The Tape

When I was younger I had a skewed idea; if you wanted to really hurt someone, you went after their heart. I was a sweet kid. I used to sing into my radio. It had a record button. I dated this girl Samantha F******. She asked me one day if she could hear me sing. It was probably the first time I shared something that personal with anyone. I gave her the tape. We happened to break up. I forgot about the tape. She did not. I must have done something to upset her, cause I come in to school the next day, and three of my very good friends are laughing at me. Apparently, she invited them to her house and played them my tape. In her room. That room where I received the worst hand job of my life. And I didn’t tell anybody. So the following weekend, I invite some of her friends to my house and tell them she gave me a bad hand job, and named her the ‘dick breaker.’ The next day, she put me singing, It must have been love but it’s over now—that is the worst song I sang on that whole tape—on her answering machine. So now everyone knows about my tape. I was enraged. I called her up ready to curse her back into her mothers evil vagina. The message beeped, and very sweetly, I said “I guess you weren’t as special as I thought.”

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