When I was about eleven or so, my brother and I got into a
fight. Now, this was a pretty regular
occurrence with my brother and I, so that’s not what made this day
special. What made this day special was
that my brother beat me to the ground and sat on top of me. It should be noted that my brother is three
years older and was probably double my weight and size at the time. Suddenly his face lit up in a vicious grin,
and I knew instantly that whatever happened next would not go well for me.
Quick as lightning, he stood up, turned around, pulled down
his pants, and sat on my face. So, here
he is pinning me to the ground, butt on my face, while I was struggling violently
to get him off me, and he farts. The
violence of the flatulence was so bad, that I could actually feel my cheeks
slapping against his. The smell was so
unbearable that I couldn’t breath.
Suffocating, fearing death, I did the only thing I could think of at
that moment…I bit him. I took a big
chunk out of his left butt cheek, and he jumped off of me as blood began pouring
down his backside.
Off he goes running into the other room, screaming to our
father that I had bit him. Our father
comes storming into the room and starts yelling at me. I tried to explain what my brother had been doing to
prompt such a response, but he didn’t seem to be listening. I think back now, and I’m amazed that it didn’t
puzzle anybody how I could have managed to bite my brother on his bare bottom,
unless I had been telling the truth. Of
course my brother admits to sitting on my face now. In fact, he brags about it, like it’s a badge
of honor. Whenever he conveniently
leaves out the part about me biting him, I always make sure to remind him.
I may have been “outnumbered” so to speak, but I wasn’t
going down without a fight. Some might
say that my brother won that round, but I think it was a draw.
