Subject: Getting My Colon Violently Pummeled Against My Will (was: Ass Surgury) Date: Wed, 18 Aug 1999 09:43:05 -0500 From: Lord Stevil the Parakeet Shaman Newsgroups: alt.tasteless (I am posting the following for entertainment purposes only. If you show any sympathy or pity for me, I will flame the fuck out of you, track you down, and butt-rape you myself. That having been said, read on.) Okay, when I was 19 (eight years ago), I had broken up with my girlfriend and was feeling depressed and all sorry for myself, so I checked into State Hospital, also known as Whitfield or Camp Witty, so they could fix me and I wouldn't try to overdose on pills or something teenage-angsty. Full of the standard 'tards, drug addicts, schitzos and other bottom-of- the-barrel rejects that state hospitals then to get; nice to be among my fellows, anyway. To cut to the chase: I refused to shower with the other inmates, so I went to the showers while everyone else was out in the yard, and proceeded to shower in peace. Until I heard the footsteps of at least two people coming in. "Uh oh," methinks, "must be some nurses. I'm in trouble now." Thank God, it was only my rapist. Two big, black men peeked their heads around the corner. I smiled nervously and continued showering, not knowing what they were up to but wanting them to leave. I recognized the one that had been hitting on me; he was a big sunovabitch, about six-foot-one and a decent amount of meat on him: at least 280. I heard him mumbling something about watching the door, than heard him unzip his pants and turned to see him remove his clothes, predatory eyes focused on me. OH. SHIT. I knew what was up now, and began panicking. I tried to run past him, as he wasn't blocking the entrance to the shower stall, but he caught me with a big, meaty arm and pushed me down, back into the shower. My as, back and then head hit tile and I remember feeling lightheaded and numb from the head-blow, but I didn't pass out. There's a memory gap in there, I think, because as soon as I sat up he had his clothes off and was over me -- that fast. I remember briefly seeing his big brown body, his rotund stomach, his budding breasts, and his genitals. I began skittering around, but he punched me in the stomach and I doubled over fetal-style, on my side. He took me and tried to flip me over onto my stomach, and pressed his hand into my back to make me lay flat. I still resisted by trying to prop up on my knees and hands, but he took his other fist and slammed it into my tailbone. Ow. My hips went down as my knees slid, and my nuts slammed into the floor. He put his hand between my shoulder blades and pushed me down, and I was flat finally. I felt my pudgy stomach pressing into the drain grate, and the water droplets that deflected off him and showered me. I yelped the most trite, uncreative thing one could at that point: "Please don't!" He said, "Shut up. If you yell, I'll kill you." Then he added, "And end up right back here, cuz I'm ' crazy." Okay. I was willing to accept him at his word. The man was definitely more in control of the situation than I. I quit struggling, and tried to prepare mentally for That Which Must Come. (You say, "No, it wouldn't happen to me. I'll die fighting, no one will make me his bitch." Sure, say that. I said the same thing at one time. But when you're in an enclosed area with nowhere to run and someone wants to sodomize you badly enough -- especially if he outweighs you by hundred or so pounds -- he will do it. I'm not so sure, if the same thing were to happen again, I wouldn't scream my fool head off and risk getting killed. But that's easy to say, sitting here. But I desist.) I felt him lean over and the head of his penis between my butt cheeks, and the brushing of his hand against my ass as he tried to maneuver the ManMeat against my sphincter. Contact made, he propped himself on his hands to either side of me and began to *push*. God, it felt like his knee or something. No lubrication, no ceremony, he was forcing the damn thing in (which I guess is the point). After a lot of grunting (both of us) and about a minute, penetration was finally achieved and my virgin sphincter was deflowered. Utter agony; it felt like someone was shoving a baseball bat up my ass. I bit down on my lip as I felt my anus split, unable to accomadate his size, and his dick slide in. He sure felt a lot bigger than he looked, as it took him several thrusts to get it all the way in to his satisfaction. There was still no lubrication, so his passage wasn't easy, and each deeper push made me feel more and more nauseated. He then slid out, and some part hoped that it was over, but he splashed water onto his member and pushed back in faster this time, his choad abraising against the open starfish wound. I started to weep, but bit the inside of my lip and held it in; I bit it clean through where my canines met by the time we were through with our little interlude. He proceeded to pump, getting a good rhythm going, with residual shit and blood lubricating LoverBoys's strokes. The pain was... indescribable, but I'll do my best anyway. I felt every inch of him, length and thickness, throughout the length of my poop chute. Each thrust brought sharp pain that never dulled or got any better, a wave of nausea, and a slurping suction-type sound. My rectum tightened and gripped his shaft rather than allow unheeded passage, and I could not make it dilate. But my sphincter was the worst, and it felt like it split a little more each thrust he made. I began to concentrate on the pretty, sky blue tile, cracked and worn dull by years of feet, and the grime and grout that accumulated in the white spaces between the tile. Anything to take my mind off the agony, the grunting above me and suction behind me, what was happening. I tried to enjoy the sensation of cool water spattering onto me, and couldn't because it touched *him* on the way down. I smelled buggery in the air, a smell of penis and feces, and tried to block it out: I stuck my nose into the dirty tile and sniffed, the mildue taking the edge off the stench. I felt the water pool around my stomach and wee willy, as my stomach was still stopping up the drain. After an indeterminant period of time, he decided to rest his hands on my shoulders (putting his entire weight on me) and speed up. I couldn't breathe. I literally could not draw breath into my lungs, and began flopping my arms around. Undaunted, he continued; I think his eyes were closed and he didn't even notice. This went on for about a minute or so, and I remember going numb and everything going hazy and black, like I was passing out. He rested his hands on the tile again, and I drew in a big breath, temporarily enjoying my numbness. Then he was through. He got up abruptly, his slick penis pulling out of me with a little extra pain at the end when the head of his penis "bumped" my starfish, and I laid there, waiting for whatever fresh hell he would inflict on my. Like make me blow him off, or let his friend have his turn. But nothing like that happened. I heard him talking to his friend (something about lunch) while I stayed prone, and getting dressed. He then walked out, casually, without saying a word to me. (I don't think he came or anything, or at least I hope not.) I laid there another five minutes, not daring to move, letting the shower wash the filth away; I lifted my stomach up to allow the water to drain. And, like one might see a rape victim do on the Lifetime Movie of the Week (My Secret Shame, perhaps, or Tears in the Shower), I laid there and cried like a woman. I should have gotten a goddamned Emmy. I heard activity in the hall, so I quickly sprung up ("Bad Idea," my ass- hole said) and soaped up again, scrubbing my whole body quickly and doing a double scrub of my ass. It wasn't my imagination, after all; there was a nice bloody tear there, and the soap stung like hell. I felt nauseated all of a sudden, and puked up that morning's Frosted Flakes. I went to go dry off and noticed Mr. Wonderful had used my towel and dripped all over my clothes. Angrily, I stood and drip-dried, refusing to touch the towel. I then calmly got dressed, went to my cot, and went to sleep. And do you want to know the worst about the whole thing? He... he... *sniffle* didn't even... *sob* CUDDLE WITH ME! No number, no "I love you." Nothing! I hate men! *Bursts into bitter tears. Nope, I'm not in therapy. Don't wake up screaming from nightmares. Don't really care, it happened, it was bad, hope it doesn't happen again. And actually, I learned several valuable things from my experience: 1) Any homosexual urges I may have had before were quelled that day. I can't imagine doing that for recreation. I know, rape isn't sex, but still I can't see that being comfortable. 2) The same goes for any inner sexual predator; if it was ever there, it's completely purged now. I have an undying hatred for all violators now. 3) When I got out of the institution, I felt renewed. Not because any of their bullshit therapy sessions, but because I realised how damned good I had it. The lesson: don't feel sorry for yourself, it can always be worse. --Lord Stevil the Parakeet Shaman ObT: The weird gooey shits I had later. Ewwwww.