My brother's friends had a lot of drinking and little conversation at the annual camps. They told the same jokes and stories every year and played the same pranks and dirty tricks on each other.
Even the cruel things they did to me were the same. Rapes, beatings with whips, belts and sticks, forcing me to drink urine and semen, violent slaps to my face, kicks and punches all over my body. Even when one of them seemed to have a new idea, they repeated the same "new ideas" from previous years.
They put me on anthills to see if the ants would bite my penis and testicles, if they would enter my orifices, enter and bite my anus and penis. And I knew they really did enter and bite, because in previous years they had already left my penis severely injured with their bites.
They had new ideas for burning me with cigarettes, cigars, or with the tips of barbecue skewers pulled directly from the embers on my nipples and the glans of my penis.
I knew that my screams and moans wouldn't be heard by anyone who cared or worried about me; not even my brother showed any restraint or mercy. On the contrary, he was one of those who most encouraged the brutal violence.
When the camp ended, I would go home and straight to the doctor to treat the most serious injuries. But I knew that when my brother called me the following year, I would be hoping he would invite me again!
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