This is a world without any religious affiliation; this is a world without sexual orientation; this is a world without title, e.g. "BDSM," "SM," etc. Rather, this is the world I've created. Protocol, rules, etc. that apply to other realms do not apply here. There is no rhyme nor reason. At the risk of being cliche, it is what it is.

I have come to be known as "Penitux" to some and "Penitus" to others. And I seem to have no name to a few... I am just known.

My story should be rather unspectacular. I am neither an instigator nor an invitor. I come from, by all accounts, a normal up-bringing. A shy, sensitive and smallish boy, I spent my free time reading books, watching movies and creating fantasy worlds. Perhaps that's what caused this. I can't deny that I'd secretly been fascinated by all things dark and mysterious. But I'd never let that be known to friends, girlfriends, etc. After all I've been subjected to, can't help but assume some can sense that.

I suppose it started when I was quite young. Any sort of game with other childern would result in me being taken captive by one of the "enemy" - usually an older boy - and "tortured" and tormented with whatever bizarre method they could concoct. I was always astute enough to realize that this was being done in secret, i.e. I would be taken to a crawlspace, tool shed, etc., and detection of this activity was avoided at all costs. After a few years, I realized that I was, in fact, exclusively singled-out as the "victim." There were actually times when an older boy would attempt to instigate the torture sans the game. Needless to say, I would decline.

In the years that followed, I would occassionally find myself in various situations wherein unsavory men would put me in compromising if not dangerous situations. For instance, a visiting priest to my Catholic school who was from Uruguay that tried to convince me that I need to be lashed, an elderly dishwasher at the restaurant where I worked who would often state that he wished to tie me up in his mobile home, and a high school history teacher who would often detail the tortures of the Spanish Inquisition and then suggest we venture into the basement of his house so as to "relive" this experience.

With college, what had been just a hunch became reality. I often found myself in the world that thrives in the wee hours of the night/morning, be it at decadent fraternity parties or the ancient libraies. The latter is where predators fed upon my naivete, coaxing me to abandoned houses for what was suppose to be a gathering of sorts, but what was, in fact, a trap involving sadistic ritual and torture.

Since college, I have continued to find myself the victim of strange men with bizarre and sadistic desires. Homeless men holding me captive in abandoned warehouses; sadistic priests subjecting me to ancient rituals in secret, subteranian chapels; small-town farmers unleashing their sinister longings on me in squalid barns; truck drivers feeding their sick needs in cheap motel rooms on the highway; Japanese businessmen inflicting restraint torture in up-scale hotel rooms; even co-workers living out their Gothic/Vampiric/Edgar Allen Poe-esque fantasies with me as their victim. From the deepest rural communities to the deserts of Tunisia to the ruins of Rome, I have had my mind and flesh ravished in ways I never considered possible.

And so I await my next "encounter." I have come to accept my station... my station. Wicked men are going to do these bad things to me no matter where I go or what I do. I cannot escape that. I go through life keeping my eyes open, wondering if whatever male I encounter is secretly considering which bizarre torture he'd prefer to see me suffer; what Hell he'd inflict upon my vulnerable flesh. All I can hope is that the next torment will not be as deplorable as the last.


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