raise kids, for that was a fact. Therefore, yes they were very proud of their son. It was fortunate that they had the money and could afford for their son to do things other than hang out. Far too many kids in this city didn’t have that luxury. Some of the parents who did have the means just didn’t care. This was an adult entertainment city. Raising kids here was dangerous.
He was walking home late one afternoon after basketball practice. He was thinking about Cheryl. She was a cute girl who sat across from him in Algebra class. She would pass him notes in class. A faded blue van passed him slowly and stopped along the curb about a block up the street.
The young boy hadn’t even noticed it. His iPod earpiece stuck in his ear, his mind on other things. Once he got even with the van the side door slid open, someone reached out, grabbed him, and yanked him inside. The door slid shut. It all happened in the span of about 3 seconds.
Once inside the van, the man inside who had grabbed him punched him hard in the face. The searing pain shot through his jaw into the back of his neck. He suddenly felt his mouth fill with the salty, irony taste of his own blood.
He was dazed, the man hit him again, and he was having trouble keeping conscious, his heart was pounding; he was sweating profusely, his eyes watering. His assailant threw him down, face first, slamming his head into the bed of the van. The stranger had him pinned to the floor of the van.
He could feel his pants being yanked off of him, he was trying to struggle but he couldn’t move, his attacker was incredibly strong, plus the weight of his attacker kept him pinned down.
A white, hot, searing pain ripped into his rectum. The fierce pain repeated. He thought it would never end. He tried to scream but the man had stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth, the man forcing himself on the boy. The pain so bad he finally passed out.
Charles bolted up right in his chair. Sweat dripping from him, his clothes were soaking wet, his heart beating. God what had happened? He’d dozed off, so tired, unable to stay awake. He had kept hearing the stranger’s words in his head “….think about the things you’ve done.”
He’d almost forgotten about the boy in the van. He wasn’t sure why he had been so violent. Charles had watched the boy for a week or so, thought he was sexually appealing but couldn’t find anything that he could use to get close to him. He was always with his buddies, some girl or seemed otherwise unapproachable. All he knew was that he wanted him and come hell or high water he would have him.
It was a stroke of luck that the kid had decided to walk home alone this one afternoon. He knew he was taking a terrible risk with such a move, but what did it matter. The kid didn’t know him, he’d make sure he didn’t see his face and he’d never see the kid again anyway.
As he waited for the boy, his heart was racing; he was so excited he couldn’t contain himself.
Once he’d grabbed the boy and closed the door to the van, the rest was nothing at all. He had over powered him very easily and did what he needed to do. Ripping the boy’s pants down, he viscously and violently raped the boy from behind.
After he was done, the boy lay unconscious, and at first he thought he had killed him. Making sure he was still breathing, pulled his pants up and he bound him so he couldn’t move and blindfolded him. There was blood but it wasn’t his so he didn’t care. He pulled his own pants up, checked to see that no one was watching and climbed into the front and drove off.
He drove to a safe area, opened the side door, hauled the boy out, tossed him on the ground, and left him. As he drove off he thought, what the hell, he’ll get over it.
Once he had disposed of his blood stained clothes, he had cleaned out and dumped the van. He sold it to some Mexicans. They were probably illegal immigrants that would take it down to Mexico. Never to be seen again. Nevada had
He was walking home late one afternoon after basketball practice. He was thinking about Cheryl. She was a cute girl who sat across from him in Algebra class. She would pass him notes in class. A faded blue van passed him slowly and stopped along the curb about a block up the street.
The young boy hadn’t even noticed it. His iPod earpiece stuck in his ear, his mind on other things. Once he got even with the van the side door slid open, someone reached out, grabbed him, and yanked him inside. The door slid shut. It all happened in the span of about 3 seconds.
Once inside the van, the man inside who had grabbed him punched him hard in the face. The searing pain shot through his jaw into the back of his neck. He suddenly felt his mouth fill with the salty, irony taste of his own blood.
He was dazed, the man hit him again, and he was having trouble keeping conscious, his heart was pounding; he was sweating profusely, his eyes watering. His assailant threw him down, face first, slamming his head into the bed of the van. The stranger had him pinned to the floor of the van.
He could feel his pants being yanked off of him, he was trying to struggle but he couldn’t move, his attacker was incredibly strong, plus the weight of his attacker kept him pinned down.
A white, hot, searing pain ripped into his rectum. The fierce pain repeated. He thought it would never end. He tried to scream but the man had stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth, the man forcing himself on the boy. The pain so bad he finally passed out.
Charles bolted up right in his chair. Sweat dripping from him, his clothes were soaking wet, his heart beating. God what had happened? He’d dozed off, so tired, unable to stay awake. He had kept hearing the stranger’s words in his head “….think about the things you’ve done.”
He’d almost forgotten about the boy in the van. He wasn’t sure why he had been so violent. Charles had watched the boy for a week or so, thought he was sexually appealing but couldn’t find anything that he could use to get close to him. He was always with his buddies, some girl or seemed otherwise unapproachable. All he knew was that he wanted him and come hell or high water he would have him.
It was a stroke of luck that the kid had decided to walk home alone this one afternoon. He knew he was taking a terrible risk with such a move, but what did it matter. The kid didn’t know him, he’d make sure he didn’t see his face and he’d never see the kid again anyway.
As he waited for the boy, his heart was racing; he was so excited he couldn’t contain himself.
Once he’d grabbed the boy and closed the door to the van, the rest was nothing at all. He had over powered him very easily and did what he needed to do. Ripping the boy’s pants down, he viscously and violently raped the boy from behind.
After he was done, the boy lay unconscious, and at first he thought he had killed him. Making sure he was still breathing, pulled his pants up and he bound him so he couldn’t move and blindfolded him. There was blood but it wasn’t his so he didn’t care. He pulled his own pants up, checked to see that no one was watching and climbed into the front and drove off.
He drove to a safe area, opened the side door, hauled the boy out, tossed him on the ground, and left him. As he drove off he thought, what the hell, he’ll get over it.
Once he had disposed of his blood stained clothes, he had cleaned out and dumped the van. He sold it to some Mexicans. They were probably illegal immigrants that would take it down to Mexico. Never to be seen again. Nevada had
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