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‘Hi, Dan. How’s it goin’? You feelin’ well? You’re not usually here this time o’ day.’ ‘Yeah, guess t’day’s diff’rent. Coffee, please.’ ‘D’ya want a piece o’ pie? Got a slice of nice strawberry ‘n rhubarb, no sugar.’ ‘No, thanks, Josie,’m not hungry. Kin hardly think o’ eatin’.’ ‘Well, you’d better git an appetite for tonight. Bren’s fixin’ ya somethin’ special.’ He shook his head. This was part of the price of living in a small town: everybody knew what was going on, and what everybody else was doing. There was never serious judgement, just the simple friendly harassment that flavored everyday life. Crossing boundaries of propriety was punished by ostracism, and though many minorities got a share of unthinking prejudice left over from the 1950’s, individuals who were willing to live quietly and be good neighbors were accepted regardless of where they came from or who they were. If a mosque were founded in that town but showed a willingness to set up a good booth at the fall. I would die in this little room. Years past. One day they both came in and brought a cake. They lit the candles, and told me today I was 18 years old. –Tonight we are going to have a party. You will be the center of attention. If there are any problems, everything will be taken from you and you will feel the wrath of our anger. Do you understand? Yes sir. We never talked about anything. This was the most either one had spoken to me in months. That night they came in and brought me special clothes. The top pushed my boobs up but didnt cover my nipples. At the bottom of it, there were long strings that hooked to hose that they also gave me. There was no underwear. We left the room and went upstairs. When we arrived in the living room, the first time I had ever been upstairs, there must have been ten men standing. My master whispered in my ear, dont complain about anything or you will understand what pain really is. And then it started. I fucked whoever wanted it. I had more dicks in.
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