I think he was the happiest of all of us.

Our village was poor; the region was just sand and stone, and it wasn't easy to plant anything. Life was uncompromising and straightforward. The little water in the area was scarce and very controlled. Summers were hot and dry, winters very cold. Most of the days were consumed carrying water for the houses and livestock. Our mules had to do this painful and heavy work as the slopes were very steep. In addition to mules, we raised a few cows, goats, and chickens. The shepherding of the goats was the lightest task and involved the youngest children.

My father used to say that at this stage of childhood, when he was so young, he and his brothers stayed with the others taking care of the goats; one of his brothers, our uncle, had already asked to be among the goats; he liked to be naked and be treated like one of the animals. The boys who worked with the goats started their sex lives by fucking these animals; my father used to say that our uncle was treated, beaten, and fucked as if he were one of the goats. One day, our grandfather saw the other boys abusing him, and he was naked, on all fours, with a collar on and bleating like one of the goats in the herd.

My father says their father squatted next to the youngest, pulling him by the collar and asking: Are you a fag goat? The boy, without blinking, replied to his father: Yes, I am a fag goat.

My grandfather pulled the leash until he lifted the naked kid off the ground, spat in his face, and threw him on the hard ground, saying: From now on, this fag shit is not a boy anymore; he is one of the village animals, you always keep him on a leash, ok? You can hit, kick, fuck, do whatever you want with this slut goat.

So, since childhood, this uncle of mine was treated by the whole family and everyone in our village like one of our animals. My grandfather never again let him wear clothes or walk without a collar and harness like other mules. The tin bells that we tied to the animals to locate them were tied to his balls, and wherever he walked, he made that noise that mules, cows, and some goats made when walking along the steep and uneven trails in our region.

My sisters, brothers, neighbors, and friends used to lead the animals in transporting water and supplies up the hill. Any one of us drove any of the animals, we knew each of them, and we learned how to make them march in rhythm, even in the most challenging passages, using sticks and whips to motivate them. 

Our life was rough; we worked hard, didn't treat any animals with kindness, and were stiff and scratchy in dealing with them. But I tell you that my uncle was the one who was treated with the most violence and cruelty by everyone. When my father led his brother up the hill, he whipped so violently that the animal arrived at our house with its back dripping with blood. Our grandmother, one of the village's gentlest women, beat her son with such sadism that I was amazed at how her old arm cut such deep wounds into the animal's thighs.

I believe it was hard daily work that made him the strongest of all we had. The robust and hairy body, dirty with earth and sand, covered with wounds and scars, with fleas and ticks, stank like the other animals, circulated without rest or embarrassment all day up and down the hill. All day, we listened to the shouts of command from those driving him, mingled with its moans, the cracking of sticks and whips, and the ringing of bells between its legs.

At night, like all the other men in the village, I would go to the stables to rape or be sucked by the filthy animal.

None of us in the village felt any pity for the slut animal, as we all knew it was like that because it wanted to be like that. I could see that it took absolute pleasure when it was whipped, fucked, or worked hard, naked all day. I saw him sucking the guys' dicks with such care and enthusiasm that none of our women felt when putting those dirty, pissed, and sweat-smelling dicks in their mouths. When we fucked him, we could do it brutally and forcefully, one after the other, as it never complained. Sometimes, during rapes, his cock got so hard it felt like he would come at any moment. Sometimes, revolted by our animal's lust and pleasure, I would kick his colossal cock, and he would moan and ejaculate with desire.

We all took out our frustrations, revolt, and dissatisfaction with life on him. Seeing him covered in sores and bruises, blood and sperm from all of us, we felt superior - we were fucked up, shitty, but he was the most miserable and despised of all! And yet, I think he was the happiest of all of us.