more, so I just relaxed. “Huh!”

“You like it?”

I blinked. “Huh?” He was holding me down by the shoulders, so I rubbed his arms. “Yeah, I love it, I feel so alive. I never feel anything quite so much as when you hit me.” I rubbed up against him as best I could with my hips pinned under his legs. “Harder.”

“No!” he pushed off of me, and got up.

“What’s wrong, it’s only fun when you thought you’re hurting me?” I giggled. “When you didn’t know I wanted you to all along?”

“No, because it’s gay.”

“No it’s not. It’s not gay with a girl.”

“YOU’RE NOT A GIRL!”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone, hit me, oh!” He kicked me. “Yes, hit me harder, you know I can take it.”

“SICK, FUCK, KING, GAY, ASS, FAGGOT!”

This time, I got to put my hands up to stop him. Keep him from hitting my head, so he kicked me in the body, and he couldn’t knock me out. “I’ll show you.” He finally stopped, and I put my arms down to see him pulling out his belt. “Yeah bitch, you want to be a girl so bad?”

“Yeah, take it out.” I grabbed the buckle and pulled it halfway out of the loops. “Tie me up with it.”

“Suck a dick.”

“OH!” He pulled my hair, and I shook my head, just to make it yank harder in his hand.

“Bitch, suck my dick like the bitch ass fag you are.”

“Oomn!” I wished it was long enough to stuff down my throat, gag and choke me with it, but I settled for sucking him off like a girl.

“HUH?” He relaxed, and shook. Mashing my nose with his pubes. Not a lot of pubes, maybe he had a birthday, and was already thirteen, so we’re not talking about a whole lot of pubes, but he was still heavy enough to crush me. Push me down deeper, and blow his nuts on my chin. In my mouth, on my tongue rubbing it in between spurts when I swallowed it until he ran out, and went soft in my mouth. “Uh!” He rolled off, and pulled his pants up. Crossed his leg over, and hugged 1 arm with the other like a victim.

I wiped my mouth, “See? Told you I’m a girl.”

“No you’re not.”

“Uh, yeah I am?” Seriously, if anybody knows who I am, it’s me. “But it’s not gay to rape me, if I’m a girl. I’m a girl, and you’re a boy, so it’s not gay.”

“I didn’t rape you, you wanted it.”

“So what? I didn’t want to have sex, I wanted you to rape me, and boy did you deliver!” I sighed, and giggled. “It was better then I ever even imagined.”

“You’re sick!” Finally, he got his pants zipped up, so he could roll over on his knees.

“Yeah, huh. But I’m a sick girl, and you’re not gay. Seth.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“It’s okay, you’re not gay.”

He finally broke down crying. So, I could hold him, until he felt better…

;

^I can go on…

Please, Rate This Story:
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars
(average: 2.25 out of 8 votes)

By # # #

No Comments