I was born and raised in Ontario Canada—born in Ottawa but was living in a suburb of Toronto. In the summer of 2000, at the age of 11, I went to Ontario Pioneer Camp. It was state-operated, and there were three separate camps, one for boys, one for girls and one for families. There were two strange occurrences; one was a boy who was the son of the pastor of the church my family went to who just happened to be at the camp, even though it’s 220 km away from the church, but the next is what this story is about. The cabin I was in was built in the most narrow way possible; there was only one common aisle for six bunks that overlapped each other. There weren’t even walls, just tarp. In my cabin was a total scumbag counselor who shaved his head and wore glasses—he would do tricks involving a lighter and his navel during bible study. There were also two douchebags jocks who said, “My brother’s gonna go to hell, he’s always swearing,” and a foreign exchange kid from Hong Kong. One night I go to sleep, thinking it’s just going to be another night, and in the morning I walk by the pastor’s son’s cabin, and he’s sitting there crying with a bloody nose, and I’m like “Why are crying? What happened?” He gives me a note written by his counselor, and it says “(This boy) went to (my cabin) believing he was going to have a fun time, but instead he was roughhoused so hard, he got the wind knocked out of him and he was kicked in the face.” So, what this story is about, in summary—all these boys from another cabin went to my cabin the night before, and they had a big wrestling orgy. I wasn’t even woken up once like there was a force field around me.
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