Giant Monopoly boards, retarded turtles, and the dangers of having Nirvana's 'Rape Me' as a ringtone...
IMPORTANT A/N 2/02/12: I’VE RE-WRITTEN THIS CHAPTER SINCE I FIRST POSTED IT LAST NIGHT!! Please read the new, edited version- I really didn’t feel the first one was any good, so I really hope this is better. You don’t have to R&R again if you don’t want to, but I’d really love it if you did and told me your thoughts. Sorry, and thanks, guys :) oh, and if you aren’t familiar with Monopoly, you might get a little lost…sorry :L
“Fuck me,” Frank growls darkly from where he’s splayed, stark naked, between my thighs on a giant Monopoly board. His hair is sexily dishevelled, clinging sweatily to his face, his eyes clouded with crazily dilated lust that shines all over his body in hot sweat, shimmering on his smooth, gently tanned, muscular skin as he moans huskily, tossing his head from side to side.
“Oh god, Tumbles,” he moans softly as I work my lips teasingly down the soft, taut flesh of his chest, nibbling and gnawing at the lightly tanned skin while Frank throws out his arm wildly, groaning loudly as his hand lands on the ‘jail’ square and he grips desperately at the board, the muscles in his bicep flexed.
Practically melted in sheer arousal, I start kissing my frantic way back up to his lips, removing my final item of clothing and tossing it uncaringly somewhere in the direction of the Park Lane square.
He snaps his hips up to grind against mine, flesh on flesh, sweat on sweat. Hot sparks of surging pleasure shoot in tingles of adrenaline through my lower belly at the contact, and he groans; a wonderfully long, shamelessly husky groan of desperation. Erratically, he crushes my body down against his so as he can crash his swollen lips frantically into mine, hips continuing to thrust needily against mine in a way that makes me unable to stifle moaning loudly, almost completely overcome with the surging pleasure shooting and tingling all over my sweaty skin as our lips collide over and over again, faster and harder and more furiously each time.
Our lips are meshing so wildly by this point that they’re completely out of sync with frenzied longing when Frank reaches his callused hand down between our writhing, sweaty bodies.
“Faggot, your phone’s ringing!”
Smirking devilishly, Frank kisses my burning lips and stifled gasps one last time before starting to kiss and lick his devious way down my neck, my torso-
“…Rape me…rape me, my friend…”
Lingering teasingly on my hips with sloppy tongues and taunting lips-
“FAGGOT! Wake the fuck up and answer your god damn phone- it’s driving me crazy!”
Licking sloppily lower, making my stomach clench with a million tingly butterflies as I dig my nails desperately into the soft skin of his back as he-
“…RAPE ME! RAPE ME! RAPE ME!”
“Unugh, yes…rape…rape me now,” I mumble dazedly, tossing my head. “Dear moose poop…RAPE ME, FRANK!” I groan loudly, writhing about and moaning shamelessly, never having ever felt so incredibly turned on in my whole life- not even when a certain multiple-dicked sex god molested me so magically in the bath or put his hands down my jeans.
“What did you just say?” Someone whispers in a deadly silent voice that just drips with venom. “Oi, WAKE UP, FAGGOT!”
Groaning, I blink open my eyes blearily, still moaning and thrusting my hips violently up against Frank’s, practically ready to violently orgasm there and then.
However, as my vision becomes clearer, I freeze in pure horror. And kind of forget about the whole orgasm thing as I realise where I am.
I am not on a giant Monopoly board. I am lying in my bed and it’s a beautiful, swelteringly hot August morning. The sky is a cloudless, clear turquoise blue outside my window. The trees outside in the garden are swishing softly in the balmy breeze. The birds are singing.
And I am GOING TO DIE.
Not being overly dramatic or anything, but seriously, this is it. This is the end of my messed up, insanely clumsy existence.
I’m about to become that sweet, innocently slime-snacking little snail.
For the last time, snails do not eat slime, you fuckface. They eat lettuce.
I don’t like lettuce.
Well you’re going to be a terrible snail. How about becoming a slug instead?
I don’t like slugs.
Well you just suck then, don’t you?
I suck Frank.
Dude, you licked his nose. I don’t think that counts.
I groan and try and block out all my crazed inner voices of the pink-knicker wearing perverts living inside my skull, which, quite frankly-
Oh go and suck yourself.
I can’t reach.
I mentally facepalm, and then suddenly come crashing back to the point that I am GOING TO DIE. Like, right here, right now. In my bed. With a bunch of unhinged sex-addicts in my head.
Because, towering menacingly over me, while brandishing a large, sharp and shiny looking kitchen knife and, for some reason, my mobile, looking set to brutally maim, sever all my limbs off and then force feed me them, is none other than Satan.
More commonly known as my repulsive, fake-tanned stepsister, Jamie.
But, yeah. She’s standing over my bed. Holding a knife.
And there is no sign of either a sweaty, naked Frank Iero or a giant Monopoly board anywhere.
Ah. Yes. And my hips may just be frozen, mid thrust alarmingly close to her face. Seriously, I didn’t know my hips could reach so high all by themselves. What clever little munchkins.
Oh, and I may or may not have a slight boner.
Well, when I say may or may not, I mean I do.
And when I say slight, I mean alarmingly gigantic.
Alarmingly gigantic and poking right through my duvet at Satan’s face.
Oh giggling octopi and rabid unicorns, this is bad in so, so many ways.
I am actually about to get castrated by my own stepsister for have dangerously erotic dreams about her boyfriend, my brain cells and their eager little genitals, and a giant chess board.
So, yeah. This is actually really, really not at all good.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jamie growls threateningly, gesturing at my raised hips with a careless sweep of the knife.
“Um, thrusting?” I blurt, blushing furiously at my response.
“Into what?” Jamie hisses dangerously.
“You were moaning ‘Frank’,” Jamie whispers in a terrifyingly deadly manner.
“I-I was?” I stammer, clutching my duvet protectively around me as if it will act as a shield for when Jamie realises I was having dreams about ravishing her boyfriend on a giant Monopoly board and chops off the thing that’s sticking so scarily into the air right now. Seriously, I had no idea it could stand in that direction. This is some scary shit.
Oh yeah, and my hips still haven’t moved. Perhaps I should put them down if I want to remain male.
I mean seriously, if I don’t put them down, it is almost certain I will lose the only thing that’s ever made me male. Without it, I’d just be a messed up, caffeine hooked, giggly teenage girl who crushes pathetically on sex itself.
Well, I say sex itself- I mean a certain Frank Iero. Because really- he’s just so god damn hot he’s like sex on legs. And feet, obviously. He wouldn’t get very far if he was sex on only legs.
“Yes. You asked him to rape you,” Jamie informs me, cutting through my inner rambling.
I gulp, slowly lowering my hips so as I’m not forcing my disturbingly sized cock into Jamie’s face.
“I-I did?” I stutter, heart pounding fearfully in my chest.
Jamie nods, eyes deadly, and I do not think I’m imagining her grip tightening on the knife.
“Um, could you maybe…put the knife down?” I whisper, fearing for my life. And my cock, as it still hasn’t gone away and is poking scarily through my duvet.
Not that I’d want it to actually go away- maybe just shrink a little. Well, a lot. So it isn’t actually the size of a morbidly obese banana doing an imitation of an inflated breadstick. I’m not even sure what an inflated breadstick would look like.
Jamie rolls her eyes and throws the knife down on my desk, making me jump and cower under my duvet with my inflated breadstick.
“Oh man up, freak,” Jamie rolls her eyes as I peek nervously out from under my blanket, quivering. “I’m not actually going to kill you, although it is tempting. I was trying to make fruit salad in the kitchen, but you’d left your phone in there and it won’t stop ringing and driving me fucking insane!”
Um, I’m pretty sure she was already seriously mentally unstable. But perhaps it isn’t the best time to bring that up seeing as she’s standing over me like Hitler forced into a tutu. Cause I really can’t imagine he’d be happy if that had happened. And she is also holding a knife and has that crazed, sadistic gleam in her mascara coated eyes.
And I may also have ravaged her boyfriend.
“…Rape me…rape me, my friend…rape me…again…” my phone sings out Nirvana’s rape me right on queue, vibrating in Jamie’s hand.
Oh fuck off. Haven’t you little fuckers done enough?
No. We want Frank.
Well you can’t have him right now.
Fine. But we’re going to torture you until we get our tongues on him again.
“GERARD!” Jamie thrusts my mobile furiously at me, making me jump and hurriedly press the ‘answer’ button before she can castrate me and before my brain cells drive me insane. Well, I guess I’m already a little insane. But y’know, the kind of insane that requires straightjackets for each and every little deranged, sexually insane pervert inside my head. And pills. Lots and lots of pills.
“H-hello?” I stammer into the receiver, swallowing nervously as Jamie glowers at me and does not remove herself from my room like I’d really appreciate.
“Howdy there, Tumbles.”
Oh holy meesefucking unicorn genitalia. It’s the multiple-dicked sex god.
The multiple-dicked sex god that molested my manly parts in the bathtub yesterday and licked me oh-so-wonderfully.
Oh yeah, and the multiple-dicked sex god who just happens to be dating my satanic, sadistic stepsister.
Who, in case I hadn’t mentioned, is holding a knife.
And I have a boner.
Which I’m pretty sure she is about to remove with a sharp blade.
Yes, this might actually be where I die. Like, really.
“Um,” I breathe, swallowing again as Jamie narrows her eyes at my flushed cheeks and stuttering. “Hiioeepnh.”
“Yesterday was awesome.” Frank sounds like he’s smirking that knee-melting, brain combusting smirk of his. Which really doesn’t help the tiny little pickle I’m in right now.
“EEEoetwihtpw,” I agree, trying to settle into a position where Jamie won’t be able to remove my baby-making bits, which, thanks to my unhelpful, conspiring little sickos in my skull, are slowly getting even bigger as I listen to the devastatingly alluring, husky voice of the guy’s saliva I practically bathed in yesterday.
Mmm. Frank saliva.
“You’re a damn good kisser, by the way, Tumbles.” Frank’s voice gets softer and huskier as he says my nickname. “In fact…you’re fucking…hot.”
Okay, all my little brain cells seem to be scuttling down into my baby-making bits at top speed and melting excitedly in there, where it’s starting to get ominously croweded.
Jamie is eyeing me extremely suspiciously as I shift my hips slightly.
Yes. This is definitely going to be where I die.
“Pesiouehotwh, s-so are you,” I manage dazedly, while Jamie continues to eye me very suspiciously. If I wasn’t so terrified of her with that knife, I’d just tell her to fuck the hell off, but right now, I don’t dare. I like my manly parts too much.
Well actually, they’re really pissing me off right now. I mean, seriously, they could pick there moments to make a stand, couldn’t they?!
Oh god, that was a terrible pun, Brian.
STOP CALLING ME BRIAN OR I WILL DESTROY YOUR LIFE.
You already destroy my life.
“Thank you,” Frank says huskily, cutting through my argument with my brain that is not called Brian.
I inwardly orgasm while all my little brain cells left in my head melt and die or bounce in hyperactive joy in the direction of my inflamed breadstick. How is it possible for one husky ‘Thank you’ to make you want to combust and die?!
Meanwhile, even more of those little fuckers in my head are making their excited way down to my groin. Which really, is not in the least helpful considering the situation I’m in right now. And it really is getting very, very crowded down there.
“URGHpOTE, you’re welcome,” I gasp, trying very, very hard to block out my little brain cells’ pervertedness.
I can practically hear Frank smirking. “So, I’m just getting dressed right now.”
Oh dear god.
“Well, I’m actually currently only in my boxers.”
Oh dear god.
All my little brain cells let out loud, guttural moans of arousal, and I roll over onto my side, trying to remain conscious as I melt onto my pillow and several more brain cells scuttle down in the direction of my crotch, squealing excitedly and tossing fluffy pink boas over their homosexual little shoulders.
“Gerard?” Jamie hisses from over me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Dying,” I groan.
“You okay there, Tumbles? The thought of me in boxers too much for you?” Frank sounds amused.
“Incihg, no,” I stammer, feeling as if my knees have been reincarnated as snails. Except without the snail bit. So basically, they’re just dead. Traitors.
“Would it be easier for you if I…took them off?”
Oh dear god, this guy really is trying to kill me. He must be in league with all these insane, hormonally manic, sexually disturbed little loonies inside my head that are all skipping gleefully down towards my baby-making bits and licking each other in excitement.
“NO!” I yelp, knowing that if he does so, I may actually expire. I mean, there really is only so much I, and those little evil freaks inside my head, can take.
Frank chuckles softly. “Sorry. Too late.”
“UUUhunuuuuugeho,” I moan, unable to control my deranged little brain cells any longer. I collapse fully on my bed, twitching, and trying very, very hard not to explode.
“Anyway, I was wondering if it’d be okay if I call round in like, half an hour?” Frank asks, still chuckling softly.
“Umph…eighoewhro, sure,” I stammer breathily, trying frantically to think of repulsive things like Ray snogging his cat or sucking off the captain of the football team in a maths store cupboard.
I think I may still be moaning, though, judging by the way Jamie’s glaring at me, but seriously, I don’t care anymore.
“Coolbeans,” I can practically hear Frank smirking at my loss of control.
“Oh, and Tumbles?”
“…Oh, and are you up for some more ‘Monopoly’ playing?” The seductive huskiness to Frank’s voice makes me groan again in an embarrassingly loud and sexual way, and Jamie snatches the phone off of me before I can orgasm all over it
All my brain cells have made their overly-excited little ways down to my crotch now, and it’s crammed full of sexually crazed lunatics.
“Hello?” Jamie snaps sharply into the receiver.
Um, the receiver of my phone, not my cock. Just clarifying.
There’s silence, during which I try and remember how to breathe, and all my little brain cells droop despondently, some of them trudging sadly back up in the direction of my skull.
After a couple of seconds, Jamie sighs and presses the end call button. “They hung up,” she snaps at my dead body sprawled so gracefully across the bed. “If I find out that was Frank…” she breaks off and glares venomously at me. “I’ll fucking castrate you, you faggot.”
And on that sweet, kind little note, she grabs her knife, throws my phone back at me and flounces from the room, slamming the door behind her.
I heave a sigh of relief as I hear her stilettos stomping down the stairs, and flop out of my bed, stumbling slightly due to the fact my knees still seem to be more than slightly absent. Seriously, they’re just useless- I mean, what’s the point of having them when all they do is spend their time disappearing abruptly when I need them most?
They must be in league with my brain cells. And Jamie. And Ray. And Frank. And basically everything and anyone else who is trying to kill me.
Not that I mind the way Frank seems to be trying to kill me…
I mentally facepalm and stagger dizzily towards the door, head light, limbs tingling, no doubt due to the fact all my bodily blood is solely in one place.
I collide with the door, and just as I’m about to stumble wildly in the direction of the bathroom and deal with my not so little problem, I hear my evil, life-destroying, unicorn-believing sibling’s voice on the landing and freeze.
After a couple of seconds, I realise he’s arguing with Jamie about the truth of unicorn sightings on the local beach and come to the possibly slightly dramatic conclusion that I am definitely going to die.
I am aware that being sexually aroused doesn’t generally mean death, but in this situation, it does; I have to make it from here to the bathroom without getting caught by Jamie, who will slice it right off, or Mikey, who will shower me in vomit and ridicule me for the rest of my life.
The fact I really, really need to pee isn’t really making this situation any less difficult.
I mean, seriously, of ALL the places they could have chosen to be to yell about unicorns and they just have to be between where I am and where I really need to get to as soon as humanly possible, or I will explode in so many different ways.
Of course, it’s all the fault of those little fuckfaces that call themselves brain cells. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be in this mess right now. I mean, all they really do is make me spontaneously lick sex god’s noses, trip over my own limbs, and fantasize about snail sex. If it hadn’t been them, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have had extremely vivid dreams about fucking my stepsister’s boyfriend senseless on a Monopoly board, which was what started off this life-threatening situation, which I really, really need to sort out.
I press my ear harder against the door.
All my little brain cells press their ears against the side of my skull.
“IT WASN’T JUST A NARWHALE! IT WAS A UNICORN!!” Mikey’s yell echoes through the wood.
I roll my eyes in frustration. Clearly, Mikey is not planning on giving up any time soon.
I glance down hopefully and sigh.
Sadly, it doesn’t seem willing to go away.
Of course, it doesn’t help that my brain cells are fantasizing and remembering the beyond hot make-out molesting in the bathtub session yesterday, and thinking about the fact Frank is coming over today. Like, with his tongue.
“FINE, I’LL ASK GERARD THEN!” I hear Mikey yell.
Before I have time to completely freak out over the fact I am completely naked apart from a pair of too-small pink cupcake boxers and a cock the size of Ray’s ‘fro, the door swings open, knocking me to my feet.
I scrabble desperately for something, anything on the chaos of my carpet to hide my crotch from my baby brother.
“Gerard, tell Jamie that narwhales don’t live around here and that it was a-” Mikey breaks off mid rant, eyes widening at an alarming rate as he takes in my appearance of minimal clothing, a crazed expression and…oh. Fanfuckingtastic. A Batman guitar pick doing a terrible job of covering my crotch.
Of all the things I had to pick, seriously.
“…Oh holy fuck,” Mikey breathes, turning alarmingly pale and backing towards the door.
“Um,” I blush furiously.
“Do you have a motherfucking unicorn horn stuffed down there or something?!”
My cheeks are actually burning as I scrabble frantically across the room and hide behind my bed, discarding the Batman guitar pick. “No…Mikey, it’s not how it looks,” I gabble frantically. “Listen, I um, need help.”
“WITH THAT?!” Mikey yelps in horror, turning paler still. “DUDE, THAT’S SICK- I’M YOUR BROTHER!”
I roll my eyes to the heavens. “Ewww, I didn’t mean it like that, you pervert!”
“Don’t call me a pervert!” Mikey snarls.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I’m not the one with a boner the size of my best friend’s ‘fro and my neck isn’t one giant purple motherfucking lovebite!”
I sigh. “Okay, okay…point taken, Mikes.”
“Thank you,” Mikey says sniffily, turning towards the door.
“Wait!” I cry before he can open the door.
“What?” Mikey sighs wearily, turning round.
“I need help.”
“Yes, I’d have to agree with you there.” Mikey smirks slightly. “Do you want me to call that therapist Ray’s Mom recommended when she found you and Ray wrestling and thought your were procreating?”
“No, I need your help, oh wonderful baby brother.”
Mikey narrows his eyes suspiciously. “…What for?”
“Um, Frank’s coming over.”
“How does that relate to me?”
“I want to look sexy.”
“Oh, so you want me to call a plastic surgeon?” Mikey asks brightly.
“No,” I growl. “I want you to give me a makeover.”
Mikey blinks. “A what?!”
“Make me look nice, y’know. Um, please?”
“How much coffee will you buy me for it?”
“What?!” I yelp, and then sigh in defeat as I meet Mikey’s determined expression and realise that I am still only wearing a pair of luridly pink cupcake boxers I received from Ray last Christmas. And I need to be dressed and looking as normal as possible in a scarily short amount of time. “…Twenty dollars worth,” I sigh grudgingly.
“Twenty five and I’ll make you look like a god,” Mikey bargains.
“A god?” I repeat, frowning. “I just want to look like a normal, sexy human being.”
Mikey sighs. “Gee, you’ll never look normal. Or sexy. And it’s more likely you’ll look like a deranged sea turtle than a human being.”
“Don’t do that, it’s disturbing.” Mikey groans, covering his eyes. “When’s Frank arriving?”
I glance at my bedside clock and practically die there and then. All my conspiring little brain cells start skipping in joy.
“Oh meese poop…he’ll be here in ten meese fucking mintues!!” I yelp.
“Ah,” Mikey looks amused as I flail, scrabble, panic, and come magnificently crashing down onto my bedroom floor, dragging a stack of CDs, a feather boa, three empty mugs of coffee, and the entire contents of my dressing table with me.
Oh, and I land in a spectacularly excruciating splat on my morbidly obese banana that’s controlled by those pink-knicker wearing lunatics inside my head. Who are still skipping.
“OWWWW!” I yell in agony.
“Shit dude, you alright?” Mikey actually sounds mildly concerned, no doubt due to the fact I sound like I’m dying. And not in a sexual way. Like, in a fatal way.
How else do you die, fuckface?!
Go away. I think I’ve just killed my cock.
“Gee?” Mikey repeats uncertainly.
“Oh god, Mikey…I think I’ve broken it..” I gasp, eyes streaming in sheer pain.
“…Broken what?” Mikey asks warily, as if he somehow knows I’m not referring to the two shattered coffee mugs beside me.
Eleven minutes later, I’m sitting anxiously in the warmth of the sunny living room on the sofa beside my unnaturally skinny sibling, dressed and ready for the arrival of the mango and tobacco scented sex god.
Mikey, for once true to his word, gave me the make over he promised. After eight minutes of intensive plucking, straightening, smoothing and smudging, he finally dragged me down the stairs and into the hall so as I could admire my reflection in the full-length hall mirror.
Sadly, he also made me walk all the way down the stairs with my eyes closed as he ‘wanted me to fully appreciate my makeover’ once I could see myself properly.
Needless to say, this alarmed me a little, and I was beginning to seriously wonder if Mikey had dressed me as a girl or something.
And attempting to walk down the stairs with my eyes closed wasn’t really making me feel any calmer.
I mean, it’s bad enough not tripping over my own limbs and everything around me when my eyes are open.
Anyway, I finally made it into the hall in one piece, and all the mouths of my little brain cells fell open at the result.
Warily, I’d opened one eye and squinted apprehensively in direction of the full length hall mirror, immediately getting blinded by the bright golden sunlight that seeped through from the living room. However, as soon as I actually managed catch sight of my reflection, my jaw dropped and both my eyes widened in pure shock.
Looking back at me was a good looking, gothic type guy with smooth, pale skin, smoky, artistically applied eyeliner and choppy, liberally hair-sprayed and carefully straightened raven hair. His grey jeans were lethally tight and hugged his frame in all the right places, and his equally tight jet-black sleeveless t-shirt was v-necked, showing off his lily-white neck.
In fact, as I sit here on the sofa, jiggling my leg up and down apprehensively, stomach filled with butterflies and rampaging brain cells, I feel almost…cool.
Just so long as I remember not to bend over- the jeans are quite low cut and show off the pink, glittery cupcake boxers.
“Stop jiggling,” Mikey says irritably.
“I can’t,” I gasp, jiggling harder as adrenaline floods through me at the thought of meeting with the sexiest guy in the universe after everything that happened yesterday.
What if he doesn’t like me anymore?
What if he never did?
What if Jamie has brutally murdered him?
What if he thinks I’m a terrible kisser?
What if he’s called the medics with the needles to come and cure me?!
“GERARD!” Mikey shouts, cutting off my overly-dramatic thoughts and making me look round.
The poor little straightener-obsessive munchkin is bouncing up and down violently on the sofa due to me frantic, nervous leg-jiggling.
“Sorry,” I mumble, getting up and trying to pace the room, rapidly sitting back down on the sofa as I realise trying to pace without knees is a challenge and a half.
Mikey just rolls his eyes and goes back to staring at the TV screen.
Negative thoughts fill my brain cells’ moronic little minds once more.
“Mikey…?” I mutter, stomach practically doing a quintuple flip as I realise Frank should be here in like, ten seconds for my brain cells to ravage.
No, ravaging is bad. Mustn’t ravage.
“Yeah?” Mikey sighs tiredly without looking round.
“What if Jamie’s killed Frank?” I blurt out.
“Chill, she won’t have- she left to meet Ray about ten minutes ago,” Mikey replies.
“What if he doesn’t like me anymore?!” I worry, nibbling at my nails.
“Gerard!” Mikey yells so suddenly that I jump violently. “Are you actually even more retarded than you look?! Your neck is like, one giant fucking lovebite thanks to him! He risked getting brutally murdered by the female version of Hitler just so as he could play tonsil tennis with you! And he’s always staring at your ass!”
“Yes,” Mikey rolls his eyes despairingly. “Your ass. God knows why he wants to. I mean, it looks like you’ve-”
However, whatever insult he’s about to verbalize about my butt is cut off as the shrill ring of the doorbell echoes through the house and I clutch wildly for the support of Mikey’s shoulder before my knees give way fully because oh my meese fuck, he’s here.
Frank Iero. The questionably multiple-dicked sex god.
My evil stepsister’s boyfriend.
The dude with the mango-flavoured saliva.
I start hyperventilating as Mikey rolls his eyes and yanks me, quivering, out of the balmy living room and towards the front door, brain cells all twitching in excitement, stomach devoured by bloodthirsty butterflies.
The doorbell rings again, making me jump out of my skin and wish for a sudden, painless death.
Oh dear god, Frank Iero, the sexiest being in creation is here.
The unbearably hot guy who molested me in a bathtub less than twenty four hours ago.
And he wants to play monopoly.
So, I hope this edited version was a little better- I felt the fist version was terrible, and I just wasn’t going to be happy until I changed it. Thanks for all your lovely reviews on the first version of this chapter, they cheered me up…I’d love to know what you thought of this new version and if you thought it was better, but you don’t need to review if you don’t want to. Thanks so much for reading…I’ll try and update soon. Love you all!