This story includes explicit depictions of bisexual acts between pre-teen and young teen boys and girls (b/g, b/b and g/g) as they discover their sexuality in a difficult and abusive environment. If you are underage or it is illegal to view this for any reason, consider yourself warned. If you find this type of material offensive, please read no further.
This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As the author, I retain all rights to this story, and it cannot be reproduced or published without explicit consent from me. This work is copyright © Problem Child 2013.
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I would like to thank all of the authors at Nifty. This is my first story and is my way of trying to give back for the years of reading pleasure I have had from this site. Thank you all.
Things get going slowly but the pace picks up from chapter 3.
I grew up in a bible-bashing family with an older brother and Lil, my sister. My older brother is actually a half-brother and had already left home at the time of the stuff I write here. Lil is actually a year older than me but she was a small thing. My name is Brandon, by the way. This begins when I was 11.
I started life in Minnesota. When I was 9, we moved to a little town where Pa grew up. This was in Arkansas near the Boston Mountains. To save embarrassment, I won't say which town. Place names have been changed to prevent you guessing where. Well, here goes, straight into the story of the most interesting time in my life.
By the time I was 9, me and all of the kids in the church congregation knew for sure we were all going one way, and it definitely weren't up. This was hammered into us by the parents, Sunday school teachers, aunts and uncles, church parishioners and, of course, by the one and only fire-and-brimstone preacher Arno himself.
To this day, I truly believe that if Satan decided to make an appearance on this sorry earth, he would look and act like preacher Arno. He was a sonuvabitch psycho that would happily stab you dead with a sharpened cherished crucifix through the heart while grinning manically at you, enjoying the experience and quoting scripture at the same time to entranced parishioners, who hung on every word.
Talk about multitasking -- Arno could play ends against the middle even if most people did not know where the ends were or that the middle even existed! You never knew where you stood with Arno. One thing was for certain, the last place you wanted to stand was anywhere near Arno, even if it meant you had to jump into the lava pits of hell!
Arno took great sadistic joy in finding out from parents, teachers, child snitches and any number of spies in the town what us kids got up to. This ranged from boys being boys, ditching school, pulling pranks, and the first innocent kiss between boyfriend and girlfriend.
Even a klutzy kid like George, who was at that awkward stage of young puberty where everything is growing and not fully in control where he accidentally broke things (and himself once in a while), was not immune to Arno's spying.
Arno used natural urges and growing pains in his sermons as examples of the pure evil in the world and blamed the congregation for allowing these things to happen. He particularly blamed us kids and said we were the devil incarnate. Everything about childhood and growing up was a target for Arno and the congregation. I reckon that Arno's hero must have been McCarthy, who spent his time looking for reds under every bed and destroying many innocent lives in the process. Arno spent his sermon time looking for evil in every little thing us kids did. The witch hunt for evil in the community was what bound our church congregation together.
One Sunday sermon, Arno read out a note from George. The note was from the previous day and said that George could not take the pressure any more of being an evil kid and was sorry that he was not able to be less clumsy. The beatings his father gave him to help stop the clumsiness had actually made his clumsiness worse. He hoped that he would not be clumsy now.
As it turns out, George had not been clumsy that time and had succeeded by sticking his head in the oven at home and turning on the gas.
I could not understand how Arno could read out something as private as this note or how he thought he could get away with the revelations in the note, given that he was the one to torment George to death and that Arno had preached in sermons that George's father needed to man-up and `deal with George' (everyone knew what this meant: `tan his hide').
Instead, Arno was on a role. He blamed George's family, the community and, most of all, the evil that obviously had infested George to commit the ultimate sin of taking someone's life, even if it was his own. Repent, repent, blah, blah... As usual, Arno turned the tables and got away with it.
Arno took great pleasure in reading the note but kept a dead-pan face when reading it. The only give-away was the glint in his eyes and the smile he had as he turned from the congregation and walked away from the pulpit at the end of the sermon. You could not see his sadistic smile unless you were a kid sitting on the floor in the wings, which I was.
One fine summer's day a of couple months later, local sheriff Bubba (nobody ever used his real name) bumbled into what he thought would be a parish meeting at the church. Bubba had misread an appointment and was two hours late for the meeting on the `Lack of moral fiber in today's youth'.
Bubba sure got a lesson on the lack of moral fiber when he walked in on Arno and 12 year old Lil. Even Arno could not argue against the evidence because the sonuvabitch had set up a recorder to video what he did as his souvenir. This was a gift from heaven for prosecutors.
I was never allowed to see the video, but I ditched school and ducked down in the flowerbed outside of the courthouse window when the jury was shown it. I could hear plain as day the screams and pleadings from Lil. I could clearly hear Arno slapping her, punching her and yelling for her to shut up while he grunted and thrust his way to his end. He even gloated that he was making her a whore and that is why she would never go to heaven.
To reduce the sentence, Arno's lawyer tried to argue that Arno had snapped just one time from the pressure of having such an evil bunch of kids to look after. The press coverage of the scandalous trial meant that, for once, the prosecutors actually did their job properly. The prosecution proved that there was blood and DNA from many girls along with old semen from Arno on the ropes that Arno had used to tie up Lil.
They never did identify the other girls, but that is not surprising in the closed silenced community we lived in. Arno's house was broken into the night of his arrest. According to the Bubba, nothing was taken and maybe the burglar had been scared off. The rumors around town were that other tape souvenirs existed and were taken in the burglary. The burglary was never solved and the tapes were just a rumor.
Even without the extra tapes, the jury knew this was not a one-time thing and gave Arno the maximum sentence. It was enough for Arno never to be around again.