Revenge Gone Wrong: A Tale of Bullying and Tragic Fate

In eight grade, I had a bully who would beat me up regularly, as well as other kids. At that time tattle-tailing was approved by neither students nor staff, and my father’s response would have been to beat me up too, so I’d learn to take it better.
Each of us was assigned a locker and school issued a combination lock. We had very little time to get from class to class, and being a second late got you a paddling. Over time, some students learned to leave their lock unlocked in a way that wasn’t noticeable unless you looked closely. My bully adopted this method, so he could have more time to beat up kids before the bell rang.
The school had an incinerator to burn solid waste. I liked sneaking in to see the ashes twinkle and sparkle. The severe penalty for being caught made it all the most exciting.
During the last week of school, I still wanted to get even with my tormentor, but a face to face challenge would just get me beat up and then paddled for “starting a fight”. So I formed another idea. The last day of school, all the lockers were opened and emptied, and all the textbooks that had been checked out to students were checked back in. Students with missing books had to pay to replace them.
The day before, I snuck out of the lunch room and to my bully’s locker. Sure enough, it was unlocked. I stole all his textbooks, took them to the incinerator, and threw them in. An hour later they were indistinguishable from the other ashes.
Next day, when the staff got to my bully’s locker (I’d made sure to lock it so he couldn’t claim it had been unlocked), and there were no textbooks. His “Somebody musta swiped them” defense was unsuccessful, and he was sent home with a bill for $25.
My school basically served the children of servicemen who were based at a nearby SAC base. $25 was a lot of money to his E-5 father, and the report from the school about the missing textbooks made it into his service record, making him even angrier. He gave my bully a good beating of his own, but that was deemed insufficient. So his father also shaved him bald (he’d had a thick mane of curly blond hair before this). His chromed dome made him a laughingstock, even some of his fellow bullies recast him as a target. A couple weeks later, he ran away from home.
The week before the new school year started, the local paper had an article about him. His naked body had been found under a railroad trestle about fifty miles from the base. He’d been sexually assaulted and strangled. To clarify: I had nothing to do with that. He’d just had the misfortune of crossing paths with a serial killer known to be operating in the area, and to this day has never been identified.
It’s been over fifty years. To this day I think about the life he never had, the wife he never had, the kids he never had. It’s one reason I never had kids of my own. I wish I’d found another way to deal with him

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  1. stop worrying about it – luck of the draw – could just as easily have been you…bullies ruined my life in my teens, as an orphan, and then foster-care, when they tied me up all the time, and made me suck their cocks…then one of them found a real vintage body-bag, from the sixties/seventies, rubber coated, and inescapable, in the basement of his house, presumably connected in some way with his Vietnam War veteran father, now gone, and suddenly they just HAD to confine the “scrawny weakling” in it, for the endless cock-sucking sessions…now twenty years later, this is a full-blown addiction with me, and I search ceaselessly, and largely in vain, for guys willing to repeat this “therapy” – hopefully in some permanent form of “relationship”

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