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Rated: TEEN
Why didn't I tell someone about the abuse ?
I had to think about this for only a moment. Finally I spoke, "It had to have been because of Sharon."
"Why ? What is so special about her ?"
"Well, she was there for me."
"During the abuse ?"
I was about to explain when the other voice continued.
"Then I would take the book I was reading and put it in my backpack. And I would go with her. The same girl carried my backpack and held my hand, rather nicely, talking about the weather and other trivial things as she lead the way.
I would follow her in the girls' room and find the other girls already in the restroom waiting for me. Then they would tug and pull me into the stall and eventually push my head in the toilet again for my weekly Swirlie.
And they made it a game inviting new girls along to watch what they were doing. Oh the shrieking of laughter they would do was actually louder than the flush even with your ears up against the commode ! I never had to worry about drowning as they were frantic on the flushing part, though they kept me down there I think as long as 5-minutes one time just before the weekend.
It was then I became very familiar with how the bottom of toilets looked, which ones were clean, which ones weren't. How the sides leading to the top looked with the yellow and brown caked stains on them. How the water bubbled to the bottom.
The cracks and crevices to each of them, and their flushing power, which was considerably higher at school than at home. I received quite an education on them, I guess.
The girls also did do some kinky things after awhile, which surprises me thinking about it now for them being so young, 12-14 I think. They knew girl-stuff frightened me so they never had to worry about me ever ever touching them, not once. I think that's why they were so bold and so consistent never missing a week and always did their business at the same time of day.
And ultimately there wasn't any way I could raise up with all that weight and pressure on me, and I was really too young to know what sex was, not really understanding it until I was 20.
No, I finally surmised that to them I was merely a plaything, something to abuse and play with every week. And - I let them, just so long as my hand was held.
But back at school, unlike the guys, the girls delighted knowing I would never defend myself against them, because girl-stuff was icky and scared me and they could always stop me leaving the stall by standing in my way. I cried I was so scared of female anatomy, and they loved me being fearful of such things.
They would sit on my back holding me in, bob my head up and down in the water, tug on my shorts, and tweak what little equipment I had down there playfully with obviously no reaction at my age, one time going as far as to pull down and run off with my pants out the bathroom door screeching in laughter. I found my pants nearby in the trash and put them back on.
I remember having to walk home with squishy shoes one day as they had taken them off of me during a longer session and tossed both of them in the toilet beside the one I was in. I had to fish them out.
While they may have been having a great time, the deepest fear that was consistently running in my head for the first 2-months of them doing it was that I was going to get caught in the girls' room by a teacher sometime, and my Dad would find out and I would SO catch it then, fearing my Dad worst of all !
So during that time, I really didn't have too much time to think back then to enjoy the fact that crazy girls were doing strange and funny things to me because of my fears. But it never happened. Either they had a good lookout or luck was with me, or against me, depends on how you look at it.
Because of this, after those 2-months, I eventually I learn to relax, realizing they had it all worked out. While I still didn't connotate anything interesting in what they were doing, they did hold my hand sometimes or hold a hand against my chest comfortingly, knowing I was still a little scared of the loud water. I think they realized I'd never hurt or tattle on them is why they kept me in their weekly game for the years to follow.
I eventually let them know I would do whatever they wanted me to do, only I wanted someone to hold my hand. Their eyes got wide, and one bigger girl asked if I was scared little boy, is that why. I said yes.
They all said Awww and then one smaller girl kissed me on the forehead and my face got beet red which they giggled to but finally the bigger one said, awright, as long as you'll do EVERYTHING WE SAY, one of us will always hold your hand.
That was as close to a girl as I got in Middle School, and because of my shyness, it was more than enough comfort for me. Eventually, I got to be friends, well, friends in the girls' bathroom anyways with Sharon. I remember her name, and she was the one that always held my hand as they did their business with me, always involving a toilet.
She didn't just hold my hand either. She reached up to tickle her fingers in my palm, or trace circles in it, reaching up to smooth her fingers inside the divisions between my small fingers. It was as close to sex as I could get and I loved every minute of the attention that one girl gave me.
There was an isolated incident, however, where some girl, seemingly nice to me, said she wanted to be my girlfriend because I was so bright and I could help her with her homework.
Well I was terribly naive, possibly I had too much toilet water in my head at that point to think clearly. I can't remember her name right now, but I definitely remember her kindness. I also remember when she blew her top completely too.
There was a day before the weekend after school when I was talking to her in the hall, asking where she lived, and suddenly she accused me of cheating on her. I was so naive I didn't understand what she meant, and told her I never copied answers and studied. She was insistent, no I was cheating on her.
I had no idea what she was talking about, unaware she was referring to me seeing another girl. Her voice got very angry with my obvious stupidity on the subject, but she kept it quiet, and dug her nails painfully into my wrist. My simple reply to all of this was, "What did I do ?" and tried to get my hand back.
While she wasn't really strong enough to drag me if I didn't want to be, she put enough pain in my hand, it was bleeding, I followed her into the girl's restroom where she went, which I was pretty familiar with by now, but I realized rather quickly, as she pushed my head in the toilet that she was playing for keeps !
Instead of a Swirlie, in her seeming rage, she just wanted to hold my mouth and nose completely underwater in the bowl there, never bothering to flush the commode at all and just wanted to see me drown in it !
I found out rather quickly, toilet water was quite potable and started to drink quite a bit as I was submerged, gulping loudly on it in fear.
The noise of that seemed to amuse her, and I heard her quiet laughter. she let go of my neck so I could raise up and breathe. I was still really scared, not sure what she was going to do next so I continued to slurp and drink the water quietly for several long minutes as she watched interestedly, her eyes intently on my mouth as I drank more.
She had no hold on me now and I could get up and leave if I wanted. I stayed with her though, still squatting on my knees over the bowl. I continued to drink the toilet water letting her know I was doing it for her and please don't drown me !
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Then she started to stroke the back of my hair being quite affectionate at it, like stroking a cat, apparently enjoying my company now, or my bizarre behavior, I wasn't sure which. I moved my shoulders and felt real warm pleasure all the way up my spine as she touched my hair.
I still didn't know what to do at this point still never having had a girlfriend and I was only 10-years old at the time so touching her in any way was still out of the question. I thought about reaching for her hand and holding it as the other girls let me, but decided against it. Finally, I sighed and slurped in more of the cool water, looking to her each time I did.
After several minutes of me still doing this, she paused to look at me for a moment and smiled, letting me know I was still a little child and that maybe she wasn't anymore, and then got up to walk quietly out of the stall and bathroom door without a single word to me. I got up to dry off and wondered if I should've followed her.
I should've ! But I didn't ... I then also realized that Sharon must've said something crazy like she was dating me. That must've been why this other girl was angry with me.
When I saw her in in the Library a few days later, I tried to talk with her to apologize about my behavior, but she acted like she didn't know me at all and had forgotten all the nice things she told me about me helping her with homework. My heart was broken for the first time. It was only the beginning.
However, I had never been so scared in all my life at that time, and maybe that was her point, to let me know someone would eventually not do a Swirlie with me and expect me to drain the commode by drinking it. Maybe I needed to learn self-defense after all ?
When I was back home in bed at night, after 6 months of continuous Swirlies, sometimes twice a week from the girls, I could close my eyes and always see the hole at the bottom and the water being sucked down it, hearing the flush, watching it lazily twirl around and finally going to sleep, never dreaming of what they did or what they would do. I started to look forward to the weekly hand-holding.
And that little schism of holding my hand would stay with me the rest of my life. The girls' gossip carried from one grade to the next. It apparently was relayed to Middle School because, while some faces were familiar, others weren't, it was the same thing. Follow the girl from the library into the restroom, get Swirlied, and get my hand held for comfort as its being done.
It was during Middle School I found something else to concentrate on too. Programming, my Dad encouraged me, and I vowed to make some kind of adventure game maker. I finally did for the Apple ][+ when I was 14, and published it, but persisted to write other versions on other computers years later.
But my brain was also still trying to figure out why I had such a repressed ANGER from SOMETHING in me that I knew could never surface. To cover it over I started burning with ideas for software to write, and Dad encouraged me. And that, also, is another story.
As for me, I didn't know what the actual term "Swirlie" meant was until I was 15. When I finally did ask someone in school, confirming I really didn't know, they gave me one as an explanation with help from their friends by dragging me in the restroom, laughing about it, and spending only 10-seconds at it, and then leaving out the door in a hurry.
I dried my hair bewildered why they couldn't just say what it was, but at least then I finally knew what crazy thing it was everyone was doing to me every week now.
When I graduated and reached High School, all Swirlies from the girls stopped, and I even remember trying to search for the girls that gave me Swirlies to greet them, but they were never there at the new school. It was only guys now.
I remember my first day in High School and I was thoroughly enjoying the library, much bigger than Elementary School's Reading Room. It was a Wednesday, where same big guys, jocks they looked like, came up to me asking my name, looking for someone. I told them my name and they nodded.
Then they asked something odd, if I was still being breast-fed and grinned at the obvious cruel question. I guess that question might've enraged anyone else, and they would get punched for their insolence. But I smiled politely remembering what the girls asked several years ago and said, "That's what I told them !"
Then it was their turn to smile, not quite so nice at that. I knew where this was going. I put the book in my backpack and waited for them.
They looked at each other as if deciding something, finally one snatched my hand. I grabbed my backpack and followed them to the boys' restroom, not giving much fight.
They weren't really happy I wasn't fighting them though and pushed me around pretty roughly nonetheless as we walked in there. Apparently, my first day in high-school and I was greeted with a Swirlie, obviously having gotten by word-of-mouth all the way from Middle School that I was STILL the best candidate for this bizarre treatment.
it was usually a Wednesday or Thursday, and about the same time, after lunch when we had recess. I rarely played outside and went straight to the library. The activity was so commonplace I started to bring a towel with me in my backpack. My Dad asked why and I said I got sweaty from P.E.
There was only one time they experimented and tried to give me an upside-down version, also in high-school, but I got so sick and dizzy from being turned over like that, I puked on everyone nearby nastily and was sick for a day afterwards home from school, telling Dad it was bad school cafeteria food. He readily believed me.
Since it was getting to be a bit of a show to watch now, it was also apparently passed by gossip, I never got an upside-down one again but continued to get normal ones every week, like clockwork, when I returned back to high school.
I knew money was being charged now to see the event, seeing one stern looking fellow take 5-dollar bills out of the hands of a small crowd of people that were in the bathroom staring at me hungrily.
While in High-School though, no girl ever offered to give me a Swirlie again, it was only guys then, and they were certainly aggressive about it, not caring whether I fought back or not. They didn't lose interest either, eventually inviting new friends along, and I know some camera shots were taken by the bright flash as I had my nose at the bottom of their toilet again.
I also realized that guys' toilets were not nearly as clean as the girls' were by the terrible stains from the hole in the bottom. Fortunately since it was routine for them, they never put anything nasty in there first to make it worse.
I did try to speak one time on how long they were going to keep me down there, as I wanted to get home and watch cartoons, but someone then grabbed and twisted my arm painfully behind me like I was breaking a sacred oath I had pledged to them all these years.
He said loudly to SHUT UP right up against the bowl. He could've broken my arm easily and he made that point clear by stretching on it, I cried out in pain, and finally he let go. I was quiet then, and they finished up.
After that when everyone left and I was alone in the bathroom drying my hair, the same boy that took the money earlier came back and taking me completely by surprise, smacked me hard across the face saying, "Don't you EVER speak again when my friends are in here. Understand ?" Tears were already in my eyes from the pain, so I just nodded silently.
He looked at me with an odd smile, like I really was a child or something, and reached in his pocket like he was going to reward me, I guess with a quarter or maybe a piece of candy, but then looked away from me and stood there thinking. I wiped my hair the hair a little more dry with my towel, looking at his back, curiously.
Suddenly he yelled angrily, still without facing me, "You will ALWAYS be in that stupid library reading your F***ING BOOKS, POINDEXTER, you hear me ?"
I nodded though I knew he couldn't see me. He nodded himself as if he could, and then left. I realized he was making some money on this Swirlie venture of his now, and that would grow with more customers, but I didn't care. I just didn't want to get hurt again."
Then the voice was quiet again, possibly for us to reflect on what was said.
Susan spoke in the silence, "So you would rather receive this abuse from the bullies then get beat up every week, is that what you're telling me, David ?"
"Yes."
"Surely it didn't continue very long in High School though. You did get free of this, right ?"
I nodded thoughtfully, "Yes. It did continue in High School. Eventually I had to take a stand for it to end - I wanted to be rid of it forever ..."
END
OF CHAPTER 30
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