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Reply-to: bc117@myway.com
From: "Orestes"<bc117@myway.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cured by Orestes (ff mf ds preg ws)
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Date: Wed, 03 Sep 2008 19:10:01 -0400
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Cured

by Orestes

bc117@myway.com
http://storiesonline.net/auth/Orestes




You mind if I rant for a minute, O?

Jesus loves me, this I know. All my music tells me so.

All of the posters on my wall and all of the friends my parents
want me to hang out with say the same thing.

I guess it's pretty much fucking unanimous.

Jesus loves me, even though I'm a fucking lesbian. Not *because*
I'm a lesbian, mind you. The manual states it clearly, I've been
told. He loves me *despite* my sinning ways. I guess that's the
way it goes, though. Jesus loves a fucking project. He loves the
sinners more than the rest because they have more to feel guilty
about.

He loves the sinners so much that all those straight-laced
fuckers who arrive at church ahead of me each week are desperate
to *be* sinners. The totally invent sins out of thin fucking air,
just so they can feel guilty and get some loving.

Like "sins of the mind". What the fuck is that? They want to feel
guilty for just coveting someone's ass. Not me. If I'm going to
pay the price, the least I'm going to do is have a real, bad-ass,
don't-look-at-me-that-way-or-I'll-kick-your-ass sin to atone for.

I go to church all the time now, just to embarrass my parents.
It's my way of getting back at them for sending me to that camp.

Do I sound bitter? Not at all. Nope. I'm just having some fun
with it.

Oh, the camp? Yeah. That's what you asked about, isn't it, O?

I'll smut it up if you want. Let me know. Then you can blast it
out to the smutverse if you want. I think your friends would like
it. The sweet part of the deal is that no one will take it
seriously.

Mom is fucking retarded. She thinks she can still get me excited
with wedding magazines and romance novels. Like I'm going to wake
up one day and totally *get* it. Dad's just in it for the money.
He boasts over the dinner table. Yeah, we still do that. How
totally motherf-ing quaint. He boasts about how much easy
business comes his way from the church and churchgoers and the
holy-ass Christian women's club. I mean seriously, can you even
believe there is such a thing?

So when they figured out I was into girls (and it took them long
enough to notice - it's not like I was doing an ace job of hiding
it) they hit the roof hard.

Well, he did. Mom doesn't do that. She just gets disappointed,
which is much worse because she may be an asshole but she's still
my mom.

Where do you shop for one of these places, by the way? Not that
you'd know. But I wonder, because it's not like you'd find it in
the yellow pages. My parents found one though, right quick -
probably through the pastor at our church. I wish they'd shopped
around a bit. Or not. I don't know. I mean, this place probably
fucked me up worse, but it's not like I really wanted to be
cured. I guess if I were going to choose one, I'd want
"ineffective but harmless" somewhere in the ad.

My parents wanted the cure though. Not for their sake. No. Of
course not. For my sake. So I can be happy again (like it was
ever picture postcard in my family) and be loved by God. Who, by
the way, loves me anyhow. He just requires that I feel guilty
about how he made me.

You mentioned you had a writer friend who was a lesbian, BTW. Did
she ever have to deal with the religion thing? Just wondering.

So they drove me there, across three states. I'm not going to say
which ones, just in case you do post this *out there*. Holy crap
was that a road trip. Imagine being trapped in a car with your
parents for hours on the road, just after they tell you that
they're bringing you to a camp that'll fix you right up from
being gay.

Yep, I was gonna be cured. Hallelujah. Is that even how you spell
it? My spellchecker still has it underlined.

The place was nice, in a holy motherf-ing Christian boot camp
sort of way, with horses and daily nature hikes and all that
shit. I know I should set the scene better ('k so I'm not gonna
be a writer) but I can't wait to tell you the best part. I
actually knew one of the other girls there!!

I'll call her "Leah". Why? Well, I have to call her something,
right? And I don't want her real information out there. I may
have been pretty shitty to her recently, but she's still sort of
my friend.

How fucked up is that, though? Like, did my church pastor get
bonus Jesus-bucks for sending out two lesbians in as many weeks?

Which is a laugh, because "Leah" <-- (okay I'm gonna stop using
the quotes) had to be there on one of those 'sins of the mind'
technicalities. Like she must have accidentally brushed against
another girl in the showers at school, and had some warm and
shivery thoughts about it after.

Whatever.

But it was weird. If we had've known, maybe we could have
carpooled. It might not seem like it, but that's the funniest
thing I'll say in this whole story because there was no way
either of our sets of parents was going to admit where they were
taking us - not even to each other. Plus they probably would have
been worried that Leah and I would be making out in the back
seat. OMG my parents are so stupid.

They brought in a Christian rock band that night and I kicked
back and hung out with the other kids and enjoyed it because
there's really no point in having a chip on your shoulder about
it and treating these other kids like assholes. I mean, we're all
in the same boat, right? Gay boys and girls of the SS
Heterosexual. Destination: the wedding altar with a member of the
opposite sex. Or, at the very least, back into the closet.

Our day-to-day was: prayer and hikes and bible study and more
prayer and Christian music and therapy and prayer... and you get
the point. Lots of prayer. Because if you just want something bad
enough, and ask for it in a naggy enough way, God will just hand
it over, right? And some of these kids *really* wanted it. I'd
put Leah in that group. If one of us was coming back cured, even
I would have put my money on Leah. Her parents would be so
fucking proud.

Okay Orestes... have you ever seen A Clockwork Orange? Like at
the end, where they pry that guys eyes open and totally fuck his
mind up with images of violence so that he'll be cured. You can
cut this part out if you want to post this story, but I just
brought it up because I always get images of that scene when I
think about the SHAME room.

The SHAME room was our name for it, us kids. It was like holy
fucking legend well before I came along, and probably still is. I
don't know what the printed on the actual door. Probably just
some other name or number like linen closet or number 28 or
something. I never went there. I just heard stories.

Because as bad a badass as I want to sound like in my letters to
you, there was no way I wanted to be strapped to a chair with my
eyes pried open so they can forcefully condition the queerness
out of me. Or whatever the Christian hetero equivalent of that
treatment is. Safer to just pray, and hike, and maybe roll my
eyes now and again, but not to defy openly.

One of my newly found friends went there shortly after I arrived.
Yes, O, I pressed her for details. How could I not? Not so I
could write about it - I didn't even know about authors like you
back then - but just because, well, I mean it sounded so much
like folklore. The SHAME room.

But it was totally real. Shannon got sent there because she was
always lipping off during bible study. They took her there at
night, while the rest of us were in bed. One bonus of being in a
camp for curing our sex problems was that we each got our own
room. It was a crappy little room, but at least we didn't have to
put up with some weirdo roommate who snores and crap like that.
So when they took her, nobody noticed.

Now I don't really know if there's any real thinking that goes on
about these therapies. Maybe these people just want to *feel*
like they're doing something. The lord's work, and all that. So I
couldn't tell you whether boring us with Bible study had any real
chance of "curing" anyone. But the other way... the SHAME room...

Totally fucking opposite. Like they looked at what they were
doing during the day and said "If you can't see that Jesus loves
you, maybe you'd like to see what the other guy has in store."

I don't know if Shannon was lying. I doubt it. She told me that
they totally forced her into doing dirty nasty extreme lesbian
shit with some crazy bull-dyke staffers - along the lines of
curing a fat kid of an eating disorder by making him eat so much
chocolate cake that it makes him sick. Kind of associating
lesbian sex with being something ugly, shameful, painful.
Negative conditioning, I later read.

She had real bruises and shit. I saw them.

And believe me, Shannon never piped up about the old testament,
the new testament, or any other fucking testament again in Bible
study. She kept her big mouth shut. Cured? Probably not, but sure
as fuck she was silent.

Now here I'm going to fess up. I had some misplaced anger about
the whole scene. It feels so concentration camp, shipping us all
off to a reprogramming center to cure us. And what drove me crazy
- I mean really crawled up my ass - was that some of the kids
were really buying into it. By this I mean Leah and her crowd. I
probably should have been more mad at my parents, or the staff,
but I knew what was good for me, and any of that would just land
me in the SHAME room.

I feel guilty about this part. But hell, guilt is holy fucking
currency. Jesus is going to love me even more because of what I
did. Actually, more what I said. Because it was my idea. I didn't
actually *do* it. I just suggested it, mostly in joking. Well,
partly anyway.

I told Shannon that it would be funny to see one of these
goody-goody earnest please-cure-me-and-make-me-closer-to-the-Lord
kids get nailed for something and have to go to the SHAME room.
We picked Leah. Okay, it was my choice. Great. More fucking
guilt. I'm going to be the most popular girl in church.

So we pulled some petty crap, and pretty much conspired to have
Leah blamed for it. But the most fucked-up thing is that they
just gave her a talking to a couple of times, and she'd come out
all sheepish looking but they didn't send her to the room.
Towards the end, we'd pretty much given up, but then it just
happened. Shannon and I were out smoking something less than
legal out behind the kitchen one night, when everyone else was
getting ready for bed.

One of the life-coach boot camp guys just about caught us. I
mean, it was like *that* close. He walked around the corner. We
ducked inside. He was left there, sniffing the air like a fucking
bloodhound because he knew he smelled something a little funky -
and it wasn't just the leftover scalloped potatoes.

So we knew there was going to be a search, and neither one of us
wanted to be caught holding it. The obvious choice would have
been to flush it, but on a whim Shannon snuck into Leah's room,
and put the rest of it in her sock drawer while Leah was in the
washroom - down the hall. That part they made us share. But one
at a time. Yeah, no wild lesbian sex parties in the washroom.

That landed her in the SHAME room for three nights straight.

The funny part is, before she came to camp, Leah had probably
never even kissed a girl, much less spent three nights being a
cunt slave (sorry O - I know you steer away from the raunchier
descriptives in your stories - don't you get sick of just using
cock and pussy? How about a little twat munching, clit sucking
juicy ol' sex between a couple of dyke bitches, just to make me
happy? No. You're more reserved than that. Funny, for a guy who
writes what you write, but I'm off topic again).

So Leah spent three full nights being taught the worst kind of
humiliation of being used and abused by women, all in the name of
curing her lesbian urges.

I can't say how it made me feel. Yeah, I felt sick about what I'd
done to her. Especially that first night, because her room is
right near mine, and I heard them take her out.

When they took her the second night, I was like, you've got to be
fucking kidding me. She's already turned every fucking cheek she
has. Give it a fucking rest. But it also really fired up my - you
know - I couldn't even help it. I tried to go to sleep but I
couldn't get her out of my head. Leah. Sweet girl. Very
Christian. And she was somewhere, right then, getting an
education on the most depraved kind of sexual humiliation there
could be, all in the name of turning her off women.

I went to the washroom, and a bit further down the hall before
losing my nerve. I could hear some of it, from where I got to,
but there was no excuse for being out that far from my room. I
went back, and frigged myself silly two or three times before I
could get to sleep.

After the third night, Leah was like a ghost, just doing what she
was told until they would send her home. We didn't cause any more
shit for her.

Funny thing is, when we got home, she totally took me on as a
friend. Which was totally fucking weird from every point of view.
First of all, I'm a bit of a social pariah, on account of my
openly gay status. Leah never told anyone, and I didn't out her,
so she was safe in her circle of friends, which happened to be
the most exclusive social clique in school. Hanging out with me
would be seen as a charity case more than anything.

As far as our parents went, my parents were in full agreement to
keeping Leah's secret. Besides, she was cured. I wasn't, but she
was. So my parents hung their heads in shame, while Leah's
parents sort of, well, I don't know... not gloated... I mean,
they were gracious enough. But that was the arrangement.

I went away to gay camp, but I wasn't fully cured.

Leah went off to visit family in California. That was the story.


So, like I mentioned at the beginning, I go to church *a lot*
just to have some fun with it. I bring it up at just about every
occasion I can think of. Bible study. Youth group. Anywhere.

Yes, I'm a wretched girl. I'm a sinner. You see, I have these
urges. But Jesus helps me through. It gets me all sorts of
attention. Some of the guys even get hard when I talk about it,
so I try to slip in details sometimes, about my urges, just to
get some energy into the room.

The Church wraps its loving arms around me. As I say, Jesus loves
a fucking project. So unless some sort of serial rapist joins the
congregation, I've pretty much got it made.

Leah's the good girl. I'm the bad one. For the time being,
anyway. It'll all break soon enough. That's what these stories
are, sometimes. Just a snapshot in time, before all the shit
comes loose, and everyone starts squawking.

You see, they never should have put Leah in that camp. Well,
that's pretty fucking obvious, but what I really mean is that it
totally fucked her up. Here she is, trying to play popular with
the boys. Dating. Blow jobs. By the way, it seems to me that the
religious type families pretty much ignore that their teenage
daughters are sucking a lot of cock these days, because that's a
new cultural norm. In the meantime, the nights she spent in the
SHAME room fueled up something in her that I would never have
believed.

It introduced her to all sorts of crap that if they'd just left
her alone, she would never even have heard of, much less
experienced first-hand. Now that she had it in her, she didn't
have the good sense to leave it alone. Jesus wasn't helping.

That's why she needed me.

I was the only one who could even remotely understand. She talked
about the guilt and she shame, and her love of the Lord. She
talked about how she couldn't help her urges now. Sometimes she
even said she loved me.

You can probably guess how guilty I felt about this whole thing
now, being that I had a part in getting her blamed for the pot
smoking thing.

Here goes another doozy, though, O. Guilt I can deal with. I'm a
sinner. I'm okay with that. Temptation, on the other hand...

So I proposed a plan. I was going to wean her off of lesbian sex.
For the purposes of our training, we needed a willing guy. Not
hard to find. I chose Jake - yeah, another assumed name. I keep
on thinking I'm going to slip up and put someone's real name in
here. So if you see anybody suddenly change names, let me know,
k?

Jake is a black guy I knew from soccer, back when I did keener
stuff like soccer. I like him, but he's not churchy at all. He's
not even from a good family. And yeah, he was willing.

Now Orestes, I couldn't give you much detail before about what
went on in the SHAME room, but for this part, I was right there,
so if you want me to get *real* graphic I can. Just say the word.

Weaning poor little Leah off of pussy, and onto boy meat: that
was the plan. I can't pretend I didn't get off on just the
thought of it. I couldn't wait until we arranged the whole thing.
We do it at Jake's place, because his mom works two jobs, so
she's hardly around. It's a bit of a dump, but I don't mind. That
kind of works with the whole shame/guilt thing.

The first time we did it, I got her ready with a little lesbo
making-out stuff. She has these tiny little tits that I just love
on a blond girl. Poky, erect little nubs that I love to bite and
pinch because it drives her wild. Jake stood by, stroking himself
while I got her undressed and onto her knees.

If we were going to get her liking hetero stuff, we had to start
somewhere. It started with her on her knees, slurping loudly
between my legs. She did it with desperation, eating my snatch
whatever way I told her. A little lower. Deeper. Faster.
Whatever. The dykes in the SHAME room did a number on her. She
just kept on going, loving any kind of verbal abuse I threw her
way.

Oh, like telling her what a pathetic cunt licking whore she was.
Asking how she could face herself and God, knowing the kind of
sins she committed so willingly. Stuff like that. Doesn't sound
that hot, I know, but she got revved up on it something fierce.

Jake fucked her from behind. Sometimes we turn her over and he
fucks her with her legs spread across the edge of the bed while I
have her lick me from below. We do it all sorts of ways. I warm
her up with a good spanking (for her sins) sometimes. Or I piss
on her in the tub. Kinda gross, but she told me they did it to
her in the room, so I had to try it.

I know it's supposed to be a weaning process, but I'll be damned
if it just doesn't go a little further all the time. The only
thing we keep constant is the end, where he cums in her fertile
womb.

She doesn't know it. Holy fucking God, is she naive? I have him
use a condom, yeah, but I've cut the ends off so that he can fill
her up. Then when we're done, she thinks that's just her own
juiciness, and she's all ashamed when I tell her to clean herself
up because she's a fucking mess.

Yeah, I know she'll be pregnant soon, if she's not already.
That'll blow everyone away. Maybe there'll be a wedding for one
of us gay girls after all. It'll kill her family when they find
out who the dad is.

If I get real lucky, things won't change all that much between
us. She's a cured lesbian. I'm the one she's trying to help "see
the light". Maybe I'll get to continue the weaning process even
from the newlyweds bedroom.

Do I feel guilty, O? Yeah. Of course.

The way I figure it, if I'm gonna go to Church this much, I may
as well have something to feel guilty about.





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