knightman
New Member
WHEN I WAS TWO YEARS OLD, my parents abandoned me. At three, I moved to the Libertad orphanage. At four el pelirroja, raped me for the first time.
He ran the orphanage in a town called Santa Cruz Del Norte, Cuba. Every night el pelirroja, the redhead liked to take one of the boys, into the basement where he abused them.
I‘ll never forget the high-pitched screams and pleas for mercy.
I ran away five times, but the police always caught me. I‘d be sent back to el pelirroja. His punishment consisted of cuffing me face down to his bed, stubbing out cigarettes on my shoulders, beating me up with a wooden paddle, and then raping me.
When the assaults first began, I could never stop crying. But as I grew older, the tears dried up, I learned to deal with it. I would just close my eyes and wait for it to end. Because it follows a rule, which is the only thing I believe in.
Nothing lasts forever.
At sixteen, I became an adult and left the orphanage. I decided to seek my revenge on el pelirroja. No one ever saw him again.
I landed a job working in a garage. A fella named Julio De Soto owned the business. He got a kick out of telling me how inferior to him I was because my dark skin and black hair made me a mezsito whereas he was rosy cheeked, auburn haired sangre azul, a blue blood from Castile.
If that wasn’t enough to deal with, I also had to take sangre azul’s never-ending put-downs. Always down in front of the other workers, for maximum humiliation.
Your mother was always horizontal twenty four-seven. She was so easy!
Your father was a Bacardi drinking loser. I never saw him without a bottle being stuck to his lips.
Your parents abandoned you in a trashcan. Yes, that’s right in a thrash can, filled with wriggling maggots and chunky turds.
You lay undiscovered for three days until a hungry bum, scavenging for food, flipped the bin over, found your sorry ass and handed you in to the cops. Actually you know what? That bum should have munched into you for breakfast; it would have saved me from having to lay eyes on your ugly face every morning.
Listening to those barbs made me wish I could swing a right into his grinning kisser and watch him roll on the ground in agony. But that was never gonna happen, because I had no power. I was nothing more than a poor kid, with no family, who had to work fifteen hours a day and string a couple of bucks together to survive.
Home, was a one bed roomed apartment above a brothel. It was the cheapest place I could afford. I would have to walk through the landing, where all the gaunt prostitutes would wait for their customers to get to my apartment directly above.
The building stunk of semen and sweat. The girls were either always smoking coke or guzzling rum. They never used protection and would usually be too high to wash their filthy bodies underneath a shower.
In essence, they were the last type of women you’d want to screw.
After a hard day’s work, all I wanted was to hit the sack and sleep till the break of dawn. But that never occurred, because my place’s wafer thin floor allowed me to hear what went on down below. The loud groans. People banging on walls. Giggles and screams.
Sometimes I wondered why life had given me such a raw deal. Why didn’t my parents want me? What kind of low-life’s were they to leave me alone in the thrash? Why did el pelirroja rape me? What could I possibly have done to deserve that? And why did people always treat me like crap?
I couldn’t understand it.
I was a straight-laced guy. I had never screwed anyone around. I had never hurt anybody. I had always followed the law, paid my dues and I always tried to be the good guy.
He ran the orphanage in a town called Santa Cruz Del Norte, Cuba. Every night el pelirroja, the redhead liked to take one of the boys, into the basement where he abused them.
I‘ll never forget the high-pitched screams and pleas for mercy.
I ran away five times, but the police always caught me. I‘d be sent back to el pelirroja. His punishment consisted of cuffing me face down to his bed, stubbing out cigarettes on my shoulders, beating me up with a wooden paddle, and then raping me.
When the assaults first began, I could never stop crying. But as I grew older, the tears dried up, I learned to deal with it. I would just close my eyes and wait for it to end. Because it follows a rule, which is the only thing I believe in.
Nothing lasts forever.
At sixteen, I became an adult and left the orphanage. I decided to seek my revenge on el pelirroja. No one ever saw him again.
I landed a job working in a garage. A fella named Julio De Soto owned the business. He got a kick out of telling me how inferior to him I was because my dark skin and black hair made me a mezsito whereas he was rosy cheeked, auburn haired sangre azul, a blue blood from Castile.
If that wasn’t enough to deal with, I also had to take sangre azul’s never-ending put-downs. Always down in front of the other workers, for maximum humiliation.
Your mother was always horizontal twenty four-seven. She was so easy!
Your father was a Bacardi drinking loser. I never saw him without a bottle being stuck to his lips.
Your parents abandoned you in a trashcan. Yes, that’s right in a thrash can, filled with wriggling maggots and chunky turds.
You lay undiscovered for three days until a hungry bum, scavenging for food, flipped the bin over, found your sorry ass and handed you in to the cops. Actually you know what? That bum should have munched into you for breakfast; it would have saved me from having to lay eyes on your ugly face every morning.
Listening to those barbs made me wish I could swing a right into his grinning kisser and watch him roll on the ground in agony. But that was never gonna happen, because I had no power. I was nothing more than a poor kid, with no family, who had to work fifteen hours a day and string a couple of bucks together to survive.
Home, was a one bed roomed apartment above a brothel. It was the cheapest place I could afford. I would have to walk through the landing, where all the gaunt prostitutes would wait for their customers to get to my apartment directly above.
The building stunk of semen and sweat. The girls were either always smoking coke or guzzling rum. They never used protection and would usually be too high to wash their filthy bodies underneath a shower.
In essence, they were the last type of women you’d want to screw.
After a hard day’s work, all I wanted was to hit the sack and sleep till the break of dawn. But that never occurred, because my place’s wafer thin floor allowed me to hear what went on down below. The loud groans. People banging on walls. Giggles and screams.
Sometimes I wondered why life had given me such a raw deal. Why didn’t my parents want me? What kind of low-life’s were they to leave me alone in the thrash? Why did el pelirroja rape me? What could I possibly have done to deserve that? And why did people always treat me like crap?
I couldn’t understand it.
I was a straight-laced guy. I had never screwed anyone around. I had never hurt anybody. I had always followed the law, paid my dues and I always tried to be the good guy.
