Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, I almost couldn’t breathe, I felt so raw. IT felt raw. My dick. I left my right hand down there an’ I let it rock up an’ down a little on it, sendin’ explosions over my thighs and up my back an’ into my mind. Maybe if I kept doin’ that, everything’d be okay.
Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, I wanted to go home to Connie. I wanted to get hold of her and not let go. I wanted to pretend this whole night’d never happened. That I never met Wayne an’ Lenny. That I never went to their place an’ talked about my life an’ made that bet thinkin’ it’d make me feel better. ‘Cause it wouldn’t. I could see that. I could see they helped feed this -- this roar of anger in me that I’d almost lost control of. I never wanted to talk with those two little fucks, again. Never.
But nothin’ was helpin’. Nothin’ was helpin’. Knowin’ that didn’t mean shit. Seein’ that didn’t mean fuck. I still had that hard-on an’ the churnin’ in my gut an’ the roar in my brain. An’ I was startin’ to drown in it. Startin’ to drown. Knowin’ this is crazy. This is fuckin’ crazy, Curt! Fuckin’ crazy!
Then I heard somebody walkin’ towards me. Heavy feet. One set. Prob’ly boots. Prob’ly a guy. I looked around an’ could of sworn it was daylight, the lamps were so bright. I ducked my face down to keep it in shadow. I didn’t look up till I knew he was passin’ me. No thought. No nothin’. I just grabbed him from behind an’ slung him against the wall an’ pressed my file to his throat an’ snarled, “Shh...shh, not a fuckin’ word. Not a fuckin’ word.”
I shoved him down to this sort-of alley -- my arm tight around his neck, the file diggin’ into his skin -- till we slammed against this dumpster. He was tryin’ to say somethin’, but my arm was too tight on his throat.
“Shut up,” was all I could say. Could snarl, really.
Before he knew what I was doin’, I’d yanked down his pants an’ shoved myself inside him. He tried to yell, but it got caught in his throat, I had so good a hold on him. He couldn’t even call for help. Then I did to him what I wanted to do to Curt -- I mean, Chad.
Shit, it was perfect. Just bein’ inside him made it all good, again. Quiet. Peaceful. I didn’t take so long, this time. I got it over, quick an’ dirty. An’ when I was done an’ the guy was lyin’ on the ground, chokin’ an’ moanin’ an’ gaspin’, I kicked him in the back -- two, three times -- an’ walked away. An’ when I finally got home, I woke Connie up an’ fucked her, too.
Shit. Shit, that guy -- t’ this day, I couldn’t tell you what he looked like or how old he was or even for sure that he was a guy instead of a girl. Well, that part I knew for sure ‘cause of what I made him do, an’ how I smeared his face with it. I just remember that when I had control of him, it felt right. Felt good. So...damn...fuckin’...good. He was mine. Even out in the middle of fuckin’ Hollywood. With cars drivin’ by just a few feet away an’ people walkin’ by just a few yards away an’ cops keepin’ their eyes out for homeless people to roust just a block away, an’ even God watchin’ from all that far away, he was mine. Nobody else’s. All mine, an’ I could do what I fuckin’ wanted with him an’ make him do what I fuckin’ wanted an’ he couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing about it. An’ that’s what I did.
An’ Jesus Christ, I couldn’t wait t’ do it, again.
Chapter Four
We set it up for the next Saturday. Be there. Call our guy at six. Have him over by eight or nine. I’d take him down then the two of us’d carry him to the bedroom. I’d do my thing. Should be done by eleven. Pay him an’ kick his ass out an’ go scoutin’ for a beer or two by midnight. An’ if he gave us any trouble, Lenny had some Cat to slip him, an’ let him try an’ make sense after that. So we were ready. All nice an’ neat an’ scheduled out like a battle plan.
Lenny decided to use one of those “model/escort” characters who got ads in the back of the weekly fag-rags. I bet he spent hours lookin’ ‘em over, comparin’ “Scott” with “Tad” an’ “Midwest Stud” with “Italian Stallion” an’ on an’ on. Dreamin’ of how it’d go. Jackin’ off to it. You’d of thought he was plannin’ his weddin’, or somethin’. The guy he finally settled on called himself “Jeremy.”
I had to admit, Jeremy sounded right. “Straight stud loves to get serviced. Junior in college. 6-1, 185, 30” waist, swimmer’s body, 8 by 5 1/2 an’ cut” -- I don’t get what that means, but no way in hell did I want to ask Lenny or Wayne; sometimes you just gotta know what info you don’t need to know, y’know? -- “Your wet dream cum true.” Of course. No picture, but Lenny didn’t care.
“He claims he’s straight,” Lenny said. “That makes it even more like the real thing, right?”
I snickered at it. Snickered at any guy who says he’s straight but makes his livin’ gettin’ sucked off by another guy. Or more. “Gay for pay,” my ass. When I get sucked off, it’s ‘cause I got no other way to get some quick cash. Short of dealin’, again. An’ deep in the back of my mind, I know I’m thinkin’ of Connie the whole time. Like it’s her doin’ it. ‘Course, that’s the only way I can do somethin’ like that with Connie. She hates suckin’ on my dick. On anybody’s dick. Her attitude is, Why not just fuck? So that’s what we’d do. Havin’ a guy suck me off was just a change of pace. An’ like I said, in prison you get to learn real quick -- a mouth’s a mouth. But payin’ to put ads in some twinky West Hollywood piece of superficial shit newspaper? An’ makin’ a livin’ at it? What bullshit.
So I came over ‘bout four an’ Lenny showed me the setup. He’d prepped the guest bedroom, downstairs, takin’ out all the pictures an’ furniture, leavin’ only a four-poster bed an’ its sheets. Rope was coiled at each corner of the bed. The walls were covered with thick black cloth to muffle any noises the guy might make, even though he’d be gagged. An’ a video camera was set up in a corner on a tripod, ready to start tapin’. It looked...creepy.
I nodded to the ropes an’ asked, “What’s that for?”
“See how things go,” said Lenny. “I might want to -- oh, make use of him, myself, when you’re done. In an oral manner.”
I just shook my head. Then Lenny took me back in the livin’ room an’ showed me the camera by the front door. It was set up on a tripod behind some plants -- Ficus? Rubber? I never can tell -- an’ it took in the whole room. You had to look hard to see it. It made me feel even creepier.
“Was that here the other night?” I asked him.
Lenny shook his head maybe a little too fast an’ said, “No, of course not. Don’t you remember how dark it was? Not enough light to shoot by.”
I didn’t really believe him, but I wasn’t gonna screw things up by bein’ a dick about it. Not now. I could always find out later.
Then Lenny showed me a pair of handcuffs he’d bought at some leather shop. They weren’t the best lookin’ pair I’d ever seen; fact is, I figure he got ripped off on ‘em. They wouldn’t hold nobody who didn’t want to be held. Not for long, anyways. Didn’t matter; I wasn’t plannin’ on usin’ handcuffs, anyway.
“What’re you going to use?” he asked, after I told him.
“These.” I showed him some thick plastic strips with a tiny loop on one end. The dykes I worked for used ‘em to tie their oversized trash bags an’ cops used somethin’ like ‘em, now, instead of handcuffs. “They work lots better.”
He nodded, just like a monkey in heat. Freak.
Through all of this, Wayne’d only shown his head once, at the top of the stairs. An’ that was just to shake it at us, in disgust, an’ say, “This isn’t right.”
“Go back to your room, Wayne,” said Lenny, “and maybe I’ll let you watch the video once we’re done. Unless you’d care to join us once everything’s -- oh, underway? I have the rope ready.”
“Don’t be disgusting,” he snapped back as he glared at me. “You’re going to jail, you know. And I’ll laugh at you the whole time you’re in.”
Man, talk about a pathetic line; Wayne was so full of shit with his “holier than thou”
garbage. If somebody don’t want you to do something wrong, they stop you. Plain an’ simple. They don’t watch you make your plans to call up some guy an’ bullshit him into comin’ over to make a couple hundred just so you can get hold of him an’ then just say, “But it’s not right.” Fuck that. Deep down, he wanted to do it as much as Lenny did; he just didn’t have the balls to admit it. So he’s givin’ himself this weasely little out, where he can honestly say, “I told ‘em not to.” An’ since it ain’t a crime to prevent a crime or report one in California, he could probably of got off.
So I looked straight at him an’ told him flat out, “It don’t matter if you get the fuck out or you stay in your room, somethin’ goes wrong I’ll tell people you was in with us all the way, t’night.”
That way, if he pulled anything, if he told anybody, he’d go inside, too. Then I’d make damn sure his balls got cut off an’ jammed up his ass by some big stinkin’ uncut Nazi fucker. That shut him the fuck up...but he gave me that look, the one that creeped me all over. I eyed him, right back; neither one of us said anything, but I had the bells ringin’ in my brain, again. I think he saw my face grabbin’ a wary look, so he just sneered an’ disappeared back up the stairs.
Fuckin’ Wayne. What the fuck was he up to? Were both these cameras really connected to his bedroom TV so he could watch? Was he gonna direct this thing from his little “safe” room like you do some TV game show? “Fuck the boy for a prize?” Or was he plannin’ somethin’ even kinkier? I couldn’t tell, an’ that made me worry.
But then I noticed it was six an’ Lenny was callin’ the guy up to get his details. Short dark hair -- good. Blue eyes -- don’t remember what color Anthony’s were. Frat boy -- right look. Lifts weights, but not too much ‘cause he don’t want his muscles to get too tight -- he’d still be easy to handle. His girlfriend’s out of town an’ that’s why he’s horny. Total bullshit, but Lenny swallowed it whole an’ gave the stud his address.
“He’ll be here in an hour,” he said as he hung up. He was almost gigglin’, he was so into it.
“Get hold of it, Lenny,” I said, “or you’ll fuck it up. Just remember, I’m doin’ the job; you’re runnin’ the camera. That’s all till I’m done. Got it?”
He nodded like a monkey in heat, again. An’ just a little too quick.
Lenny an’ Wayne, there’s somethin’ about those two, the way they fit each other just a little too perfect, that made me want to call the whole thing off, all of a sudden. I could tell I’m not gettin’ the whole picture, here, but it was too late, now; the “stud” was on his way.
Thing is, I got to admit, I -- shit, I started feelin’ -- I dunno...ready for it. I got kind of horny just thinkin’ ‘bout what I was gonna do to this “rich little college kid” fake fuck. Like I...shit, I missed doin’ what I did in prison. It was gonna be just like old times, but this time I’d have somethin’ to keep his hands out of the fuckin’ way. Make it easier to take total control.
I only had that once, before -- havin’ a guy tied up so he couldn’t fight back. But it was, like, a kick-ass feelin’, to the nine-hundredth power. It was when I got a guard at Mid-State. A fuckin’ prison guard asshole. “Literally,” like Lenny’d say. Man, that made me feel like I was king of the world.
It happened a week ‘fore I was set to go up for a parole hearin’. This overbuilt piece of raw beef in blue had started givin’ me shit every time I turned around. His name was Carter an’ he was a ten-year military cop vet with this pug-Irish face that made you think of an IRA terrorist. He’d ignored me the two years he worked while I was in, but suddenly he was makin’ up for lost time. If my cell wasn’t in perfect order, he’d trash it an’ make me clean it all up. If my shoes weren’t tied, he’d spit on ‘em an’ make me polish ‘em with my shirt. Then he’d bust my balls for wearin’ a dirty uniform. If I looked at him wrong, I had to stand at attention an’ listen to him bitch for half an hour, usin’ words I’d never even heard before. An’ his guard buddies help him when he needed it. Or just wanted it.
‘Course, I got what was goin’ on; he wanted me to make a move on him so he could fuck up my parole. I just didn’t get why. So I figured I’d find out.
First I started actin’ like he was gettin’ to me, makin’ me afraid of him. Wasn’t hard to do. Just hunched my shoulders a bit when he came by an’ looked away, real quick. Give a little jump when I see him. Swallow hard. All that bullshit stuff. So he started gettin’ nastier. Started thinkin’ like he “knew” I wouldn’t fight back, like I was scared of him. An’ he started gettin’ stupid an’ sloppy about it. After a couple days of that, he was ready to take down. So I made arrangements with a couple of my pack to decoy him into the laundry room ‘cause he’d give them some shit, too. Y’know, that’s where I was still workin’, after six fuckin’ years! An’ Connie wondered why she couldn’t get me to do laundry. Anyhow, they had a good idea what I was up to, so they were on board from the get-go.
So ‘bout ten a-m, when all the machines were goin’, I hid between two of ‘em. Sort of a wide space between two packs of washers. Lots of guys slip in there to take care of each other or themselves, but my pack made sure the place stayed clear for me. They waited till the machines were doin’ the spin, which gets real loud, then one of ‘em told him I was in the back gettin’ sucked off by my punk of the month. Ol’ Carter -- big, dumb, blond, full-of-himself Carter -- he hustled back there to catch me an’ do his number.
Soon as he rounded this corner, he was out of sight of the other guards. That’s when I grabbed him, put my little shiv against his throat an’ made him come with me way behind the last machine. He was shittin’ bricks, lemme tell you, whisperin’ the whole way, “C’mon, man, you don’t wanna fuck up your parole. You don’t wanna do that.” What he didn’t get is, I’d learned not to care. You let a fuckin’ pig pull shit on you an’ get away with it, you lose all the respect you built up inside. An’ no fuckin’ way was that gonna happen to me.
I slammed his face into this corner an’ held him there. Man, I had a hard-on like you wouldn’t believe, an’ I was pushin’ it hard against his ass to let him know what I was gonna do. An’ he was freakin’, I can tell you. I don’t think he really thought I’d do it, ‘cause he kept up his bullshit.
“Man, this is stupid. This is stupid. You’re already in deep shit. You don’t want to add ten years to your sentence!”
I slammed him against the corner, again, an’ snarled in his ear, “Why you fuckin’ with me, man?”
“I ain’t,” he said, whimperin’.
“Bullshit! You been on my ass all week. Who’s got you gunnin’ for me?”
“Nobody!”
I reached ‘round an’ grabbed his crotch. Squeezed it. He gasped, but I had him so tight an’ the shiv so sharp against him, he didn’t dare yell. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, cunt! I’ll cut your fuckin’ balls off!”
He squirmed then finally croaked out, “Buddy of mine. He told me you...you got his nephew. When he was in your cell. Fucked the kid. Fucked him up. He wants you to stay in.”
“What d’you mean I fucked him up?”
“He -- he tried to kill himself. He’s on tranq’s. Twenty-four-hour suicide watch.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. I knew him. He was a good kid, just a little fucked up from drugs. Didn’t belong in here. Never should have been sent here. And now...“
“An’ it’s me fucked him up, huh?”
He nodded. I fuckin’ loved it! Really fuckin’ loved the idea that I’d messed up some rich-bitch little pansy’s life so much that mommy an’ daddy had to shell out some of their big bucks to put him back together. I mean, twenty-four-seven care ain’t cheap, even if you got insurance. An’ I bet I knew which punk it was, too -- that first one I hammered in the ass an’ got to shoot his wad. He was roistered out ‘fore Carter transferred in. I almost came in my pants thinkin’ ‘bout it.
So fuckin’ Carter thought he’d punish for it. Stupid motherfu
ckin’ Carter was gonna make me pay for doin’ somethin’ that he let happen a dozen times a day to other people’s sons. An’ nephews. An’ fathers. An’ husbands. An’ shit. Man, I had to smile at that. Fuckin’ hypocrite. He deserved anything I did to him.
I took my hand off his crotch but kept the shiv tight against his throat. He was shiverin’. I could feel him. I think he was more scared of me bein’ quiet than of anything else’d happened, so far. He was smart to be.
I pulled a strip from a towel I’d shredded out of my pocket an’ whispered to him, “Put your hands behind you.”
He jolted an’ asked me, “Why?”
I dug the shiv into his neck, just enough to cut him. He gasped then did as I said. I used the strip to tie his wrists together. Twice around. Good an’ knotted. Got ‘em so tight he grunted from the pain. Then I turned him ‘round to face me. I was still smilin’ -- an’ that scared him more than anything. Fuckin’ shit. A fuckin’ guard was shakin’ ‘cause of me. This was gonna be great. I crushed him against the corner an’ whispered, “How ‘bout I show ya what I did to your buddy’s nephew?”
“What?” But then it hit him an’ he shook his head an’ choked out a, “No.”
I pressed harder against him. Held him tight against the brick. Ground my dick into his crotch. An’ grinned wider. Then I unbuckled his belt. He jolted an’ tried to squirm away, so I slammed him to the floor. He landed hard, but he was still able to cry out. He started to scream loud enough he might’ve been heard over the noise of the machines, so I yanked off my tee-shirt an’ jammed it into his mouth. Hard. Almost down his throat. He gagged an’ tried to kick me, so I pulled his pants down to his ankles an’ pulled his belt tight around ‘em. Then I pulled my tee-shirt out of his mouth -- didn’t want him to choke to death -- and used it as a gag on him. Now he was too tied down to do me much damage. He still bucked an’ tried to yell, but the noise from the washers an’ dryers an’ the gag kept anybody from hearin’ him. I stood up watched the little pig squirm, lovin’ it.
How To Rape A Straight Guy Page 7
