When I was a young buck hardly a day didn't go by when I wouldn't fuck up; either I'd get an ass-whuppin or hafta stand in the corner for 1/2 hour or so. Which is of course 90 years in kid time. And when I was in the corner, I'd send the whole time fantasizing that boy, when I get outta this corner, they're gonna see. I'm gonna wander out into the road and get run over by a Mack truck; and when my mom and dad came rushing out to the road to cradle my little head during my last breaths, my lasts words would be something like "I forgive you...for putting me in the corner" and slip away. (I will now pause for the inevitable "nobody puts Baby in the corner!" joke you're thinking of.)
My first memories of liking girls is to dream that the girl I was in love with, who had spent all her time rejecting me, would happen upon me after I was run over by a Mack truck; her guilt about not loving me and grief while cradling my tiny head lurching her young body into convulsive tears of agony. I would, in my final moments, with a bravery beyond my years, try and soothe her. Touching her head with my 8 year-old hand "don't cry for me...I will always love you..." and slip away to the sound of her cries.
Punishment and women. I think I'm seeing a connection here.
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