This autobiography should not be named due to the nature of its contents

A little boys 45 year struggle to become a man and overcome childhood sexual trauma

THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY SHOULD NOT BE NAMED DUE TO THE NATURE OF ITS CONTENTS.
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This is a true and very accurate autobiographical depiction of my personal opinions of my family and how I grew up and lived when I was a child. It’s a humorous and tragic story that will make you laugh and cry all the same.

Have you ever seen the movie, ‘The Princess’ Tide?” With Nick Nolte and Barbara Streisand? If you haven’t, stream it and remember reading this narrative while you are watching it.
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February 14, 2024

My name is eight. I grew up as the youngest of six children in a family of eight. We were a very poor family as my father never seemed to find the time to work but he always found the time to drink his alcohol. My father had no business attempting to raise and support a chicken let alone six children and a Japanese wife. I was born in November 1970 and in that year a 7.1 magnitude earthquake hit Tonghai, China killing over 10,000 people, and the Apollo 13 mission was aborted after an oxygen tank in the service module failed, resulting in Tom Hanks, Kevin Bacon and Bill Pullman’s safe return back to Earth. But most importantly, on April 10, 1970, Paul McCartney stated in a press release that he was no longer working with the group, which sparked a widespread media reaction and worsened the tensions between him and his bandmates.

My mother and father met in Okinawa Japan in 1956, just after WWII and just before the Korean War. She was only a 16 year old naive little virgin that was raised and groomed for the past two thousand years of a bloodline that demanded obedience, respect and the submission to men in general not to mention the man who marries her. Her father was killed during WWII after an allied bomber bombed the shit out of a secret war factory he was working in and at one point in her life her mother, who was unable to care for her and her three siblings attempted to drown the four of them in the ocean one by one. Although he is my blood grandfather he is by far one stupid Jap for working in a high target area when he had four children to take care of. I am an American. I was born and raised right here in the USA along the Appalachian mountains.

The two of them were married in 1961 and moved back home to the states with my older brother, an infant, after my father’s military career ended. My mother didn’t speak a lick of English and in 1961, sixteen years after Japan surrendered to the USA, they were driving across the country from San Francisco to Maryland via US Hwy Rt 66. With my father in military dress uniform, they stopped a couple of times at some diners to get a bite to eat only to be told that they didn’t serve her kind there. My father never told my mother why they were turned away and why they had to eat outside in the hot car with a newborn baby. She wouldn’t have understood him anyway. I was hated and picked on my entire childhood because of my race and how I looked to others. I mean I didn’t even look Japanese, but people used to spit on me, call me chink, and throw their garbage at me.

We were all born between the years of 1960 to 1970 in Brooklyn Baltimore which is a city in the state of Maryland, except for the eldest son who was born in Okinawa Japan. I had three older brothers and two older sisters. Like I said in the beginning, my name is eight and I have a sister named eleven, a brother named thirteen, another brother named fifteen, my oldest sister was named sixteen and the eldest son named eighteen. These numbers were how old we all were when the most atrocious and heinous incident would be burned into my psyche, that would have a lasting effect and a definite role with my development into the man I am today.

My second oldest brother, fifteen, the mentally ill one, whom I witnessed at age five, raping my sister in the back of an abandoned car that was parked on our property under the pine grove was created solely by my father. You see, he created him from birth. Sixteen, my oldest sister told my mother one day that my father would beat the infant’s head onto the floor violently for not listening to him, kinda like this, “Mommy, daddy was hitting the baby’s head into the floor while you were gone.” My father targeted fifteen and I figured out why after I turned 50 and started face to face talk therapy. It’s due to my brother being born to my father with a defect. His tear duct didn’t develop properly, which caused the baby’s eye to look deformed just a bit, which resulted in three surgeries to repair it. But my father, being very conceited, had a huge ego and damn if one of his sons was defective and not perfect like he was. He would get drunk every night and start beating on fifteen calling him an idiotic stupid retarded son that will never amount or grow up to be anything.

Please realize what I am conveying to you; from birth through age five, a child develops many neural pathways within his brain, which affects the overall development of neural plasticity also known as brain plasticity. This is the ability of the brain’s neural networks to change through growth and reorganization. In fact, during this stage, a child’s brain develops more than it will at any other time in life. This development will have a long lasting effect on a person with regard to learning, communicating and reasoning and is absolutely vital in the balancing of neural chemicals within the brain itself. For this reason, focusing on helping those neural connections grow and develop is vital.

So, it doesn’t take a brain scientist to realize that beating your infant’s head onto the floor and beating the shit out of him every day of his life all the while verbally abusing him with every mean, nasty, derogatory word you could possibly call him, may result in a chemically challenged little boy that no doubt would have permanent brain damage.

Surprisingly, fifteen ended up lighting our house on fire while everyone was asleep, burning half of it down when he was just six years old. Ironic thing is, we lived on Arson Avenue.

You want to know why my father had six children. It’s not that he was a loving man who looked forward to having many children so that he could bond and inculcate his wisdom into them with love and kindness. IT WAS TO FUTHER ENSLAVE MY FUCKING MOTHER! My father was such a coward that the only way he could ensure that mom could never leave him was by impregnating her as many times as she could until she got ovarian cancer and had her insides taken out.

So, children born all over the world for decades that predate the 70’s were mostly born with a purpose. Some had a purpose to be engineers, school teachers, hell, even the President of the United States of America by the continuous love and grooming of a caring parent. But my fucking purpose was to further enslave my mother and little did I know that it was fulfilled the day that I was conceived. Imagine having zero goals in life, no direction, no parental guidance, and no moral compass all because of a father who would rather get shitfaced drunk and beat his children with a leather belt and call them stupid, dumb idiots every fucking night of the week.

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Well, in 1972, shortly after fifteen caught our house on fire my daddy decided that he was done with the city life and he was going to move us out like the Beverly Hillbillies to the country. So we loaded up the truck and with the help of my uncle we moved out of Brooklyn Baltimore approximately forty miles south to a suburb of Annapolis, where only the rich and wealthy reside.

All of our personal belonging including furniture, clothing, bedding etc were loaded onto a box truck, which my idiot father didn’t take its height into consideration and jammed the fucking thing up under an overpass on Rt 40 in west Baltimore. It literally peeled the top of the truck off like a sardine can exposing all of our personal belongings to the elements. And you know what happened next? It began to fucking rain. Brilliant, and he wasn’t even drunk yet.

In the summer of 1972, when we finally made it down to Annapolis, I was a one and a half year old infant being carried around in my mother’s arms. Well get a load of this because at one and a half years old, I remember bits and pieces from that day that are etched into my memory. My father was the stupidest smart guy that I have ever known so he got it into himself to rent an abandoned house down in the farmland of Annapolis way up into the woods for sixty dollars a month. The house was designed like a spanish doll house where the walls went up and over the rooftop and was made of block and mortar similar to stucco.

The house had no electricity, no running water, no plumbing, no toilet, shower or hot water heater and no bathroom for that matter. There was no kitchen but it did have two tiny 10×10 bedrooms, a tiny living room and dining room and all eight of my dysfunctional family members were going to snuggle up peacefully and reside within two one person bedrooms together. It had broken floorboards with gaping holes, no ceiling in half of the house, no furnace, no appliances and all the copper tubing was stripped from the barren walls. But he was determined to move into this shithole with his Japanese non-English speaking wife, five children and a tiny infant. But first he needed to evict the methamphetamine bikers from the property who were smoking joints, squatting and sitting up on the top of the walls that were higher than the roof. There were mounds of trash heaped into piles all over the property. There were five or six abandoned cars that remained where they were for years to come. And there was a spooky looking very tall pine grove that enveloped the entire backside in the form of a horseshoe that I personally believe demons lived within them.

We moved into that fucking shithole of a house that night and slept under the stars and were relatively happy until it started to fuckin rain down on us straight through the ceiling. We lived in that house with no electricity, running water, toilet, shower, or heat for approximately six or seven years as poor as the dirt that we walked upon. There was a small shed up on the hill about a thousand feet from the house that would later be used to house the chickens after my father decided in a drunken state to become a farmer. More on that later.

Anyway, having no toilet or bathroom, mom set up a temporary makeshift toilet inside of the chicken house that consisted of a five gallon bucket, a wash pan, wash cloth and toilet paper when we could afford to buy any. That is where I shat temporarily for almost five straight years of my life throughout the freezing cold winters and sweaty summer nights sometimes having diarrhea with no toilet paper to wipe your ass with. It left a ring across the bottom of your thighs from sitting on a five gallon bucket. What really sucked is when your the baby everyone else goes before you and you’re forced to not only smell their piss and fecal matter but you were required to dump the fucking thing in a hole that you had to dig with a shovel that had a half a broken handle.

My father finally repaired the roof in 1974, two years after we had moved in and the walls were still barren and the bare wooden floors still had holes in them. So it rained inside of our living room for two years and was a real treat to have a friend over for a visit. And get this, he was a carpenter by trade. Now, it gets very cold in Maryland, literally down to negative temperatures in the months of January and February. All we had was a tiny fireplace in the living room to provide heat but we had no ax to chop any firewood! I went without heat for the first ten years of my life living in the woods and let me tell you it was a miserable first ten years of my life.

In order for anyone to have water to drink, wash, or tidy up with, you were required to fetch an empty five gallon bucket, walk out back into the demon pine grove, walk down a steep hill for about 100 feet to a well halfway down the hill that was equipped with a hand pump and pump your water into your bucket. Now, since the density of water is approximately 1 kilogram per liter or 1000 grams per liter, we can calculate that 5 gallons of water weighs approximately 18.927 kilograms or 41.67 pounds. Which you were then required to carry back up the hill to the house. However, around 4 pm every other day my non-working lazy ass father would build a fire outside in a 50 gallon oil drum and place a huge cooking pot over it that he found in the shed out back. Everyone was required to bring two buckets each and fill the pot several times to provide us with enough hot water so that we could all take a hot bath in it.

YeeHaw, thems is the bestesses times I can remembers. It was outstandingly disgusting! Allow me to explain, see, I was the youngest of six, which means that I bathed last, which means that everyone bathed before me, which means that I’d get all of the dirty used bath water pissed and spat in by my five filthy older siblings, which means that for four years of not having running any hot water I was forced to literally drink dirty spit and piss bath water every other day of my miserable existence I called a life.

My father found an ice box as they were called back in the day that someone was throwing away and ended up giving it to him indicating that it worked just fine. When he brought the damn thing home, you’d think that we all just hit the lottery or something. There was hillbilly dancing and singing and drinking by the moonlight but we forgot one of the most important factors regarding this icebox. We didn’t have any fucking electricity to power it. But again, the mental giant I called my father had plans to buy dry ice and finally we’d be able to refrigerate food like everyone else was able to do within our community. It never happened!

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Enough about how poor we were, let’s get on with this.

Well my brother’s were the coolest ever. They’d tease me, kick the shit out of me, run away from me, and occasionally beat on me while choking me and for a fact, they totally ignored that I even existed most of the time. Everywhere thirteen and fifteen would go, I would try to keep up and tag along at least until they told me to go away. We were a large family of very attractive olive skin children with very nice complexions who were physically fit, highly intelligent and very sexual by nature.

My father was a miserable fuck just like all of the father’s in the 70’s. The only thing that he constantly said to us was, “Shut up, you damn fool, you’re an idiot!” That did wonders for a child’s development let me tell you. He would come home from work with an open Budweiser can between his legs and would have a case of Budweiser tall boys in hand. You see, back in the 70’s and early 80’s no one gave a shit if you were shitfaced drunk, behind a 1970 fifty ton station wagon driving yourself home hitting everything on the road as you went along. I mean not even the cops cared. I remember a friend of my father’s who was a Maryland State Trooper used to drive up our driveway with a can of beer between his legs drinking and driving like it was no big deal.

In 1970, if you were fortunate enough to be born in a hospital and not on a kitchen table, they still had glass IV bags or whatever they were called. Nurses wore those ridiculous outfits because some man designed them so they could sexually entertain them while at work. And the speed limit was a fearful 75 mph everywhere that you drove. Now, some people wouldn’t think that 75 mph is something to be fearful of, especially today with the advancement of automobiles. Well it’s not something to fear today but in the 70’s it was scary as shit. Imagine this if you can; you are a child passenger with no type of seatbelt or restraint whatsoever, riding in a 7,000 pound pure hunk of American made steel with no power steering and drum brakes all the way around, traveling at 125 feet per second with a drunk father who enjoys beating the shit out of you while he’s behind the wheel. If they aint fucking scary I don’t know what is. And not only that, everyone else out on the road was drunk and driving massive technologically retarded automobiles too.

Even from the hospital there was no child safety restraint seat! You’d be lucky if mom even held you in her arms but at least you’d get smashed into the dash versus being catapulted from the back seat through the fucking windshield. There were no rules back then either and barely any consequences for rule breakers. Fuck my old man used to light up a cigarette in the hospitals and grocery stores then butt it on the fucking floor expecting someone to come sweep it up and they actually did. At ten years old I would walk into the liquor store for my father, grab a case of bud tallboys and a carton of lucky strikes and walk out just like any other ten year old kid buying beer and cigs to support his habit would do.

Well let me tell you something, drinking and driving wasn’t a big deal. Neither was getting pissed drunk and beating the shit out of your kids, or goofing off in class and getting beaten not only by the teacher, but by the principal as well. Hell, the principal proudly displayed her wooden paddle that hung on the wall just outside of her office. Or getting sexually abused by everybody and their neighborhood. Or getting forcefully raped by your older brother. Things are so much different today. Kids are able to be kids which is something I never got to experience growing up.

I mean I had ADHD growing up through the school system and there were no psychologists as the mental health field just did not exist. If you acted out in the 70’s due to having ADHD, they simply beat the living shit out of you until you conformed. If you suffered from depression there were no hospitals or doctor offices that you could go to, you’d simply have to get pissed drunk every night self medicating your symptoms. And god help you if you had schizophrenia or were bipolar, because then you would be institutionalized, medicated with thorazine, licked in the face by the orderlies and raped and fucked in the asshole by the janitors. Not to mention that there were no insurance companies regulating how much it was costing you to remain in the hospital. Today, insurance companies dictate how long your stay in the hospital is because they don’t want to pay the fucking hospital bills. But back in the 60’s and 70’s, the states funded the mental institutions where if you were locked up, you were there for good!

My two brothers thirteen and fifteen had cleared out a section of the woods and erected an old stinky army surplus tent with a firepit and chairs to lounge on. I didn’t know it then but this was where they would drink, get high and fuck girls without being bothered by their younger siblings or drunk parent.

One morning I woke up and my brothers were gone. I looked around but I couldn’t find them so I walked up the hill at the back of our house to the army tent wearing only my underwear and nothing else. I heard what sounded like a drunk guy in the tent talking to someone saying, “Hey man, it’s cool, give me some munchies dean, come on man, give me some munchies.” Obviously high as shit, he kept repeating it over and over so I cleared my throat and the talking stopped. Just then a black guy named Kenny quickly pulled back the tent opening and there were my two brothers and a naked girl lying on sleeping bags. The munchies that Kenny kept asking my brother for was Captain’ Crunch cereal. Dean was our last name and my brother’s were known as Dean. Just dean nothing else.

Fifteen was referred to by everyone that knew him as crazy fifteen. He was crazier than hell hounds. Especially when he was smoking dippers, which is a cigarette dipped in embalming fluid and got you high exactly like PCP. I told you that my father created him. I heard stories from thirteen that fifteen would get into fights when he was eight and end up beating the shit of sixteen year old boys.

Fifteen began working out with heavy weights in highschool and went on to win the Maryland State Powerlifting Championship for his weight class. He was so strong and felt zero pain that one day when I was older I was jacking up the front of my Datsun 210 to put a jack stand under it to work on it. Well crazy fifteen walks down with a crazed look on his face, arms bulging out from his sides, walks up to the front of my car and with three bouncing heaves, he lifted the front of my car so high that I was able to not only put jack stands under it but ramps under the tires.
He was nothing you’d want to reckon with especially if you weren’t kin. But sometimes I got the shit beat out of me by him more than someone who wasn’t kin. Sigh.

Okay, well, I’m standing in my underwear and the girl apparently has a thing for little boys because after a while my two brother’s and Kenny left to go score a lid and she asked me to come into the tent and lie down next to her to get warm. So I did. I was a scrawny little kid with no muscles and knobby knees. I layed next to her and I remember that she was completely naked. She rubbed my chest and asked me if thirteen and fifteen were really my brothers and I told her yes. I remember her saying something along the lines that she couldn’t wait for me to grow up, fill out and look like the two of them cause she’d fuck all three of us at one time. I got erect and you could see my little erection in my underwear get bigger and bigger, but not that big, fuck I was only ten years old. She began to rub it but I was so nervous I quickly got up and ran from the tent, back down the hill and ended up touching myself thinking about her being naked in front of me.

About a week later the same thing occurred with my brother’s being gone so I hiked up the hill to the campsite, again, in my underwear, this time when the flaps were quickly opened and folded back there was Kenny, 19 sitting at the entrance and his brother Maurice, 20 was at the back of the tent. Kenny looked at me licking his lips and I noticed that he was smoking dippers just like my brother, crazy fifteen. The blacks called it ‘love boat,’ and the whites called it ‘dippers.’ As a matter of fact both of them were so very high as I could tell having been raised around a drunk and three brothers that enjoyed doing a lot of drugs. With an abusive father, and being poor as dirt, it’s no wonder why we liked to do drugs and get high!

Kenny immediately reached out and grabbed me pulling me into the tent as I struggled just a little bit hearing his brother wickedly laughing. I liked wrestling with my brothers to show them how tough I was and that’s what I thought he wanted to do. I remember the flaps closing on the tent and the light coming through the walls and ceiling of this dark green denim tent. There was a dimly lit lantern burning in the corner of the rectangular tent illuminating it as best as it could and it smelled like mildewed jeans. Kenny violently reached down and pulled my underwear down off of my body with enough force to knock me down. As I sat there on the tent floor, this scrawny little kid, completely naked wondering what he was doing and then he began sticking and jabbing his fingers first into my stomach and my penis and balls then he began to stick and jab them into my asscrack and asshole, hurting me. I was used to being naked and would attempt to get the neighbor girls to go streaking with me and to this day whenever I see the girls they still call me, ‘streak.’

He calls out to his brother, “Maurice, come check out this little dude. He’s naked and has a little boy’s dick.” This fact apparently amazed him.

Maurice crawled over after staring at his hand steadily for three minutes straight, took one look at me and called me a little cutie. I stood up and Kenny slapped my back pushing me back down to the floor of the tent. This time Maurice wildly jammed his head down into my crotch and began sucking on my limp dick until it was hard then he began to bite it. The only person that has ever touched my dick with their mouth was the youngest of my two sisters, eleven. I thought to myself, ‘what in the hell is this guy doing to me biting on my dick?’ Kenny observed his brother with his mouth around my dick as I sat upright just looking at him. He said something like, ‘Oh yeah bro, that’s a good fuckin’ idea. Let me get some of dat little white boy dick!” Kenny began to poke and jab at me again this time deep into the crack of my ass. He would stop every now and again and smell his fingers and then he’d start poking and jabbing me in my ass again. This is where it gets a bit graphic.

Kenny began to hallucinate pretty badly as his eyes were shiny as glass and he began to say that the soldiers were outside and they were pushing down on the tent attempting to smother him. In between him talking he would take another hit of the PCP on the cigarette. His brother glanced up at him, taking a moment away from my dick and said something unintelligible such as, ‘let them soldiers come and try to take this boy from us, cuz I’ll kill them and him.’

I attempted to crawl away to the opening of the tent when I felt Maurices large strong hand grab ahold of my scrotum, “Where you going soldier boy?” and he violently squeezed my balls in his hand then began punching me in the back of my head with a lot of force. He let go of my balls then leaned down and bit so hard down on my dick I thought he was going to bite it in half. I screamed in pain as blood began pouring out from just below the head of my dick and I didn’t know what to do. Crying my eyes out, I screamed for help and again attempted to escape through where the tent opening was when all of the sudden, Kenny grabbed me by my throat with one hand and began to choke me as hard as he possibly could saying, “You little fuck, you were the one that was spying on me, you were the one.” I attempted to speak but was unable to and I remember Maurice saying something about Kenny killing me and that he wanted me alive to fuck up. I want him alive to fuck up. I quickly lost consciousness and passed out falling onto the tent floor as Kenny had finally let go of my childlike neck.

It felt as if hours had gone by but only minutes had passed as I began to regain consciousness. I immediately felt a sharp pain in my lower back and a very hot burning sensation in my balls and the area between my asshole and nutsack. Something was different and it wasn’t right. I woke up to find my ass propped up on a bunch of pillows with Maurince doing something to me that I didn’t think was even possible for a boy to do to another boy.

My guts were cramping, my asshole was burning and I felt like I was shitting myself. He was blasting his dick into my asshole so violently that I could feel liquid pouring out of me profusely. I tried to get away struggling and fighting to the best of my ability but I could do nothing as Kenny was holding me and restraining me down to the tent floor. I was balling my eyes out screaming with the extreme amount of pain that I was experiencing. I was able to reach down and place my hand in the liquid that was pouring out of my rectum and when I pulled it up to my eyes I realized that the liquid was pure red blood.

I begged him to stop when Maurice got irritated with me and told his brother to shut me up. Kenny began punching me in the head, blacking both of my eyes and making my nose bleed. He then said something like ‘I know how to get this little nigga to stop crying.’ He pulled down his shorts and shoved his dick into my mouth, choking me and I began throwing up all over him while Maurice kept pounding my still bleeding asshole over and over. I could feel the blood pumping out of my dick making the pillows so wet that I felt it up on my stomach. I literally had blood on my face, stomach, and asshole as it was pouring out coagulating in a puddle onto the backside of the pillows opposite my dick.

I was crying like a little boy being raped in the asshole and mouth my two black adult males with zero compassion for human life and the innocence of a child. They took turns raping me for about two and a half hours as I endured the most extreme pain that I have ever felt in my life to date.

If you don’t consider raping to be torture then you’ll be happy to know that they eventually started to torture me by holding a burning candle under my scrotum and heating up the handle of a socket wrench with open flame and sticking it inside of me. I cried and cried and begged them to take it out of me and Maurice kept saying that I was a spy and this is what they do to spies. He kept fucking me.

The socket handle was so fucking hot it cauterized the broken blood vessels and anal wall tears inside of my rectum. I eventually stopped begging them to stop hurting me as I thought that they were either going to kill me accidently or kill me after they were done torturing me. I sobbed like the scared little boy who I was and I wondered where fifteen was, I kept thinking to myself wishing he would come to my rescue and kill these motherfuckers.

They beat the living shit out of me so badly that I lost consciousness three more times in succession. I invited them to knock me unconscious so that way I didn’t have to feel the extreme pain of having my rectum ripped open, my dick being bitten, my nutsack being squeezed by a hand, burned with a candle and cauterized by a socket handle being shoved into my asshole. When they were done and the PCP was worn off a little, Maurice looked at me wickedly like he had a demon in him and he whispered saying that if I tell anyone what happened between the three of us he would come back and torture me until I was dead. I was scared shitless because I knew that he was serious as he pulled his arm back and punched me in the jaw knocking me out once again as I hit the tent floor. They both stood up up and casually left me in the tent passed out bleeding after brutally raped me.

I awoke about three hours later and it was beginning to be nighttime. I got really scared because my father would be drunk just about now and he’d be looking for me to beat on. I felt that if one more person lays a hand on me that I would simply fall over and pass away dead. At ten years old, I was trying to make sense of what just happened to me and I didn’t realize that I would spend the next forty-five years of my life running and hiding from the brutality inflicted on me that day. I stood up and I looked at my legs down to my feet and they were soaked and dripping with blood. My entire ass and lower back was covered in blood and bruises as well as my scrotum and my entire dick were covered with blood and bruises. Apparently Maurice beat the shit out of my dick and balls as I layed there unconscious. I grabbed a camping mirror off of a milk crate and looked at my face. Both of my eyes were black and the whites of my eyes were bright red with ruptured blood vessels. My nose was obviously broken but at least it stopped bleeding. I had bruised ribs and my entire right side was black red and blue and was very painful to the touch. My head was extremely painful, where I was repeatedly punched over and over.

I didn’t bother to put my underwear on because they were soaked with blood. I began barely walking to the outside of the tent where I made about five steps then fell down in excruciating pain emanating internally from the lower parts of my bowels. I shit myself as I rolled on the ground clutching my stomach and pelvic area with my hands praying that the pain would stop and go away as the added pain of rolling around on sticks and stones didn’t even phase me.

Eventually I was able to stand up and continue to walk out into the dark woods. It took me about two hours to go the distance that normally took about three minutes to walk. I fell down in excruciating pain countless times, but I finally made it to the house and I heard the sound of two generators humming beside the rear of the house. I was happy to hear it because it meant that my brother’s were home but what was I going to tell them. How can I cover this up so that Maurice doesn’t torture and kill me. I stood outside the back door just outside of the boys room where me and my three brothers shared two bunk beds with one another. I was in too much pain to continue to stand there, plus my drunken father may wander outside like he usually does to piss beside the house and see me standing here naked and start beating on me for streaking. I took in a large breath, put on my tough guy face, walked through the outside door that led directly into the boys room and stood and stared all three of my brothers in their faces. I then collapsed where I stood as fifteen jumped up in a panic, rushed over to me, picked me up in his arms and I couldn’t help but cry my eyes out. Eighteen, the oldest, immediately rushed over to the bedroom door to make sure the drunk didn’t hear anything and thirteen’s jaw dropped as he peered at my naked bruised and battered body.

I cried to fifteen, “Wheeere were you fifteen? Why didn’t you save me?” I sobbed uncontrollably.

Fifteen said with a cool and calm low voice, “Eight, I’m right here now. Who did this to you?”

I answered, “They said that if I say anything that they’ll torture and kill me next time.

Fifteen was in charge and was annoyed that he had to repeat himself, “Eight, I will only ask you this one more time, then I will be angry okay? I nodded.

“Eight, who said that they would torture and kill you?”

Without even thinking about what I was saying I blurted out, “Kenny Busch and his brother Maurice. Around three o’clock I went up to the tent looking for you guys and Kenny pulled me into the tent, ripped my underwear off, and he and Maurice were smoking dippers and Maurice bit my dick and it bled real badly.” I paused to catch my breath.

Fifteen’s head was about to fall off and roll away, “WHAT!? Those two fucking niggers, Kenny and Maurice did this to my baby brother?”

With those words I couldn’t help but cry even more. I began to ball my eyes out sobbing. I struggled to continue, “Then Kenny punched me in the face lots of times and knocked me out, then I woke up feeling hurt where I poop, and Maurice had his dick inside of me and I was bleeding a whole bunch and they held a candle over my private area and burnt my nutsack, then they heated up a wrench and shoved it inside of me over and over, Fifteen, It hurt so bad, I cried for you but you not come.”

My brother lifted me up and cradled me in his strong arms tenderly kissing my forehead and I could see his anger building behind his eyes like a furnace. Crazy fifteen couldn’t lose it just yet, so I’m sure he contained the ringing as he realized that he needed to take care of his baby brother.

“I am so sorry eight, I will make this right, you’ll see, okay little brother, hang in there. Thirteen and eighteen, you need to take him to the emergency room, I really think they really fucked him up pretty bad,” looking at the blood still running down my leg.

Eighteen looked at fifteen, “Okay, but what are you going to do?

Fifteen started to get a crazed look on his face and began punching himself in his face, pummeling his body, “I’m going to go find those two niggers, Kenny and Maurice and unleash all hell upon them with the vengeance of Legion!”

If you are well versed with the bible when Jesus crossed over to Gethsemane. He got out of the boat and noticed a demon possessed man bound with fetters and chains lashing out and throwing the man to the ground having great convulsions.

So Jesus ordered the demon out of the man but it resisted. So Jesus again ordered the demon out of the man and it still resisted. Thus, Jesus was curious at the power of this demon so he said, “I command you, what is your name demon?” And the demon said, “I am legion for I am many.” A legion in the Roman army was about 6,000 soldiers so what this demon was implying and why it was able to resist Jesus’ command was because there were apparently 6000 demons soldiers camped out inside of this man. So all of the demons ended up having to obey the commands of their maker so they asked permission to enter the unclean swine. Jesus, thus, gave them permission to enter the swine and they went running over the precipice, thus falling to their deaths releasing the demons back into the spirit world.

So fifteen said that ‘he was going to unleash all hell upon them with the vengeance of Legion, or the vengeance of 6000 demon soldiers.

Eighteen shook his head, “What a bunch of stupid niggers. Are they stupid or just plain dumb. Why would they do this to eight knowing he’s our kin and baby brother? Don’t they know that they both signed their death certificates?

Thirteen grabbed an aluminum baseball bat from under his bed that he reserved just for my father, “I’m coming with you. Eighteen can handle getting eight to the hospital.”

Piss thirteen off and he can go toe to toe with fifteen for about a minute or so up until fifteen hears the ringing inside of his head as he calls it then all bets are off.

Eighteen took me to the ER and after they triaged me they took me straight back and began to examine me. The doctor started by asking me what happened so I told him. He examined me and sent me back for tests. I was diagnosed with:

Head concussion,
Multiple subconjunctival hemorrhages in the eyes,
Anogenital injuries,
Three fractured ribs,
Multiple facial contusions,
Third degree burns on my scrotum,
Torn anorectal mucosa,
Severe occlusion bites of the scrotum

I was admitted to the hospital for a week and had to undergo a sphincteric reconstruction and repair of the perineal body in layers and the surgical repair of a sphincter rupture.

It’s been forty-five years since this event occurred that fucked me up for the rest of my adult life. In 2019 I was drinking a half gallon of grain alcohol a day until one day I ended up regurgitating a massive amount of blood, which landed me in the ICU. The doctor’s that treated me all said that if I keep it up, I would very soon die of a heart attack or total organ failure. So I switched from 189 proof grain to 80 proof Irish Whiskey. That was my logic. I have been drinking and drugging ever since I was ten years old.

I had constant nightmares for years afterward and I always knew that I was fucked up not only by being brutally raped, tortured and beaten, but by the way I was raised. I never had a birthday party or presents, or a Christmas or family get-togethers or anything pleasant. My life was surrounded and full of agony, misery, torment, suffering, and constant distress. I was beaten almost every day of my childhood life, locked in a cellar for days without food just water, raped, sexually abused by family member and neighbors, tormented by hateful people because of my race, beaten by my teachers with yard sticks, and finally beaten by all of my older siblings because shit rolls downhill and I have always been at the bottom of the shit pile.

I began using hard drugs at the age of eleven and drank my first beer given to me by dear ole’ dad at the age of eight. I ended up running away from the abuse at the age of fourteen. I lived in the woods off of a highway for three years. I quit school, and wandered around aimlessly with no direction having zero purpose for most of my adult life.

I have been arrested and jailed for handgun and drug violations and in 2021, I was drinking a half gallon of Jameson Whiskey a day when only after forty-five years I was finally sick of living the way that I lived. So I sought help from a local mental health clinic, went on a SNRI, SDRI, SSRI, an anti anxiety for PTSD, an amphetamine for ADHD, and a cognitive enhancer for nothing except that it helps me retain information thus making me smarter.

What a difference between 2021 and 1975. I have seatbelts, running water, indoor plumbing and electricity and a place to take a shit and that is all that I really need. Oh yeah and my crazy person drugs as I like to refer to them. I wonder if my childhood and the way I was raised has anything to do with my sexual attraction to preteen and young teenage girls? I will probably never know the feeling of satisfaction of lovingly teaching a twelve you old little girl all there is to know sexually.

Strangely enough no one ever talked to or heard from Maurice and Kenny Blake ever again. Story goes that Legion tortured and killed them both, chopped them up and fed their bodies to our hogs, but that’s probably just another rumor. I am happy to report that my last drink of alcohol was approximately two years and three months ago October 28, 2021! Thanks for reading, peace!

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