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Reviews please...please...thanks lol

Note: This is the final chapter, its the pov of greg lol i hope you guys like it and thanks for all the reviews, thans a huge bunch, morgan

The girls paint there faces and i'm supposed to swoon. They paint them up something elegant and by the end of the night they look like clowns in the rain. Thats what happens once i'm done with them, once i make my move. These days girls know better then to say "no", they've seen the damage done to there friends, there smarter then that. Now, theres freshmen licking the blood from my shoes, which has piled up from years of climbing on barely budding girls in order to keep and maintain my status. Because, you see, being a rapist isn't all that bad. I get a pat on the back from my friends everytime they hear a hymen tare. They cheer me on at parties everytime they hear a shrill quick shreek errupting from the waif underneath me. And my father congratulates me everytime theres fresh blood stains in my sheets. They both accept and embrace it with eagerness because, you see, being a rapist is far better then being a queer. As long as there best friend fucks chicks the world makes sense to my friends. And as long as his son is knee deep in pussy, my father can sleep easier at night. They couldn't possibly care less about the girls, because really, what are women to men anyway? Accessories, cheap entertainment, dead toys that spring to life once they bleed.

The first time i did it is also the first time i had sex. I was 15...i didn't think to ask her age. She had blonde curls and a crooked smile, in a way she reminded me of annette, which is why i picked her, because i think that if i had, had the chance, i would have wanted annette to be my first. She was so thrilled to be going on a "date" with me, it was cute. It was easier then i had expected...her screams never once broke my determination. Her hands grabbed at my shoulders and i did it harder, making her chin bounce off my arm and her teeth click. After it was over, that sound chased me wherever i went. The coach yelled out a play and all i heard was screams. I held myself and felt tiny hands clutching for life. My friend told a joke...but it was just clicking teeth, thats all i ever heard...teeth clicking.

It got easier after that, i turned it into a sport. How many could i get in a day? how many would beg me to stop? how many would have the gall to fight back?. How badly could i hurt them? I've got a broken nose, three broken jaws, sprained wrist, dislocated knee, a total of 78 stitches and 8 torn cervixes under my belt, i've been a busy boy.

I know its not right, but, around here, right and wrong isn't the question. Girls turned quickly from human to game, to deer, my dick turned into a rifel and i never shot blanks. Now they just seem to accept it, i make my choice and she meets me when i say and we do what i want. I guess i could be soft, i could make them feel good. But when it come to girls...i only know how to make them hurt. When i'm in there, the last place i want to be, i take it out on them. I can't be who i want to be with, i can't be who i want to be, so they suffer for my pain, they feel my pain, because, i can't seem to feel it. A closeted fag should have pain, shouldn't he? My shame shows up in patterns all over there bodies. I paint them in bruises, purple, black, blue, green. Thats what i do...people think i'm stupid, a no talent loser, but if they would just look they'd see it, i'm an artist. My expertise is broken bones and bitten breasts.

All my friends are liars, i know that now, now that blaine made a liar out of me too. He used them all, all of the assholes i tried to impress have spent nights bending at the will of tuttle, just like i have. They all think its a secret, that nobody knows, but i know, he tells me everything, every detail, he hurts them. He told me about how they cried...faggots.

I had a chance to have actual consensual sex once, with annette, when she threw herself at me. Not that either of us discuss it, because then she would have to admit she sees the bad in me. It was after Valmont shamed her, after his refusal of her...the first time. She came over, a massive wreck of tears, and she told me about how he turned her down after she served herself up on a platter. The offer had been tempting, i had enjoyed straight sex more then straight guys did, i enjoyed dishing out punishment. The kissing started and i felt a familiar rage build in me, then i thought of the first girl, the one who looked like annette...and i stopped. She went on and on about being rejected again and asked why i wouldn't do it. At first i was going to lie but the truth, for some reason, found its way out of my lying mouth, "because if i had my way i swear i'd tare you apart". That was the only reason i had to give and she bailed with a fake smile. I knew despit what i said she still wouldn't get it, she'd never get it, what i had turned into, a cannibal.

I still continue to do it even though i know i don't really have to, but, it helps me. Its like my therapy...like football. When i'm on the field i beat them bloody and i rejoice. When i'm inside them i beat them bloody and i rejoice. The field is my church, the girls are my confessional. I fill them with my sins so they can carry my burden...so they can go to hell. The ball is the truth and i throw it to anyone hoping that they'll catch it, when i'm playing, i'm free. When i'm inside them, taring there tiny wombs so that they can't have children, punishing them for my crimes, for my deviancy, i pray...forgive me father.