Preston Henn started f****** my boy p**** when I was about 10, when my family started going to the Swap Shop every other weekend. He would take me to his office above the arcade, load me up with Dr. Pepper and Lemonheads, then go to town on a jar of Vaseline and my prepubescent a******. I didn’t like it, I didn’t know to like it or hate it; it was uncomfortable but it would be a few more years before I realized what was being taken from me.
