SCHOOL TRAIN, my third
Added 2025-07-17 17:05:16 +0000 UTCNOTICE - As always, I just want to remind every
Comments
This just breaks my heart. For a million different reasons, I relate to that you so much, even though we are different. I'm older, male, then I was a naive inexperienced kid. I have so many comments and questions but it's long after you posted this. You are a phenomenal writer. Thank you for sharing your heart. (And thank you for sharing your kinky stories.)
SubTomAtl
2025-10-12 19:08:04 +0000 UTCHey The Kid - I'm not sure who you're sayin had an inability to own what was happening, to have that control or worth stripped - Are you speaking about the boys in general...perhaps Keith, because he showed some kindness up until he got a blowjob, but later on faltered. Or Eve? You're right about going back and giving ourselves a hug - accepting ourself, learning what has made us who we are -
Larry Hunt
2025-07-17 21:03:34 +0000 UTCI get you said yes but taking advantage (it wasn’t really ever going to be 3-4 people) is a shit thing to do, and how they treated you after is also, just saying
James
2025-07-17 20:14:12 +0000 UTCI may have egged a few garages or cars in my day, but never a person. If I recall it did a number on the paint job. My public school and high school had a cafeteria, so remember the mashed potatoes and pudding
James
2025-07-17 20:11:45 +0000 UTCI got asked about egging, so I'll just reply in public. Egging is when you got an egg thrown at you. It's that simple. It was a thing, it didn't start with me. If someone pissed you off, you'd throw an egg at them, or at their car, or their house. I don't think it was common. But it wasn't unheard of. What happened was that as my reputation went to shit, I became a target. Not for everyone, I don't think, although it felt that way to me at the time. I think mainly it was just certain individuals and I'm pretty sure, in hindsight, who most of them were. They weren't hiding. It started in the cafeteria when my back was turned, it was sort of a game to throw things at me. Peas. French fries. Mashed potatoes. Custard. I'd turn around. I'd turn around, there was nobody. I couldn't tell where it came from. I threw a couple of fits the first times, but it didn't do me any good. It just made things worse. I learned to control myself and ignore it as much as I could. It was just a game, the cafeteria stuff. I don't think, in hindsight, it was really mean. Although it could be. Once this girl talked to me, and I was pretty thrilled, because people were starting to avoid talking to me. And while I was distracted, these other girls poured syrup into my bookbag. It ruined my books and scribblers, everything, the bookbag itself. I was so furious when I realized what had happened. I was pretty paranoid and untrusting after that. Maybe that helped me later on in other circumstances. I wouldn't say it was a good thing. It was incredibly humiliating. But when you are in bars or hanging out with strangers at parties, that's pretty dangerous if you're not careful. I always had good instincts. Maybe there's a connection there. The first time I got egged, I was walking home from school, I don't remember much - I was just walking, minding my own business. I was just walking on the sidewalk, and this car came up behind me, and blam! I didn't even realize what happened. I just felt the impact, it stung a little, but mainly I was protected by my clothes. It felt like someone had run up out of nowhere and invisibly punched me there. The car drove off, squealing its tires, but I didn't pay attention to that. I was checking and finding eggshell and yolk and white splashed where I'd been hit, and I realized I'd been egged, someone in the car that squealed away had thrown an egg at me as they passed. I remember being shocked and horrified. It was like being physically assaulted in public. I ran home in tears. My jacket was ruined of course. That was a thing - if you got egged, it wrecked whatever you were wearing that got egged. Jeans, tops, jackets. I had this really nice purple winter coat that got egged. It just ruined it, it left a big mark. Mom and Dad refused to buy me a new winter coat, and I got egged again. So I had to go around with this ugly coat with these huge smears and runs, with a stitched panel, like a hobo. The worst one was when they got me in the back of a head. I was in the park so they must have run up behind me. POW! It was like being shoved, or something, this shock of pain and wet and stinking in the back of my head. It really hurt, a surprising amount. I remember I just went straight to my knees and pitched forward onto my face. I laid there for a minute, thinking I'd been shot in the back of the head - I could feel it wet and oozing, and I was sure it was my blood and brains trickling. I know that's irrational, but that's what I felt. I was so scared. I reached back finally, feeling it, and just experiencing this bottomless horror. And then I looked at my fingers, and it was white and yolk and bits of eggshell, and I understood what had happened. I felt this strange mix of relief and overwhelming misery and humiliation. I just laid there flat on my face and cried like a baby. After I got myself together, I tried to wipe it off, but that didn't really do anything but spread it around and get my hands full of egg gunk, which got on my clothes, when I wiped there, and then when I tried to wipe my hands on leaves and grass, that just got all this grody park dirt and scruff on them. It was comical how miserable and self pitying it was. The whole back of my head was a mess, I got the biggest pieces of eggshell. But the gunk was just spread around on the back of my hair, and when I was walking, I could feel it seeping down my neck. I was so pathetic. I was worried that it would dry too much, and then I wouldn't be able to get it out of my hair, and they'd have to cut this big bald patch on the back of my head. I was absolutely terrified of that, the idea that opposite my face, I'd have another 'face' a large bare place on the back of my head. It would have been completely humiliating, I was just imagining the names I was going to be called. It's funny, the way you think when you're a teenager, everything is just so out of proportion. Anyway, I made my way feeling really sorry for myself until I came to a gas station, and they let me use the bathroom. Normally, the rule was you had to buy something, but the guy just let me. By that time, there had been seepage all the way down to my bra strap (not much but I could feel it). And parts of the gunk were already drying at the edges of my hair and on my clothes. Some of it was dry, some of it was wet and tacky. It was really unpleasant. I washed my hair in the sink trying to use that liquid hand soap as shampoo, and trying to wash it out of or get it off my clothes. I kept trying until finally they knocked and kicked me out for being so long. I think I was there half an hour. I made my way home looking like a drowned punk-rocker rat. All I needed were strategically placed safety pins. Luckily, Mom and Dad weren't home, so I was able to take a bath and use real shampoo and conditioner, and then combed and brushed until I got it all off and looked mostly decent. I found a little blood, I think the eggshell pieces had cut my scalp, it stung a little, but not in a big way. Still, I found tiny pieces of eggshell on my pillow the next day, and still pulled out little eggshell bits all the way into the next evening. I had this big bruise on the back of my head, but it was behind my hair, so no one noticed. But of course, I felt it every time I moved. Of course, I didn't tell Mom or Dad when they came home. But I was so upset and traumatized that we didn't get half way through dinner before I just had a blow-out and started a truly epic fight - total screaming match. They didn't know what hit them, but they rose to the occasion, screaming right back. I feel bad now, especially for that fight. By that time, we were just at war. Resentment, sarcastic comments, fucking with each other. Yes, it started because I was out of control, and because I was angry and on the attack. But after a while, it just became a thing. But that time, I was traumatized and upset from the egging, they had no idea of any of it, but I took it out on them. I was a target. The worst times were going to and from school. Initially, I walked, my route was pretty standard, so it was easy to find me and pick an ambush spot. Fuck though, you had to be pretty committed and driven to just ambush someone like that. Who stalks a teenage girl on her way home from school? Assholes. But dedicated assholes. It only took a few times, and once I realized, I got pretty good at evading. I learned which side of the street to be on, avoid sidewalks, cut through alleys and backyards and vacant lots, park trails. I dodged, I weaved, I was sneaky, I changed my route constantly, and watched, I was always watching. Sometimes it felt like every time I went out it was an obstacle course. Sometimes I was just pleased with my cunning. The school route was the biggest risk, but I got hit other places. The park, like I said. And once on the bus. This girl I barely knew just walked up to me and smashed it into me, right in front of me as we were pulling up to a stop. Then she and her friends, laughing at how they got me, got off at the stop. I'm standing there, hanging onto the strap, eggshells and egg gunk running down, like an idiot. I had no idea what to do. Everyone was looking at me. Oh, and scratch a silk blouse and a really nice fake fur white jacket. Once at school, but they missed. I heard my name get shouted, I turned. I saw it coming and ducked. It went right over my head. Just an inch or two, it would have gotten me right in the forehead. I was going to run for it, but they ran instead. That was the only time at school. And the house, a couple of times. Once, the picture window - splat! We were there though, and cleaned it off. And Dad's car. Mom and Dad had no idea what the fuck it was about, and I wasn't telling them. Anyway, in hindsight, I was probably making a lot bigger deal of it than it actually was. A teenager thing. Compared to the amount of terror I put into thinking about it, the obsessive fear and paranoia, it hardly ever happened. It felt, with all that teen-angst that I was facing a daily egg-arsenal. But not really. There was a spell, about two months, when it happened a lot, I was aggressively being egg-hunted. But after that, it just trailed off and was only really occasional. I guess a combination of loss of interest on their part (they probably found new targets, small animals to torture) and hypervigilance on my part. Looking back, I think the terror was exaggerated, it was just a regular part of the shit. That's all. I was fucked up, and I was fucking up in so many different ways.
Eve St. Albert
2025-07-17 20:04:53 +0000 UTCJust to be really really clear: 1) When they asked, I said yes. They didn't have to convince me or talk me into it. I knew what they were asking, I knew what they wanted, and I said yes. 2) The sex wasn't bad. I came at least three times, and I was close some other times, and mostly it felt good. They weren't great and they didn't last long, but they weren't awful. Their bodies were really nice to look at and to touch. No one was cruel or mean while we were actually having sex. I wasn't getting slapped or choked or anything like that. And the one guy I absolutely didn't want to have sex with, I didn't have sex with. I've been in worse situations.
Eve St. Albert
2025-07-17 20:00:00 +0000 UTCI so want to put a ❤️ on this story but I’m struggling, because like some stories that are total fiction, I know this is all based on reality and with your commentary and the story itself, I feel crushed. In ways it reminds me of the #DearDaddy public service message or the recent trial of the hockey players from just down the street in London. I’m glad you’re on the better side of this but so wish there were more people to just give you the hugs and love you wanted but didn’t know how to ask for ❤️❤️
James
2025-07-17 19:46:33 +0000 UTCYour more than a better writer - some writers can dazzle with a 90 cent word, but leave us with no feeling behind it. You on the other hand can take a 25 cent word and make us feel it, laugh from it, want more like it - In my opinion, that's a writer!
Larry Hunt
2025-07-17 19:35:38 +0000 UTCI wish our path had crossed all those years ago - a young girl who just wanted to be a young girl...someone's friend, someone's girlfriend who deserved respect no matter what others thought or said. A young woman who just wanted what we all want...to be liked, a part of something...held tightly, kissed and yes, even loved. This is a very heart felt account of your young life. I think that always telling ourselves...oh, they're just boys, it's what boys do...is expected to a certain extent - add in the boys were popular hockey players for a high school - their whole lives ahead of them...protected by society, because they're just boys...who just want to have fun. Ever watch the movie 'A time to kill' with Matthew McConaughey. He's all but lost the case until he's told it's his job as a lawyer to find the truth...no matter where she hides. Truth, no matter where she hides...his job was to convince a jury that the father had a right to kill those two men for what they'd done to his daughter - a little black girl who went through hell - but, she lived. When he told the jury to close their eyes and search for the truth - their eyes closed the whole time, he began to tell them of the horrors the two white men put the little black girl through. After everything he said - he then asked can you see her, explaining her body and what they'd done - they he asked can you see her? Then, he said, imagine if that little girl was white! Your story reminds me so much of that movie Eve. It's the mentality society frames for us - who cares it's a girl that being harassed by others in school...bullied even. She deserves it, especially if those rumors are true - all the boys can't be lying - she was asking for it right - planting doubt, hiding the truth. I for one, am glad you found the truth, embraced it - wrapped your arms around it - found a way to accept it and live with it - move on from harms way even. Finding the truth to stop thinking about being better off if you wasn't around anymore. Crushing those destructive thoughts with your truths! Like the movie, there were times I had to fight those tears back - fuck, I'm human and have a heart. Knowing this was a true story - one that told us truth. BIG HUG...BIG HUG...BIG HUG!
Larry Hunt
2025-07-17 19:27:05 +0000 UTCIt's kind of strange but after reading it, the one thing that stuck out the most is that strange nostalgia that certain people can have in your memory. As time passes, the mystique wears off of everybody pretty much and it's always strange to think back on those idealized versions. It was just a reminder of how time and space really do bring a different kind of clarity, Keith being a perfect example. In the comment above, your current feelings on him as person, it creates a timeline all on its own. Reality breaking down a teenage fairytale. The event itself was hard to read because the recounting captured that casual cruelty only the young can really have. Not to say that adults can't be absolute bastards, but usually they dress it up. And the inability to own what was happening, to have even that control or worth stripped, that hit very hard. To go back and give ourselves a hug, any kind of understanding, just another thing here that resonated.
The Kid
2025-07-17 19:11:20 +0000 UTCLooking back at this stuff, the thing that strikes me most is that I'm now a much better writer. I hope I am anyway. I found, in my old files, three different versions. The first, the earliest, was very stripped down, and kind of bragging. It was very much "And here's an extremely hot thing I did!" The second version, the one you're reading, delved much more deeply into the emotional insecurities driving my acting out. There was a third version, more fragmentary, that seemed to dwell on my infatuation with Keith. I've added segments of that in, particularly at the end. But apart from that, and some basic editing, this is essentially as I wrote it, twenty years ago. It's interesting to re-read. I find I'm much less sympathetic to Keith. Even at the time it was happening, I realized or came to realize he was manipulative. And even when I was writing it a decade later, it's clear that I was still carrying a little torch for him, holding a soft spot for him. Now? Now, re-reading, and re-examining my memories, I still can't condemn him as a bad person. But what strikes me is the careful emotional distance and emotional reservation he maintained at all times. He really didn't open up much, and wasn't all that accessible. Partly, I think it was just me projecting, and partly it was because I was so starved that even his carefully limited emotional accessibility was like a feast. I suppose it is what it is. I still don't hate him, but I have very little regard for him. Regarding Jesus, or 'Hey Zeus,' I honestly feel genuinely embarrassed. I should have figured it out all the way back in school, I should never have made such a mistake. And it's twice as embarrassing that, even having the epiphany while writing, I kept on calling him 'Hey Zeus.' If anyone is offended, I apologize. The 90s were a different time. To be fair, thinking about it, I don't think I was the only one, and I think Jesus himself played into it. His nickname on the team was the Thunderbolt, and I seem to recall a lot of allusions to the Greek god throwing thunder or lightning bolts. I think that the consensus was he had the body for it, and having seen him naked, I agree. Jesus and Bjorn - they played a recurring part in occasional fantasies as a threesome after that. You wouldn't think so, given my description of the complicated and perhaps dark emotions in the School Train. But my emotions of that era were all over the place, and sometimes I recalled the experience positively (by virtue of simply not thinking about the bad parts). There was something about the two of them, their bodies, so close together. I had fantasies. I masturbated. I think it slowly evolved into a fascination with double penetration, which maybe lead to certain... things, which blew up on me horrifically. But that's for another time. I never played with either ever again, though I saw them occasionally in the halls when I bothered to show up at school. I never really interracted with them after that. Which is a shame, because if they'd have ever approached me for a threesome, I would have been, "Oh my god! YES!!!!" Even now, remembering, I have a vague regret I never approached them with a proposition. But that's probably just as well. It's unlikely, considering all the variables, that it would have turned out the way I wanted. Maybe they hated each other on the team? Maybe they were homophobes and couldn't handle a threesome? Maye they were secretly gay lovers? I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that I'd seen them naked, had them back to back, and I wanted them both front to front at once. I don't know, I think that all things considered, there was something charming about my girlish fixation, and regrets aside, I'm glad I didn't try to act on it. Speaking of the 90s, I don't know if you've ever heard of the film Pretty Woman. Starring Richard Gere and Julia Roberts. Gere plays sleazy capitalist. Roberts plays a street hooker he hires and falls in love with. The movie was sort of a touchstone for me and a lot of girls my age. I watched it again a few years ago, and was disappointed by how it didn't really hold up. Gere is basically a mannequin. Julia Roberts is incredibly hot, her simulated sex scenes are the only reason to watch the movie. She should have done porn. But the rest of it... it's clumsy, poorly staged, the dialogue is painful. It's basically a movie for naive fourteen year old girls who have just discovered masturbation. True Romance, I also watched again. It was nothing like I remembered it. But it was a terrific movie. It's funny how the mind plays tricks. I was absolutely certain that Slater was was in a shoot out as part of a group of gun-toting Elvis impersonators. I absolutely remember that, but when I watched it, the scene wasn't there. So either I hallucinated it, or it was in the theatrical release but they cut it out of the DVD edition for some reason. As always, I'm struck by re-reading, by what I remember so vividly, and by what I don't remember. I don't remember the redhead at all now, not a bit. Apparently, he was there, because the me of twenty-years ago wrote about him. But now? He's completely gone. I remember one of the gangbang guys walked in naked, but that's all I have. On the other hand, I have vivid memories of being at the pharmacy at this junk jewelry display of earrings, completely obsessing and debating what sort of earrings to wear to my gangbang. Reading this over, one thing that strikes me is how close to the edge I already was, or had passed the edge, by the point that I was doing the School Train, and afterwards. Everything was moving relentlessly towards an inevitable crisis. My relationship with my parents was already so bad, our wars to continuous, that when we didn't fight it felt like a miraculous reprieve. I was already deeply alienated from just about everything and everyone. And, I guess, genuinely loathed and hated by some, that was definitely not my imagination. Even the one part of my life that felt actually functional and rewarding, that kept me going back then, the bar and party scene, was probably as damaging as anything else. I was a hot promiscuous teenage girl who was insecure, vulnerable and emotionally needy - well, that was like catnip to cats in bars. I got affirmation and validation, a lot of free drinks, and they got what they wanted... I suppose it was a fair trade. It was probably not healthy in the long run. But at the same time, it kept me afloat, and almost all the good memories and positive adventures I recall from those days were from there. I think it helped a lot that I was quick witted, highly verbal, perceptive, I had a sense of humour, and by virtue of Irish heritage, had a prodigious capacity for drinking. Hanging out in bars was probably not good for me, but at least there I was respected and welcome. I wrote about the Bar life, I remember that. But I can't find anything but fragments. I think maybe I'll try to go back to write about that, if anyone is interested. I don't know if School Train is genuinely erotic. But somehow, it feels important for me to share it. If it doesn't make your cock hard, I'm sorry. But we still have Kayley and Sam, and a lot of other raunchy stuff.
Eve St. Albert
2025-07-17 17:06:18 +0000 UTC
