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Thrillers

4081 Words | 0 |2.60
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This is a true story, based on works of fiction. No copywrite infringement applies, because it’s Not For Profit.

IDK who raped me the first time, because they knocked me out, but I have some suspicions. Paul didn’t have any hair on his balls, and the first time I saw them they were shriveled up. Then, his brother hit me, and kept on beating me until I blacked out.

I woke up, and my ass was sore. Inside and out, my hands were untied, and the chair I tied myself to was thrown away. So, I got up, buried my torn clothes under the chair again, and put on my jeans. Jordaches, pink Keds, and tighty whiteys to go back home.

I think it was probably just Paulie, because by the time I got a chance to check the damage, there wasn’t any cum. His older brother was old enough to ejaculate, so you’d think that if he took a turn, he would have left some, but I never found any.

Later, I took a dump, and checked the toilet bowl for any floating. My ass was still sore, but it didn’t split open like I thought, and the swelling even went down before I had to take a dump. It took a while for the bruises to go away, but I couldn’t even feel them the next morning.

Still can’t say for sure whether his big brother Goeff raped me too. Just because I didn’t find any doesn’t mean that he didn’t pull out. Stick it in and rape me until he couldn’t keep it up, “Because it’s gay” and pull out before he could blow it. For all I know it soaks into my bowel walls, I just know that none ever came out that I saw.

Goeff also had this friend named Seth (Names have been changed to protect the guilty) who he must’ve told what happened, but these boys were big fat liars. 12, or 13 (I don’t know their birthdays) 6th graders, because they got held back for “Fighting” which means beating the crap out of me at school until I stopped tattling on them.

So, they’d stop getting suspended, and they could beat me up almost every day. 5 days a week after school, because I liked it. I’m a masochist, I guess that’s how I got to be such a good masochist that I could take a pounding from all 3 of them until I liked it. The funny thing was, they called me a “Girl” for years, before I found out that they thought I was gay.

A boy, I was born a baby boy, and my whole life has been a fight to convince anyone that I’m anything else ever since. Nowadays, I can say “Transgender,” and you might think that you know what that means. A Tranny, a Shemale, or a Ladyboy if you like them oriental. (Most likely Thai) Nope, just a girl that likes pain, other than a few things between my legs that I couldn’t never get rid of. Definitely not transsexual, you’d have to be sexual for that.

I tried, I just can’t hurt myself. I can slap myself, punch myself, and pinch myself, but I can’t even cut myself. That hadn’t started being a fad yet, so if any of the real girls were doing it back, they kept it hidden up their sleeves. I can’t really hurt myself, bad enough to enjoy it, and if I stub my toe, it doesn’t really do anything for me. It’s not really sexy, most pain isn’t a turnon, but I’m a freak, I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? Quoting song lyrics that hadn’t come out yet, I guess.

I can’t tickle myself neither, but that seems normal. (Whatever that means.) Masturbation has always been a problem, because that means touching things that I don’t even like having. There’s no way to explain what this is like, believe me I’ve tried, but I hate my penis, and testicles. I don’t like penis and testicles at all, but I can’t really do anything about them.

They’re there, still there, but I could ignore them. If I sat down to pee, then I didn’t have to fish them out of my underwear. Thank goodness I was circumcised (None of the boys in my family were) so I don’t have to worry about cleaning that out, but it doesn’t belong there. None of it belongs there, so I just covered those up, and looked away.

I can’t really have sex neither, nor did I ever really want to. For as long as I remember, I’ve always been attracted to things, that normal people would call Horror. I’d rather call them Thrillers, because they never scared me, horrified or disgusted me. Prom Night, with Jaimie Lee Curtis? I never got to see Halloween, because that was R rated too, but I vaguely remember Prom Night coming on cable.

Basic cable, so they dubbed over the foul language, and if they showed any nudity, that got edited out too, but one thing they didn’t tone down was the violence. “Don’t watch that,” my mom told me. “It’ll give you nitemares,” but when I put on my nighty, I found out she was wrong. I had bad dreams, but they excited me, and I started to get obsessed with what that must feel like.

Just reading over the Wikipedia for the plot, there’s this 1 scene where Kelly refuses to have sex in a changing room because she’s a virgin. So her boyfriend leaves, and the killer slits her throat with a piece of the broken mirror. I don’t remember that part, because I didn’t care what it felt like to die that way.

I mean stabbed to death. In slow motion, they’re called “Slasher” movies, but of course there’s plenty of stabbing, and seeing the knife in his hand. Sink down, then come back up with the bright blade covered in blood, and stabbing back down again. In, and out, penetrating her body, until she stopped screaming, struggling, or anything…

I don’t have to point out how sexual that is, but I didn’t know what a virgin was. Why she wouldn’t “Do it” with her boyfriend, but it awoke something inside me. A hunger to feel that blade stab into me. Without making a connection with the penis, let alone where it would go if I had that place to begin with. (Pst! The Vuh Gyn Uh!) I just realized how I wanted to die.

So then, to make this part of a long story short, I went out looking for trouble. Violence, I didn’t know any boys with knives to stab me to death with, but I made do with getting pushed around, slapped, punched, kicked, and wrestled to the ground. Called names, some of which hurt, most of them not. Usually wound up with my hips pinned under their butts, and something done to get my hands out of my face so they could punch me there.

It hurt, but I loved it. Honestly, I think that I never got to enjoy spanking until later on, because I was never was spanked except once for breaking a friend’s piano. (That was in part 1: Thriller if you’re interested.) I guess, in hindsight it made me feel like a girl, because that’s what the boys called me the most. Whenever they were wrestling me down, and beating the crap out of me, but I got addicted to that.

It was even more thrilling that watching a thousand college girls get stabbed to death by a hundred knife psychos, and somehow that got beaten into my subconscious. That was femininity to me, it became my identity. The only way I could act out being a girl, and being treated like a boy. Except for the older bullies, and one of their little brothers who was about my age.

That was Paulie, sometimes he was a year ahead of me. Depending on if he already had his birthday, but he had his own problems. Mainly his brother Goeff, who was a bully, and his best friend Seth, who was also a bully. So, he tagged along with them, and bullied me along with some other girls when nobody was looking, because it wasn’t considered manly to hit girls back in the day.

Then school ended, and they forgot about me. That broke my heart when I found out, but honestly, they were bullies. They beat up every kid that they could get their hands on, and they didn’t know what was special about me. Even though they made fun of me, for having a “Girl” haircut. (I call the Cyndi Lopper, even though I got it from a different music video) Wearing “Girl” colors, like the pink Keds my sister threw away when she grew out of them. “Girl jeans,” like the Jordaches she through out, because they made my butt look sexy.

I knew what sexy was, in the 80s. If you’re too young to know, I doubt you can watch enough 80s commercials to get it, but pause this, and watch a few Jordache commercials from the 80s. This will be here when you get back. (God, the internet makes all this so much easier!) “The Jordache look!” I had it, and believe it or not, that was sexy. Had I been born 10 years older, it probably would have been bell bottoms, and disco.

The boys didn’t think about it, because they didn’t want to, but they could see it. They called me a “Girl” as an insult, because they didn’t know it was a compliment, and I took it as a compliment, because I didn’t know it was an insult. Finally, I missed them so much that I started playing out my rape fantasies in the woods, instead of masturbating.

Most of those movies, I couldn’t really watch were in the woods. Halloween, Friday the Thirteenth, The Evil Dead… I found a folding chair somewhere, and found a place where I could kick leaves over it. Dig a shallow grave to bury my fetishwear under the seat, and yellow nylon rope to tie myself up with hump to my first orgasms. It didn’t take long to figure out how to wrap it around my waist, twist the 2 ends together between my legs, and struggle hard enough for it to hurt my crotch.

The frayed itchy pieces of nylon digging into my thighs, catching on my mom’s L’eggs so they ripped, and crushing my junk. My little stiffy finally bursting with dry twitches of overwhelming pleasure so I couldn’t cry out for “Help!” Any more. I thought that I could scream as loud as I wanted, and nobody could hear me, but finally I got lucky.

The brothers, Goeff, and Pauley followed me. I later found out, they heard me yelling “Help, help me!” and found my little open air dungeon, but they didn’t recognize me. The Cyndi lopper grew out into a mullet, and then after school let out, I actually grew bangs. Nobody noticed, I mean even my brother and big sister never noticed me growing my hair out into a girl do. An 80s feathered hair flip, with bangs, in the 80s.

Even back then, that was girlier than girly, but there I am in the family photos. Moping, or pouting, they couldn’t make me smile if I wanted to, but if you never thought that I was a boy to begin with, you’d never be able to tell. A lot of the girls at school just hung out with me, and never questioned it. I was a girl, so they hung out with me, just like the other girls.

A long story short (Read Episode 1: “Thriller”) they started touching me. Mostly Seth while Paulie took his clothes off, until Seth moved the ropes to touch my crotch, and he saw my private parts bulging through the ratty torn pantie hose. He flew off the handle in a homophobic rage, and gave me the best beating I ever had until I finally passed out.

By the time I woke up, they were gone. They had to untie me, and tear off what little I was wearing to rape me, but I never found out for sure who did it. They’re liars, all 3 of them are big fat liars, and always were as long as I knew them. Even if you ask the frat boys at a college party who raped you after you passed out, they’re all going to lie, and say it was a consensual gangbang. (It isn’t. If she passes out, she can’t say no, but she can’t say yes, neither. So, it’s either rape, or something worse like necro-play, with an unwilling victim playing the corpse.)

I wanted it, but it was disappointing. I went through all that victim rehearsal trying to figure out what it feels like to be raped, but I just can’t rape myself. If I could have, I would have stabbed myself to death with a kitchen knife just to see what that feels like before I even realized that I wanted to be raped, but it’s still rape.

Consensual Rape. “How can rape be consensual, if it’s defined as non-consensual sex?” Simple, if I want you to rape me, and you do it, then that’s rape. You can rape a girl without consent if you force her to have sex, but I don’t want to play sex games. I don’t want safe sane consensual, I want RAPE. You can’t fake it, you Have to rape me to have sex, but it’s also about Intent.

If he doesn’t know you want it, if you have to trick him into doing it, or you fight convincingly enough, then it’s still rape. He knows that he wanted to rape you, he rapes you, and without consent (That he’s aware of) it’s Rape. And finally, I had Homophobia. Neither one of them knew I was a girl (Despite the fact that it was “Duh” obvious, they called me a Girl, and beat me up for acting “Like a girl”) So they were reluctant until I finally pushed them over the edge so that they were too pissed off to care.

“She was asking for it!” Yeah, rape. So they raped me. “Look how she was dressed!” Yeah, like a girl? Honestly, they all 3 had to have it explained to them, over and over again, and they still “Like” raped me several times, because “It’s gay,” sent them into violent sexual rage. So likewise: It’s not gay if I’m a GIRL.

I’m a girl. You’re not gay, just rapists. (I guess technically child rapists too, but they were little more than kids themselves when they started.)

;

Dani (bt Cons)

I guess the first boy I had sex with was Seth. He came by to ask me if I was really gay, and that turned into a fight over me being a girl, until finally he broke my nose with his pubes, but I can’t really call that “Rape.” It kinda thought it felt that way about it at the time, but it was our first time, and the time before that I was knocked out, so I didn’t know what rape really felt like.

I tricked him into a blowjob, despite him thinking that was gay, then he finally said “You want to be a girl so bad,” I wanted him to tie me up, but when all was said and done, we compromised on a “bitch.” I wanted him to tie me up with his belt, but I barely got it out out his pants.

He pounded my head into the ground, fucking my face until I bled. I didn’t even realize until I got home, and then I had to lie to mom to keep him Out of trouble.

“Oh,” snort, “No, he just ran off when the boys chased him off, but he didn’t lay a hand on me. He just let them beat me up.” So, she didn’t call the cops on him, again, but she suspected that he set it up. Came over to my house to “Talk to Danny,” but even the girls at school didn’t think it was weird to hang out with a girl named “Dani.” if I put a circle over the i, sometimes it was a heart, or star, but irregardless.

That satisfied me for a while, and it was like free makeup until the bruises went away. Somehow that gave me 2 black eyes, but then that faded to this weird green that I thought was “Pretty.” Again, 80s standards. Pris gave herself a similar look in Blade Runner with an air brush.

Then, finally Paulie got the balls to get my number from somewhere, (Don’t ask me how,) and called me to say he’s. “Sorry about what happened.”

“Oh, no don’t be.” I had to cradle the phone, this was one of those old fashioned ones, that plugged into the base, and the base plugged into the wall, so I had to carry the whole thing to my room, and shut the door to say. “Just tell your brother not to knock me out next time so I can feel it, okay?”

“Next time? There’s never going to be a next time because.” he stopped, and I guess looked around for anybody in ear-shot before he lowered his voice, but I knew why before he even whispered it. ‘it’s gay.’

“Uh!” Rolling my eyes, “Will you guys quit saying that, and didn’t Seth tell you all ready? It’s been like. Weeks?” I looked at the calendar for no good reason, because I didn’t mark down the day they raped me. For one thing, it’s my brother’s calendar, and he’d probably be pissed that I wrote anything on it, let alone my rape-date with the boys.

“No? What?”

“Uh, I’m a girl?”

He laughed, “No you’re not.”

“I am so, just stop saying that and listen to me! God…” Honestly, I went through this exact same conversation too many fucking times over the years to even write it down again, but nobody wants to believe me, ever.

“I saw your dick and balls.”

“I saw your dick and balls too, but I never got a chance to suck them.”

“Ew, fag.” He laughed, and joked, so it wasn’t like it was serious, and we joked back and forth about that for god knows how long, but a long story short.

“You’re really a girl?”

“Yeah, well no. Not really, but when I get a sex change.”

“When is that?”

“I don’t know, when I’m old enough to get one. I don’t even know how much they cost, but more money then I have, and where do you even go to get a sex change?”

“I don’t know, but if you’re really a girl trapped in a boy body, then I guess it’s okay.”

“No it’s not, because the only way to get to her is to beat her out of me, and I’m starting to think that I’m never going to have sex at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have to rape me. I can’t even beat off, that’s why I was tied up when you found me. I can’t barely even get in the mood without dressing up, and tying myself to a chair.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, because I’m fucked in the head, and.”

“Danny?” I covered up the phone in my chest.

“Yeah, mom?”

“Language.”

“Sorry mom.” I lowered my voice.

;

Annie (trans)

This went on for years, so I have to jump past a bunch of conversations which are basically the same one skipping back over and over. It’s not, gay, I’m a girl. It’s not sex it’s rape, because they avoided me.

Seth, and Goeff went on to middle school which made that easy, but Pauley got held back, so he was in 5th grade with me. He got held back with the boys for “Fighting,” and getting suspended, so they didn’t have to skip school, and for some reason none of them got expelled, just held back.

He avoided me at school too, but by then I was living as a girl at school. You know that tranny in the bathroom the Jesus freaks threatened to rape if we got rights? That’s me, only I just went in the girl’s room to talk to my friends, and used the toilet in the boy’s room when I had to go. Kind of a double life, but I never got in trouble for that because A: It wasn’t on Your gaydar, and 2: Nothing happened. We went in there to talk, other girls went in there, and closed the door, but the reason is I’m not a rapist.

I’m not a peeper, I’m a victim that stopped playing the victim, until I learned how to be a Serial victim by tricking straight guys into raping me. Oh yeah and the “Trap?” That was me, too. before that was on your gadar neither.

So anyway, Pauley called me, and kept calling me, until we could get past all the bullshit he kept calling me about. To reassure me that he didn’t rape me, he’s not gay, and I could affirm that I was a girl. That felt good, and also I figured out a lot of stuff I’d been doing all along, like how I dressed my body.

“It’s like before, and after.” I had to explain to him, to think about it consciously in the first place.”

“Uh huh?” He’s actually a great listener, as long as you know he’s not gay, or anything.

“You know that Jordache commercial? The Jordache Look.”

“Yeah, the jeans jacket, red shirt, and tight pants to show off their asses.” They’re all white, bye the way. The models, I mean, it’s “Subtle” if you don’t think about it.

“Yeah, well that’s the before picture.”

“Before what?”

“You know? At the start of the movie, when they all pile in the truck with their boyfriends to go to the lake.”

“The lake in the commercial? I forgot it was shot at the lake.”

“No! In the slasher movies. I’m the body they find, or one of them after the slasher goes on a rampage.”

“Uh, a dead body.”

“Well, yeah. I guess, maybe before that.”

“Before what?”

“Before she dies. You know, he doesn’t just slash the girls. He also stabs them, and rips.” I put my hand up, to the side of my hair, and swept it back to brush my fingertips with the grown out stubble. “Huh!”

“Yeah, huh. That’s why you rip up your jeans, huh?”

. . .

“Mhm?” I bit my lip.

“From him ripping off your shirt.”

. . .

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” fap. “Uh, yeah.” Fapfap Fap, Fap! Fap. “HhuhHhuh!” I shivered. “Yeah.”

At some point it turned into Phone sex. I shared my violent-to-suicidal fantasies, while he jerked off, over the phone.

“Good night.”

“Hey, maybe you can paint the tears red, so it looks like he cut you, or scraped you when he tore off all your clothes?”

“Huh, yeah. Good night.” I hung up, but I just had to sleep. Fall asleep, so it’s fresh in my mind when I start to dream, because there I’m a girl.

So, they can rape me all night, kill me, stab me, strangle me, maybe scratch me a little, and bash my brains out fucking me, but that night. I realized why it’s lopsided.

The hair cut, because he rips so much out gripping it to yank you back kicking, and screaming in the dark. Then hold you face down sideways with one hand, and maybe choke you with the other, but he has a hand free to hold the knife. Cut your clothes off, or at least open enough to get inside you. Slap, punch, and scratch your flesh with his rough nails, so I can have wet dreams.

Orgasms, nocturnal emissions? Without anybody to touch me, let alone hurt, or kill me. I didn’t have to touch myself, but without raping me either. I guess there really isn’t any safe way to do that.

I didn’t care about safe. I wanted to die, eventually, but I wanted to suffer sexually as much as I could before that. Hopefully, someone will cut it all off and save me the cost of a eunicision, because I can’t do it myself.

Before I finally broke through and became capable of actually hurting myself, but that’s a whole nother story…

.

;

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