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Trapped in A Mormon Gulag
Posted: July 26, 2009.
Published: Jan 05, 2009.
Print: Orato Media Corp., reposted by Daily Kos, Scienblogs, The Atlantic and more.
His filthy digit tasted like rust and fish. “I can hurt you without leaving any marks,” Brent growled as I writhed in agony on the ground. I struggled for breath as he mounted my back, put his finger in my mouth, and pulled back on my cheek, fish-hooking me. The pain was incredible. I tried to beg him to stop, but the words would not come.
After he finished beating and bludgeoning submissiveness into me, he pulled me up by the rope that was lassoed around my waist. The wool army blanket I had fashioned as a skirt had shifted askew and I stood there in my boxers bleeding from my nose, humiliated.
My green Utah Boys Ranch t-shirt had been ridiculously stretched out and looked more like a low cut blouse. I loosened the noose around my waist and pulled the itchy blanket through the loop and folded it over so it looked like a brown bath towel secured by a belt. He wasn’t satisfied, he wanted more. I just wanted out of this classroom. I started to think about how I got here.
This makes me so furious! What should we do? I must say that I may have to bill the reason project for the blood pressure medication I’m going to need reading these stories everyday.
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