Errattic

Home About Us All Fuctasia_(NSFW) Games Gay+ Health/Food Movies Music Musings Photos_(NSFW) TV Wisps Preferences

Home Page > Current Page


Top Tags

Banana Hammock
Beauty
Community
Family
Father
Feminism
Gay
Guns
Machismo
Men
Mother
Sex
Society
Viewers
Violence
Women
Words


Login

Create Profile
Login


This site does not claim credit for images, videos, or music, except where noted.


©2021 Errattic.com

Restricted to Adults
This site does not claim credit for images, videos, or music, except where noted.


Wisps Posts Tagged as 'Violence'

Welcome to Errattic! We encourage you to customize the type of information you see here by clicking the Preferences link on the top of this page.

 

 

I was under 25 living a fantasy gay lifestyle with my perfect partner in Brooklyn. I lived 20 blocks from my mother and my newly appointed stepfather. It was like living in a colorized version of "I Love Lucy." Yes, I was as corny as all of you once.

One evening.

Mother calls hysterical. We had to come over. We were just there. What happened?

Rewind: my stepfather wanted to be more seductive for my mother so he called us for advice. My Russian advised him to get her flowers, lay them out, get a thong and strip for her. I agreed it might be fun for her. It was all the craze and my stepdad had the body.

FF: a family dinner was the event where he decided to put sexy daddy in motion. I was flabbergasted but I didn't want to embarrass him and or hear the wrath of mom. I watched as he stripped to a thong and ran her out into the kitchen. He automatically proceeded to dance and strip for my lover and I. Dude, my lover was getting into it. I slithered into the kitchen before my stepdaddy lap dance, checked on mom and she was furious. "That fuckin' maricon." Men don't do that shit. I'm humiliated. I apologized and told her it was my fault and that I thought it would be cute. I didn't know he was going to take it so seriously. She softened, laughed and whispered that "he used to be a bouncer at gay clubs. That's where he learnt the moves. (I didn't know bouncers had to bounce.) He says he never did anyone there but after today I'm not so sure." My mother accepted it as a joke, stepfather got dressed, we ate hardy, laughed ridiculously and went home.

The call.

Mother: Something's wrong with your stepfather, he's beating himself up,"como un loco." I think it's an army thing.

I was what? I returned to mother's and he was indeed beating himself to a pulp. He was punching himself and body slamming his head against the walls. We restrained my bloody step and stored him in a room away from my mother.

Step: your mother... (he couldn't speak)

Me: why were you punching yourself dad?

Step: (crying) because she pushed all my buttons and I wanted to hit her. I made a promise to myself that I would never hit another woman, ever, so instead of punching her, I punched myself.

Later.

Mother: pendejo. He really is an idiot isn't he? (She laughs. Ok. I laughed too.) I would rather he hit me and prove that he's a man instead of acting like this. (More laughter.) Your father knew how to corral a woman. I liked that. That's the kind of man I want. Not this. You have some of that too. (Ha!)

I asked he if she got off on it and she said yes. Out of the blue...she admits Osama Bin Laden gave her wet dreams. "There is something about that man. Don't you think?" (I was speechless. Why is she telling me this shit?)

I've taken her to countless hospitals with boyfriend injuries and interceded physically to save her life and she gets off on it? The hurt, the police, the pity, the crying, the worry, the danger, the attention, the fraud, the violence all for a tickle? 05-Mar-2021

Tags: Family, Marriage, Mental Health, Mother, Myself, Puerto Rican, Violence, Women In Charge

Permalink

05-Mar-2021


 

I came out to my mother when I was 17 years old and no longer residing in her household. I didn't expect a good reaction so I called her on a public phone and announced it to her. She cried, became quiet and told me she suspected it but that she loved me, no matter what. I didn't have to lie to mother anymore. It was freeing. I visited her a few days later. She had time to absorb and ponder having a gay son. She cried again, I asked why and she said because being gay meant I was destined for a miserable life. That's impossible, it was such an overwhelming feeling to be me. I had to prove her wrong. She asserted conditions for my new identity: no meeting of "my men," I must continue to have a masculine presence, especially around family and don't get sick. I ignored her, introduced her to every one, told as much of the family as I could bear and kept my masculinity in check.

My mother recently confided to me that she used to receive dick pics from my croc daddy in the US mail while I was living with him. I thought, he might have done it as revenge for my unwillingness to absorb giant dick pain and or tricking him into being a gay bottom. When I took him to Gay Pride he cried because he thought I mistook him for one of those. He was straight. His shit was no joke but he was. A child molester was my educator and entrance into the gay world. I also figured my mother and I were even. Her boyfriend tried to brutally rape me. Mother's boyfriend was two years older than me, my croc daddy was 55. Our boyfriends shared the same culture, understood the nuances that make people vulnerable, and always seemed to be creepily plotting something sexual for us. Neither man represented our community. They were perverts sidling up to mommies so they could play with their children. (Now I know why she tried to cut him out of my photo albums.) I understand her comments and I realized her concern. My gay education came from perverts. The community hates itself more than the media loves it. Clicks work for a minute, the families we create are fake and we all die alone. We need less "Boys In The Band" depression and more gay reality awareness so we can come up with better coping mechanisms. Not smile at weirdos taking advantage of us because of politically correct etiquette.

I apologized to my mother. My croc stalked me, stole from us, used me, beat me up, tied me up and raped me. Afterwards, he thought of not releasing me because he was afraid I would kill him. You bet your life! But I had no choice, I begged for my life, stroked the psycho's ego and he loosened one arm while he Soniced out of the apt. I was stalked by my ex, my mother was stalked by her ex and I was stalked by both exes. I spent a lifetime trying to prove mother's sentiment wrong but in the end, she was right.

(Pic of my daddy croak included. Mother destroyed my croak dic picks but y'all can ask mother if she kept her copy.) 26-Oct-2020

Tags: Abuse, Awareness, Environment, Family, Fear, Gay, Heritage, Latin, LGBTQ, Machismo, Men, Mental Health, Mother, Myself, Psychology, Sex, Treatment, Violence

Permalink

26-Oct-2020


 

I am for equality and respect for all. I think mathematically and look for truth so I can fully assess the chaos and decipher it. I don't stand for causes but I regard everyone. The bad eggs are stopping the community from moving forward because they are the problem. You have every right to peacefully protest for our rights but if you don't acknowledge or condemn the problem you might become the problem. The bad eggs represent everything that destroys a community, making it difficult for cops to enforce peace which leads to overreaction, until it becomes a pattern. The people who cross the community bridge for an honest life are the ones being punished for bad egg action. They represent the superficial gods you worship and I think you need to acknowledge them, for history's sake. The future will ask. Empathy doesn't start with somebody else, it starts with you. 03-Jun-2020

Tags: Americans, Equality, Humanity, Hypocrisy, Idolatry, Myself, Politics, Racism, Reality, Representation, Respect, Responsibility, Saving The Environment!, Social Media, Support, Survival, Treatment, Unity, Violence

Permalink

03-Jun-2020


 

"I felt more freedom when I was a baby." 26-Feb-2020

Tags: Environment, Future, Hate, Hope, Hostility, Humanity, Hypocrisy, Life, Mental Health, Representation, Respect, Responsibility, Segregation, Treatment, Violence

Permalink

26-Feb-2020


 

Prov 22:15: “Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.” Prov 23:13-14: “Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell (i.e. death).” 13-Jan-2020

Tags: Parenting, Parody, Religion, Respect, Violence

Permalink

13-Jan-2020


 

The boy who defined my sex was a Jehovah's Witness and my cousin. I was his sex obedient from age 8 to 18 (when he bored of me.) He took my sex while I was asleep as I woke to a dry and cold orgasm.

I gave him a hickey the night before he wed his first 12 year old bride. When I came out to him at 16 he used the moment to remind me that I should never mention having sex with him and his brother (they were straight) and that he had a penchant for children. It was a chilling moment. Five wives under the age of 13, countless children, countless cover-ups from the family and the church and innumerate weddings that my cousins and I forced smiles for. I was a Jehovah's Witness too but I quit because they couldn't cohesively answer "why I couldn't celebrate my birthday."

The monster tired of his wives at the age of 18. The family joke was that they woke up. The reality was that he violently possessed them. He gained sympathy and property of his children and was regarded as a great father because the children seemed overly physically attached to him. He carried them around like monkeys. He was the only one allowed to touch them. The family celebrated every child marriage and birth like it was holy. He was a beloved violent boxer.

When I told my mother, she was flabbergasted. All boys do that. I snitched on the family. Bullshit! Get over it! Family first! Do not discuss this with your sister (the saint?)

My cousin was a teen heartthrob. The mothers gushed, the women flirted and the girls were overcome. He was a Puerto Rican with blue eyes, freckles and red hair that cascaded in the wind. What I saw was the guy from Mad Magazine with a diabolical edge. Women are funny. 06-Feb-2019

Tags: Abuse, Environment, Father, Gay, Machismo, MeToo, Myself, Parenting, Religion, Respect, Sacrifice, Sex, Superiority, Survival, Violence

Permalink

06-Feb-2019


 

I was born and baptized catholic. I wanted to become a priest. I have an aversion to them because I spent a lifetime avoiding their predatory advances. One priest actually had me wait with him while the rectory retired so he could sneak me into his room for sex. He showed me his dick and called me a "skirt." I stalled and refused. I met another at a vampire club and thought he was in disguise but he went out of his way to prove me wrong (it was his only badge of attraction,) he followed me into the bathroom, felt me up and I kicked him out. Many managed to take me to bed disguised as a civilian but eventually it caused a rift. I didn't want the responsibility of aiding someone to hell. I went through the whole process with one of my friends and all he talked about was how much more sex he was having interning. My world was very small but they constantly showed up with the same propositions. They were so prevalent in my life that it's the one career choice I could pick out just by talking to them (policemen were another.) Holy talk and show me your prick is a weird conversation. My sister wouldn't let my lover or myself babysit her children but she would gladly hand them over to a priest to teach. If I knew that anyone would care I would have made a grand list for the present so a parents love for their child could overcome faith. This is how I deal and vent because I am boggled that parents can complain all they want about the Weinsteins of the world but these child predators continue to be beloved and followed. Of course, there are good men in the priesthood, but those were rare in my life. The problematic ones know this is still the best place to hide because people grant them power. Forgive me when I use my art to vent but they woke me. 22-Mar-2018

Tags: Men, Parenting, Religion, Sex, Violence, World, Youth

Permalink

22-Mar-2018


 

I wet my bed once in the first grade, besides a few smacks and verbal screams, my mother thought to implement a life lesson so ingrained that it wouldn't permit it to happen again.

At school, amidst the other parents and plenty of my classmates, my mother trumpeted...

"Guess what my son did this morning?...big little boy had the audacity to wet his bed at his age."

I felt like a criminal. The parents looked shocked but remained silent, some avoided looking at me out of pity and those that did glance were also out of pity. Mother took a heroic bow and was rewarded.

I never pissed myself again because the lesson was about teaching your child to control himself. I control piss, shit, farts, eat, sneezes, coughs, tears, snots, anything internal I can pinch so I never have to embarrass myself or especially anyone... ever again. 13-Mar-2018

Tags: Mother, Parenting, Violence

Permalink

13-Mar-2018


 

It was family time at the 7 lakes, I was probably 7 and he appeared under the guise of a free-loving bisexual. Gay enough not to offend my father's masculinity and curious enough that my mother could use him as a plaything. A green-lime banana hammock and muscles sliding off his 50's bod were his cloak as well as a winning personality was his hide. My parents took joy in his flamboyance and invited him into the family drink and party fold. The drinking became heavy, the voices louder and my mother's infatuation embarrassing. Once green-lime banana hammock started grinding on my mother atop a picnic table, I tore myself away and went for a walk in the woods.

In the woods, I ran into 3 of my younger cousins and we moved forward happily exploring freedom from adults. It didn't take long for green-lime banana hammock to breathlessly catch up and another second to chime excitedly how he had something he wanted to show me. His offer was exclusive and did not include the other children. I told them to hold hands and wait diligently while I tended to the commands of an adult.

He kept leading me farther and always 5 steps ahead, having me guess where to go next. He stopped at total desolation and stood branches apart. He told me to come closer which I slowly and dreadfully did. In his hands he massaged what I constituted was the serpent from the Garden of Evil as he begged me to come and touch. My first look at a man's penis and it was a dick monster. I had no idea what he wanted me to do with it so I started walking backwards until running was my only clarity. I made it to the cousins, warning them, as we ran back to the mild serenity of adult family. I was proud of how I handled it and even prouder that we made it unharmed.

Green-lime banana hammock wasn't deterred by my avoidance and turned it into a challenge. He entered the fold and seduced my mother again while the creeps shook my body and the hate strangled the scratch he had bred in my head.

"Time to go," were the best words I heard from any adult that day. Packing was a quick chore and helping an accomplishment. "Goodbye, Mr. Green-Lime Banana Hammock." My parents exchanged numbers and pleasantries with the dick monster amid too many hugs and kisses. He invaded my space to shake my hand but I couldn't react because I was still strangled. My mother broke it with a command to be courteous to this nice man. He won. He got me to touch him. Can we go home now?

We had made it to the car, away from green-lime and I was anxious to get home. My uncle, my sister and myself occupied the back seat while my father drove, my mother by his side. My father had started the motor as green-lime approached my father's window to ask for a ride because his entourage had abandoned him. Fuck. My mother exclaimed that as much as they would love to, there was no room. Yay! Green-lime, quick on his feet with a purpose, suggested that he could take my place and I could sit on his lap, that is if I didn't mind. Holy fuck. In my family, kids have no choices. Mother commanded it and so it was. I realized why in film when we change from human character to a cartoon we are no bigger than an ant. That's how I felt. It was a long ride but at least he was now dressed in shorts and a tank.

The dick monster I had avoided all day had my tiny ass in its clutches and it wasn't going to let go until it was satiated. He held me tight and I was constantly stabbed and ground. Every time there was a bump I took advantage and lifted my ass and kept it in the air but he just squashed me down harder. My mother complained to stop being fidgety and I collapsed into him because my leg muscles couldn't withstand me and the dick monster was too strong. I didn't know what he was doing was sexual. I thought it was some sort of violent revenge for not touching the snake. I know now that he was getting his jollies, probably shot a few and I felt totally incapacitated. I couldn't tell my family that their new best friend was hurting me because they would have expended more punishment and humiliation due to lack of proof but I would have been grateful if just one family member had noticed. 17-Jan-2018

Tags: Banana Hammock, Family, Society, Violence

Permalink

17-Jan-2018