Sunday, April 11, 2010

Year 3: Friend to the G-Spot

(This is the third entry in a series about my life. I am chronicling my existence year by year. I made it through five years before stopping back in July so I'm reposting the first ones before I pick it back up. Enjoy!)


This was the year I was finally allowed to be around other kids on a regular basis. I was a spitter.

Or maybe it was the hitting.

I recall one incident where I decided a girl my age would no longer be able to point at me, which she had been doing until I reached up and broke her finger. It's how I roll. Respect me or I will break your finger. So there.

In hindsight, I probably did her a favor. Much like the new-fangled toothbrushes with an angled head of bristles that gets to the teeth in the back of your mouth better, her crooked finger undoubtedly gives her better g-spot stimulation.

I'm nothing if not a gentleman.

I probably broke ten or eleven fingers of young girls who were too young to understand why they were so drawn to me. (rugged good looks, large penis, shag haircut) But I'm happy to report that they were going to get crooked fingers later in life from arthritis anyways. So fuck em.

During this year Bozo the Clown was booked by my parents for a summer party in our backyard, probably my brother's birthday. Possibly for no reason at all. Maybe they just needed us kids to leave them the fuck alone for a couple hours.

Anyways, I don't remember any of it. Only what I see in pictures nowadays. Makes me wonder if I'm blacking out that memory, a common occurrence for people who are the victims of childhood molestation.

Which makes me wonder...

If I don't remember anything about Bozo the Clown hanging out at my house for an afternoon is it because he touched me inappropriately?

Probably not. He was just some local Bozo impersonator, not your average local priest.

Speaking of which...

Why is it OK to call the priest at my church "father" but not "daddy?" Seriously, people look at me funny when I do it.

At any rate, I made it with 13 minutes to spare again. Maybe tomorrow, when I turn 4, I'll do it earlier in the day.

Or I won't.

It's my totally gay online diary and I'll do whatever I want.

p.s. Dear Diary, Cheryl is cute and I want to touch her boobies.

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