Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of sexual content.
Background
For ten years I was acutely abused by my biological sperm donor before being adopted by the Sheriff of Astatula. Now a Freshman at the University of Texas, I reflect back on my life. Enjoy! - Cody
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In the solace of my bedroom, my mind drifted back to Palo Pinto and Earl Anthony Schroder. I knew the consequences I faced for starting a fight with Matt. Sheriff Daniels had made them abundantly clear to me.
In the farthest corners of my mind the hovering chastisement made me wonder if perhaps I was to blame for my mother abandoning me the way she did? It seemed I was always the cause of problems. I was never the solution. I wanted to be good. I really did. I guess it just wasn't inside of me.
Perhaps if I cried less as a newborn that would have changed her perspective and she would have stayed? I'll never know. But, I manifested colic, and displayed all the symptoms including clinched hands, a wrinkled brow, and a flushed face. I even pulled my legs up tight to my stomach while I made my high-pitched wails. Could it be back then I liked to hear myself make noise?
Annoying and overbearing, Earl Anthony Schroder always considered himself to be the "Master of the Lanes". He even refused to go to the hospital when I was born.
From her seat near the snack bar in the Palo Pinto Bowling Alley, my mother gulped Budweiser beer from the Styrofoam cup it was served in and strongly warned him,"The baby is coming out!"
Her lit Marlboro cigarette burned in the ashtray on the table. A thin trail of smoke rings wafted up in the air as she spoke the words. And, she did not mean maybe! Neither did I! But, Earl Anthony Schroder would have none of it.
He steadfastly refused to believe her and barked, "Jiminy Cricket woman! Can't you see I'm bowling?"
She looked back at him with disdain, but did not utter a sound.
"Women and children. I don't know which one is worse!" he grumbled loud enough for all those around them to hear.
He sent his bowling ball rolling down the well-oiled lane...right into the gutter. The barrage of profanity that spewed forth from his mouth would have appalled his femme domme. I could not recall Earl Anthony Schroder ever bowling higher than a 110 game in his life. And, 300 is the top score achievable in the game. Some "Master of the Lanes" he was.
On three separate occasions, Earl Anthony Schroder was involuntarily committed to the psychiatric hospital. Because of two other circumstances, he was institutionalized on the City of Angels Mental Ward in Amarillo. He was a Certified Fruit Cake with more than a couple pieces of the pie missing.
When someone, including complete strangers asked him who I was, he most commonly referred to me as, "The product of an ill-begotten one night fling."
That was his favorite term of endearment. There were many other abysmal names for me he never hesitated using. Not only did he not want his progeny he made no bones about his staunch feelings.
I frequently heard "How utterly worthless a life form I was!"
Doled out daily, the physical, mental, and emotional abuse I suffered at his hands repeatedly left their marks and bruises all over me. Exemplified by an incident I will never forget, one day after taking a shower, I was pinned tightly against the bathroom sink. I could smell the putrid odor of Jack Daniels on Earl Anthony Schroder's fiery hot breath. He repeatedly backhanded my face until it was swollen and scarlet.
Then, he threatened me, "Don't you dare ever, ever cross me again you pious pissant!"
Earl Anthony Schroder's sexual perversions scarred me to the point I felt no attachment to him at all. None. Not a bit. This is tough for me to talk about. It always has been. And, you may want to skip reading this part of my life story. I'll understand. But, when I decided to tell my friends with me at the Blind Pig Pub my history, I couldn't very well leave this portion out, could I?
The sexual abuse I suffered from Earl Anthony Schroder included being inappropriately touched on my vital organ. Several Poloroid pictures were snapped of me undressed. These he passed among his friends for their devious pleasures. But, the worst act of all was when he performed oral service on me.
I watched my friends bottom jaws drop wide open as I told them. Do I feel better? NOPE! What I feel is violated. For the last 1,825 days I resided under Earl Anthony Schroder's roof I wanted to be dead much more than I desired to keep breathing air. Now, I'll ask you, is that any way for a ten year old boy to feel?
Six weeks later, my life changed forever. Earl Anthony Schroder perished in a flaming vehicle crash on Interstate 27. Driving drunk, after another night of bowling, he hydroplaned in a torrential downpour and smashed head-on into an embankment at 93 miles an hour.
"Aw! The poor little baby!" I facetiously sympathized to myself upon hearing the news. What I wanted to scream loud enough for everybody to hear was, "Let's have a party! It's time to celebrate."
There was no grief when I was informed of his dramatic demise. No tears appeared in my baby blues. I simply did not care. Still don't. I did draw three smiley faces on the mirror above the same sink he'd pinned me against for my assault.
Have I told you lately, "There was only one person in my entire life that I truly despised, and his name was Earl Anthony Schroder?"
A bevy of communications, texts, and emails between a menage of people I did not know followed shortly after this event occurred. That's how I found myself in the custody of Sheriff Brock Daniels who was about to impose more punishment on me.
The Sheriff's cellphone rang three times before he answered the call.
"Daniels," he said.
"It's me, Brock. I'm just calling to let you know I arrived safely in Dallas. I also wanted to check in to see how my two favorite men are doing batching it without me," Beth responded.
"Well, one of us is upstairs in his bedroom waiting for me. It seems Little Man decided to get himself into some trouble when he arrived home from school this afternoon," he replied.
"How did he manage to do that?" Beth asked.
"He and Matt raced their bikes home and Cody lost," the Sheriff explained.
"I'm not making the connection here between the boys racing home and Cody getting into trouble when he got there," Beth remarked, "are you telling me that Cody is in trouble for losing the race?"
"What I'm saying Beth, is that Cody lost the race and decided to start a fight with Matt because of it," he replied.
"A fight? With Matt? Are the boys okay?" Beth wanted to know.
"They're fine. Except of course, Cody and I have not discussed the matter as thoroughly as we're about to," he stated.
"The first question Cody would be answering is what made him think he could start a fight with Matt in the first place?" Beth commented.
"I asked him. He couldn't give me a satisfactory answer," the Sheriff replied.
"That doesn't sound much like Cody," Beth responded.
"No, it doesn't," he replied.
"What are you going to do about this, Brock?" she asked.
"We're certainly not going to argue about the situation. All that would do is remove his boundaries," the Sheriff assured her.
"That's true. As you know Cody requires a lot of love, support, and structure to feel secure," she reminded him.
"Oh, I agree, Beth. He also needs to be heard, understood, and respected," the Sheriff responded.
"However, Cody must remember that we have the final say on how he is going to behave. And, fighting is definitely out of the question. That's completely unacceptable behavior from him. So, hear him out, Brock, before you take any actions," she encouraged.
"Yes, I know. Get to the heart of the issue and find out what's really going on inside his blond head," the Sheriff remarked.
"It's important you validate his point of view, Brock. That way, Cody will be more open to discussion," she commented.
"Open conversation also leads to less anger and disappointment. Any way, have a good time in Dallas. I suppose I'd better go attend to this matter with Cody. So, I'll talk to you soon," he told her and disconnected the transmission.
Author Notes
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story.
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