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Serial Rapist

You glide by your school and watch it crawl away from you slowly as you put a greater and greater into your wheels.

Fuck.

One hand fumbles your pockets and the other one grips your handlebars to keep you going straight. You had better not have forgotten your wallet.

Your fingers worm their way into your right pocket and wriggle around. Your heart starts beating again. Luckily you had put it in your pocket early this morning.

It would have been a very long ride back home.

With each few full revolutions of your bike wheels you watch the houses around you get shabbier and crummier. Typically, you think, the people who live in these places are at fault for the way they live. America is a land of opportunity. If any of them really wanted to live a better life, they need only to try harder.

With that in mind you smirk a bit at each passing shanty. Some of the houses are patched up with household supplies and duct tape, where others seem to be made completely from makeshift materials.

You peddle slowly now and give your thighs a much needed break. The neighborhood seems pretty active and you begin to realize how bad a situation you've put yourself in. There are a lot of poorer people - desperate people and blacks. Here you were driving around with a lot of money in clean clothes on an expensive bike.

With your nerves on high, you scout around.

There are plenty of people, but how do you approach a group and ask for sex?

Fuck it.

You have 1 choice:

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