nothing to live for, yet still too much of a pussy to die.
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They were right, no one cared about me- a convicted child killer, a drunk, a failure. I wanted to bite, just bite it right the fuck off, but I knew these guys would kill me. He pushed his cockhead to my still pursed lips, rubbed it all over my hot wet cheeks, then pushed it into my mouth. “Don’t fight boy, or that pretty face ain’t gonna stay pretty, and then you ain’t gonna be worth nothin.” “You’re a pretty boy, you wanna survive in here, you’re gonna have to work.” He pulled his blue inmate pants and boxers down and a half hard cock pointed at my face. The other one, grabbing my face in one hand, squeezing my cheeks together, making my lips purse, with the other hand, brushed my long hair out of my eyes, tears streaming down my face. You are from this moment on, property of the Unforgiven.” He took a step back, lifted his shirt over his head, tattooed across his belly, UNFORGIVEN with a large black swastika behind it. I doubled over falling to my knees, unable to breathe, my vision blurry from the tears in my eyes, one of them put his hand over my mouth, whispered to me, “Listen you fucking child killer, there’s no point in screaming, no one fucking cares, and even if they did care, they’re too smart to snitch. I pulled the pillow case from my mouth just as a fist hit me in my still healing ribs. Two tall white skinheads covered in tattoos, probably in their 30s, they stuffed a pillow case in my mouth and dragged me off my bunk and into the showers, pushing me into the mop closet and closing the door behind them. My fourth night at reception, they came for me. 24 years old, about 5 foot 8, 180 pounds, no muscle to speak of, dirty blonde hair grown out somewhat long, hanging in front of my blue eyes. Somehow, word quickly spread that I was a child killer. We went to eat, we went to sleep, all of us just waiting to get on the bus that would take us to our permanent prison. In reception, we slept in open bays, 70 bunks in one large room. No one from my family was there besides my father, who cried silently in the back of the courtroom as they walked me out in handcuffs.
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The trial was quick, guilty of vehicular manslaughter, 10 years, could make it out in 5-7 years with good behavior. a ten year old girl was in the back seat, she didn’t make it.
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I was mostly fine, just some cracked ribs, the Civic though. I woke up in the hospital handcuffed to the bed.
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I hit them full speed, 70 mph, knocking both our vehicles off the road and into the woods. My Tacoma plowed into the back of an old Civic stopped at a red light in the dark, empty country roads of north Florida. I was gonna find a big city up north, Chicago, New York maybe, somewhere full of reasonable people, no more ignorant red necks and snobby southern belles. I was gonna get the hell out of this shit hole full of country hicks. Three quarters of a bottle of Jim Beam later, I was on the road, heading north. Deeply depressed, embarrassed, shamed and alone, I began binge drinking. Nowhere to go, I stayed at a cheap motel for a few days. We lived in the deep south of north Florida, both our families were the definition of bible thumpin’ southern baptists, so unsurprisingly, I was quickly excommunicated. So she broke it off, kicked me out of the apartment, and proceeded to explain to all our friends and family the exact reason why we were no longer together.
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Turns out that, most women, before getting married to the man that is supposed to protect her, they don’t want to find out that man has fantasies of seeing her ravaged by strangers. We were engaged to be married, I felt like I could trust her to be understanding, I was dead wrong.
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One night, in bed, drunk and horny as hell, I told my fiance, Krissy, about my fetish for cuckolding. It started when I let my lust get the best of me. There was a time that I resembled something like a man, but that was many long years ago.