Part 05 Friends Will be Friends by Kim EM Copyright (c) 2000 by Kim EM All rights reserved

With humor and empathy, Kim tells the story of Billy, an 11-year-old whose life has reached a low point. Weaving in some autobiographical details, Kim follows Billy's journey toward becoming accepted as the girl he has always been.

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Author's Note: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. After writing this, God, I hope so. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.

Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.

I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. E-mail me at [email protected]
Earlier chapters and other stories are available at http://www.kimem.net
Also, check out http://www.hugglebugs.net to see a brand new story universe in the making.

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This part of the story is dedicated to Prudence Walker, aka Prue, resident muse and a very talented author in her own right. And don't blame her, this chapter is my own doing.

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Previously:

"EXPO 67? Can we go?" I asked excitedly. I'd been hinting about the fair for a year, though my problems in the spring had gotten to take all my attention. *maybe... maybe...*

"Kimberly," Dad continued, "It will be a bit early, but for your birthday your mother and I are taking you to the fair for a week in mid-August."

I squealed and suddenly found myself wrapped around him. "Thank you thank you thankyouthankyou..."

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Chapter Twenty-Two
 
I won't go into any detail about the next two days. Gail, Tina, and I went everywhere together. To the beach, to church, out bike riding.

Bike riding. We'd been out for most of the morning, and when Tina and Gail wanted to head for home, I decided to stop by my dad's office instead. We'd been riding along the cart paths of the gold course, and so when they turned east, back to home, I headed north, down one of the cart paths back towards the clubhouse. The clubhouse was at the top of a steep hill, so when I got to the base of the hill I took a shortcut, a graveled path that led though the park. This was the same park where Gail had told me of her molestation, and I slowed as I neared the secluded spot where we'd had such a horrible conversation.

There were three teenage boys sitting on the bench, talking and laughing. As I approached, one glanced up, saw me, and a look of delight crossed his face. He suddenly stood and moved into the path, reaching for the handlebars on my bike.

The other boys looked at him in surprise as the bike came to a sudden stop. He reached with his other hand and grabbed the front of my blouse, lifting me slightly so that I was almost off the seat. He turned to his friends and said, "This is her-him-the little pervert!"

They looked uncertain and one asked, "Are you sure? She looks like a girl."

The first one laughed nastily and grabbed me by the hair. With a savage yank he pulled the wig off and chortled. The other said, "Jeez. It _is_ a guy!"

The one holding me dragged me bodily off the bike and let it fall to the pavement. The others surrounded me, and started laughing, looking closely at my face. The previously silent one looked at the ringleader and asked, "Do you still want to..." He trailed off and looked at the boy holding me.

"Yes," the boy replied, "now more than ever." He drew his free arm back, then launched a solid punch at my stomach. I tried dodging, to no avail. The punch landed deep in my gut and I would have doubled over if he hadn't been holding me up.

The others moved right up to me, one at my left, the other behind and to my right. The one on the left feinted at me, and as I reacted, the one behind me grabbed my right arm. The one on the left, instead of striking, suddenly had my left arm. They moved slightly away, drawing my arms out to my sides.

I tried pulling away, but they were bigger and stronger. The ringleader let go of my blouse, and I thought he was going to launch into an all-out attack. Instead, he reached both hands to my collar, and grabbed, pulling straight down, and ripping the front of the blouse apart.

I opened my mouth to cry out, yell for help, but the blow to my gut had frozen my innards, and I couldn't produce more than an agonized squeak. I struggled and tried again to pull away, but

couldn't budge either of the ones holding my arms.

I tried to tell myself that there's nothing about being a girl that means I can't fight. Some of the nastiest fighters I've seen are girls. So why can't I fight back? Why haven't I ever been able to fight back? As I strained for an answer, he pulled out a knife, a jackknife he seemed uncomfortably casual handling.

I renewed my struggles as he easily flipped the knife open. Again, futility was the only outcome, and he leaned in towards me. He held the keen edge of the knife to my cheek, letting me fearfully gaze at the metal so close to me. He drew the blade lightly down my right cheek, barely stinging but leaving a wet feeling behind. When it reached my chin, he lifted the blade and reached out with his other arm, grabbing the front of my bra.

"So," he gloated, "the little boy wears a bra. How cute." He scratched his head in mock puzzlement. "I don't get it? Why bother wearing a bra? There's nothing on your chest to fill it." His knife flashed, and the bra was suddenly in two pieces, hanging uselessly from my body.

The two other kids guffawed upon seeing this, and while they were distracted I tried pulling loose. Still nothing. Damn. They were just too strong for my eleven-year-old frame.

I felt something wet on my chest, and discovered a steady dripping of blood, landing near the still vestigial right nipple, and running down my stomach and below, starting to stain my culottes. "Oh, look, he's flowing," mocked the teen. "There's another thing that girls do that he has to copy. And I bet his panties are all bloody."

The kid on my left sneered, "I bet nobody ever told him about tampons."

The ringleader laughed and said, "Where would he put them, up his ass?" He leaned forward again and with a few quick slashes cut loose the bloody culottes, exposing a somewhat less bloody pair of panties. "Not as much blood here. Do you suppose I should help it along?" The other two nodded eagerly, and the knife prodded at my chest, quickly drawn into circles around where my breasts would someday be. I gasped in pain as he leered at me. "There, now you'll know where to have boobs attached some day."

My breath was returning, impelled in part by the rings of fire on my chest, and partly by the sure knowledge of where he was eventually going with that blade. I cried out, "HEEEEELL..." and was abruptly cut off by a sharp, very hard blow to the throat. I couldn't talk, could barely breathe, and the harsh, lingering pain told me that he'd most likely crushed something in my throat.

He moved behind me, around the two thugs holding my arms rigid, and swiftly cut loose the remains of my clothing. Only my panties remained, and I could feel him rub my butt through the thin material. He chuckled and said, "Oh, yes, I know exactly want we need to do." I could feel the slicing of the material at both sides, and the panties fell freely to the ground.

My arms were suddenly drawn even tighter, if such a thing is possible, and I could feel the blade carving it's way across my backside. The pain, well, it wasn't as bad as I'd expected, but I could feel the skin splitting where the knife had cut deeply. He finished his grisly job, and casually circled round to my front again. "I suppose you want to know what it says? Nothing much, you little pervert. Just something so the other perverts will be able to recognize you."

I tried to yell, to scream at him, but the very effort was agony, and nothing came out but a breathy whistle. HE laughed again, then shouted at me, right into my face, all the vileness and bile he possessed coming forth at that moment. "You fucking little fag boy, prancing around like a girl and trying to pretend that you're something you will never be! NEVER! If you live a fucking million years you won't be a girl!"

He reached down towards my exposed groin with his knife, preparing to do something I don't even want to think about, when the answer to my question flashed into my mind. Girls are nasty fighters, they will do WHATEVER it takes, while boys usually have unspoken rules in their fights. Girls are the more dangerous. I should have known, I couldn't overpower or out-struggle the older boys, I had to fight like a girl!

He reached for my limp and undeveloped member as my leg lashed out and my bare toes connected solidly with his groin. He collapsed to the ground, clutching himself as my suddenly shifted weight pulled the two other teens off-balance. As they staggered, I was able to catch one with my knee, another solid hit to the crotch, forcing him to release my right arm, and letting me swing around on the one on the left. He backpedaled, releasing my arm and reflexively clutching form his privates.

I lit out of there, naked and in pain, right across the park's lawn, straight through the sprinklers, racing with all my might for the street and safety. I could hear their pained cries behind me, and knew that with their greater size and speed, it was only moments until they would again have me in their clutches. I took a hard left towards the nearest piece of road, and my feet went out from under me on the wet grass. I slid and rolled, and managed to recover my footing without much loss in time. Behind me I could hear the dismayed cries as the three clowns ran into the spray, getting a face-full of near-freezing water.

The urgency was greater for me, because I knew what they would do when they caught up to me, and I HAD to get to safety, simply had to if I wanted to live. I was having trouble, though. Whatever he'd done when he nailed my throat was making it hard to breathe. I could feel thunderbolts of pain as I gasped, still running my race for life. Ahead was a chain barrier at the edge of the park. About two-and-a-half feet high, the chain was strung to keep cars and bicycles out of the grass, and delimit the edge of the park. I was too low to duck under at the speed I was traveling, so I leapt to vault it. As my feet left the ground, my bare feet slipped on the wet grass and shot out from under me, and I leapt into uncontrolled flight.

I flew, frantically trying to change what I could see was going to happen, but I was already in mid-air. As I frantically twisted, one leg passed under the chain and the other above the chain... I tried, really I did, but I couldn't do anything to change my path, and I slammed into the chain full-force, right between the legs. All my eleven-year-old weight came down full force on my crotch, and the world flared white with agony, and then it turned black and there was nothing.

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To Be Continued...
 
 
 © 2000 The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission. - Kim