How To Rape A Straight Guy

by Sullivan, Kyle Michel

  His boxers were still pretty much on, so I straddled his chest an’ ripped ‘em off him. He was uncut, the fuck, but I wasn’t gonna back down, not by that point; I was just gonna hurt him, even more.

  I turned an’ now was straddlin’ his belly, watchin’ him try to spit out my shirt an’ look around for help an’ shake his head, no. I slid my zipper down, slow. Tauntin’ him. Then I dug inside an’ pulled out my dick. Man, I was hard as a rock. I rubbed it against his face. He shook his head like he was gonna go nuts. I almost laughed.

  “This is goin’ up your ass, bitch,” I said, “an’ you’re gonna love it. That’s what fucked up your buddy’s cunt of a nephew -- me showin’ him how much he liked havin’ my thick dick up his sweet little ass.”

  Carter tried to scream, so I slapped him. Hard. Twice. He started cryin’. I pulled my shirt down from his mouth to around his neck an’ twisted it tight. He gasped for air but could still breathe, just not enough to yell. I held it there with my left hand as I unbuttoned his shirt with my right.

  He had big pecs, hairless an’ smooth, an’ his abs were as soft an’ smooth as Connie’s. Surprised me. I figured he’d have something like the six-packs you see these iron-junkies always goin’ for. Not that I gave a shit about how he looked.

  He just gasped an’ shook his head an’ muttered, “No, God, please,” over an’ over. I twisted my shirt a little tighter to shut him up. Then I shifted around, pulled his legs up an’ slipped between ‘em an’ lubed myself with some spit. Before he could even think about it, I’d rammed my dick deep into him.

  He tried to scream, but I had my shirt twisted too tight ‘round his throat, so he just choked. When I was all the way in him, I let it loose a little. Didn’t want him hurlin’ on me or drownin’ in his own puke. Then I pumped into him, long an’ slow an’ hard. An’ I played with his ass. An’ I stroked his belly. An’ I sucked on his tits. An’ I told myself I was back with Connie, fuckin’ her an’ suckin’ on her tits an’ rubbin’ her belly like I always had. An’ finally came the fun part -- he started gettin’ hard. Soon you couldn’t tell he wasn’t cut, an’ just to prove how much he was my bitch, I let go of my shirt, kept lickin’ his tits an’ stroking his abs, an’ made my other hand circle his dick, an’ I began pullin’ on it.

  He froze, like he couldn’t believe what was happenin’, then he said, “What th’ fuck’re you doin’?”

  I twisted the shirt tight, again, an’ kept pullin’ on his dick. He got harder an’ harder, an’ I sneered as he tried to squirm away from me. I was close to comin’, so I slowed down my action an’ pulled harder on his dick. Even spit in my hand to make the pullin’ smoother. I wanted this fucker to taste his own shit.

  After a couple minutes, I was close to firin’ into him, an’ I was wonderin’ if he ever was gonna shoot. He was fightin’ me, like you wouldn’t believe -- shakin’ his head an’ tryin’ to twist away from my hand an’ kickin’. But he couldn’t do much; each time he got too crazy, I just squeezed his dick hard, like I was gonna tear it off, an’ he’d freeze an’ let me keep goin’. A couple times he tried to crush me with his legs, but he couldn’t get any leverage an’ besides, I was too solid built for that to work. I kept pumpin’. An’ pumpin’. An’ pumpin’. Then just as I was figurin’ he’s never gonna blow an’ I should just let myself finish, he began to buck an’ gasp. An’ his ass clinched so tight around my dick, I couldn’t wait anymore; I plowed deep into him an’ let loose.

  Man...it was scary how good it felt. Just like when I did it the first time to that rich pansy punk’s ass. Carter kept fightin’ me the whole time, even as I kept plowin’ my load into him, an’ that made it so...much...better. But it wasn’t till I was done an’ had pulled out that I realized he’d cum, too. Not much. Just a dribble of sticky stuff leakin’ from his dick. But it was enough for me to smear his face with an’ tell him, “That’s your cum, bitch.”

  He gagged an’ balled up into this little knot an’ started sobbin’ as he tried to hide his face an’ his dick from me. I cut free his hands an’ stood up, even though I was still weak in the knees. He whipped his arms around to cover himself, still sobbin’. I watched him...an’ I felt this really weird urge. This one’d been so fuckin’ good, I knew I could’ve done it, again, if I’d wanted to. Put him on his belly, this time. Just do it for me an’ fuck even tryin’ to get him off. I really thought about it, but then I figured, naw, it’d be too much like sex.

  I grabbed the torn boxers an’ used ‘em to wipe off with. Then I tucked ‘em into my pants -- to throw away later; don’t want to leave evidence like that behind -- pulled on my tee-shirt an’ walked away. Didn’t say a word, just left him there. If he said anything, I could say he’d made me fuck him. That’s why he was pullin’ all his shit -- to scare me into givin’ him my dick. An’ I had lots of witnesses to back up how hard he’d been on me. At best, it’d be his word against mine, even with the bruises on his wrists. But I knew he wouldn’t tell nobody. He was too fuckin’ ashamed of what’d happened.

  An’ sure enough, he left me alone, after that. An’ I made parole, a week later.

  An’ here I was, about to do the same thing, again. I was almost sick from excitement.

  Lenny must’ve checked those fuckin’ cameras a hundred times before the doorbell rang. They were both the same model an’ put out a great picture so long as the lights were right. Oh, an’ he made sure every light in the room was on, this time, “just to be sure.”

  The plan was simple -- Lenny’d let the stud in, make sure the guy knew he was there for sex, then I’d pop out of the kitchen an’ grab him. The rest was up to me, but I didn’t expect too much trouble. Even if he knew karate or some shit, I could get control before he knew what was happenin’. So when the bell rang, we were ready.

  I slipped into the kitchen an’ got the straps ready an’ peeked out to watch. The front door was in plain sight. Lenny hit the camera’s record button an’ “strolled” over to the door. He opened it an’ stepped back, breathing hard. Whether it was from excitement or fear, I dunno. I heard the guy say, “Lenny?” an’ Lenny answered, “Jeremy? Yeah, come on in.”

  The guy that entered was probably one of Lenny’s an’ Wayne’s wet dreams. An’ he looked familiar. He was taller than me an’ maybe older by a couple of years -- college stud, my ass. He had broad shoulders, dark hair cut short an’ neat, an’ wore a white cotton shirt an’ tight Levi’s with a black belt an’ black loafers. Hair on his arms an’ chest peeked out from under the shirt -- not too much, but enough to make him seem like a guy instead of a boy. But swimmer’s build? My ass; he wasn’t that slim. Or broad shouldered. But he did look like the poster queen for Gay America. Probably a “gay for pay” closet case. Shit, how hard could it be? Pun intended.

  But what was best is, he did look a lot like Anthony. His face wasn’t as round or as Italian. An’ his jaw was stronger. Cleaner. But I could make it work. But then I remembered someone else’d reminded me of that little fuck, an’ that’s when it hit me -- “Jeremy” looked exactly like that guy in “Psycho.” Th’ one in the hotel room at the beginnin’, who Janet Leigh steals the cash for. Connie took me to see it just after we met. It started out slow as shit, but things picked up in that motel, boy did they. Got me hot as shit for Janet, lemme tell ya. Anyhow, that character was so neat an’ clean an’ looked so much like a cop, all I could think about when he was on-screen was how much I’d like to smash his squeaky-pretty little face in. Now it looked like I was gonna get that chance.

  Jeremy looked around an’ said, “Nice place.”

  Lenny twittered -- swear to God -- as he said, “Thanks. You want something to drink? Beer, wine, coke, whiskey?”

  “Depends on what you’re after,” Jeremy said, keepin’ just out of Lenny’s reach. Somethin’ about that set off alarms in my brain. I don’t know shit about guys who always go to guys’ homes for this kind of sex, but I know enough to know he oughta be doin’ somethin’ to get Lenny all primed an’
ready to want more. An’ “Jeremy” was bein’ more stand-offish. I put the straps in the “stuff” drawer an’ peeked back out.

  “What do you think?” Lenny asked.

  “I’m not a mind reader.”

  “Well, I do need to know -- are you circumcised?”

  “What difference does that make?” the stud asked.

  “Well, all the difference,” said Lenny, glancing at the kitchen. Dumb fuck. He was probably shitty at poker, too.

  The stud eyed him an’ said, “I am.”

  “How much to show me?” Lenny asked.

  Jeremy reached down an’ dug into his jeans an’ pulled out a badge! He was a fuckin’ cop! I fuckin’ knew it!

  “How ‘bout I show you this?” he said. “I’m citing you for solicitation of prostitution.”

  “Oh, shit!” Lenny squeaked -- swear to God, he squeaked!

  That’s when I took a chance an’ barged in with a bottle of beer.

  “Hey, Wayne, what th’ fuck’s goin’ on?” I asked Lenny, but I was lookin’ straight at the cop. “This better be somebody here for big-bad-Lenny, bitch.”

  The pig jumped an’ backed to the door, badge up as he all but screamed, “Hold it, right there!”

  I stopped an’ looked at him like he was nuts. “What th’ fuck’s your problem?” I asked, then I called up the stairs, “Hey, Lenny, you steppin’ out, tonight?”

  Wayne came down, shootin’ daggers at me with his eyes. But he got the message. Lenny was all but pissin’ in his pants, but Wayne, fuckin’ Wayne picked up the slack, beautifully. Right then I knew I’d better take a good hard second look at him, big-time. “Okay, fine, let’s get the jokes over with. So I called a fuckin’ escort service?! So fuckin’ what? I needed a date.”

  Jeremy was gettin’ real confused, so he opened the door an’ yelled for his back-up -- two uniforms lookin’ like they wanted to bust somebody’s balls. I stood stock still in my spot, eyein’ all three of the pigs like they were the scum they were, an’ I laughed. “Fuckin’ shit, Lenny, you called a cop!”

  “Bullshit!” said Wayne an’ he turned his glare on the stud. “Let me see your badge!”

  “Stay where you are!” The stud was about to come unglued. An’ now his backup was more confused than ready to break bones.

  “What’s goin’ on, Shayes?” one of ‘em asked.

  “I dunno,” the stud said, “but all these guys’re under arrest for soliciting prostitution. An’ we’re takin’ ‘em in!”

  “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?!” I snarled, an’ I made it a good one. Jeremy -- Shayes looked at me, an’ he kept his eyes on me from then on. “I come in th’ room after you’re already yellin’ at my buddy here -- .”

  “Your buddy asked me for sex.”

  “My buddy ain’t asked you for shit, ass-wipe.”

  “I already got you! He made the request -- !”

  “You got shit! I was in the kitchen an’ I didn’t hear Wayne ask you for one fuckin’ thing. He told you to wait an’ Lenny’d be right out, that’s it.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say, asshole. What matters is what goes in my report!” Then he motioned to the uniforms. “He’s up for resisting arrest.”

  One of the uniforms started for me, an’ I didn’t budge. It was Wayne who stopped him, cold. He got real quiet an’ said, “All right, arrest us. Take us down to jail. I have an excellent attorney. I have friends at GLAAD and the ACLU. And we have the word of three men versus one. Unless you’re wearing a wire. But somehow I don’t think you are, seeing as how you’re really the cocky sort who just knows any jury’d believe him instead of a fucking faggot. So by this time, tomorrow, we’ll have your asses for lunch, an’ we won’t even need to pay for them.”

  Shayes gave off just a hint of hesitation, but it was enough for me to pick up on. I smiled an’ turned an’ put my hands behind my head. The uniform pig went ahead an’ frisked me an’ was about to twist my hands around to cuff me as he was mouthin’ off, “You have the right to remain silent -- . “ But that’s as far as he got before I heard Shayes say, “Aw, fuck it! It ain’t worth the trouble.”

  I pulled my hands away from the pig an’ turned around to look at Shayes. Lenny got weak in the knees an’ sat against the arm of the couch. He was whiter than the stud’s shirt. An’ “the stud” was redder than my dick, he was so pissed.

  “But I still wanna see your identification,” he said, tryin’ hard to sound like he was still under control an’ not doin’ a real good job of it.

  “No,” I said.

  “I can demand it,” he said, gettin’ angrier.

  “On the street,” I said back. “This is a private home, an’ it ain’t in fuckin’ Georgia, so you wanna pull that shit, you take it outside. You wait till we leave, an’ you make up some excuse to stop us an’ see what it gets you, then, officer Shayes.”

  Shayes glared at me like he was tryin’ to print my face on his brain. Then he looked at Lenny, who looked at me like he was about to puke. Then Shayes looked at Wayne, who just shook his head, stepped back an’ leaned against the door’s frame. That’s when he knew it was an all or nothin’ situation; either he busted us an’ dealt with the uproar that’d follow or he walked.

  The fuck made what looked like the right decision to himself -- he walked. He had his uniforms head out, first, then he started after ‘em.

  But then he was dumb shit enough to look at me an’ mutter, “Fuckin’ faggots,” as he left.

  The stupid fuck. If he hadn’t said that, I’ve let it drop. I been rousted by cops, before; it’s no big deal. But let one call me a faggot? I ain’t gonna let it go.

  I watched him walk out the door an’ down the steps to the street, memorizin’ every movement of his body. Even in his jeans an’ shirt, in the barely lit darkness, you could tell he was built. Shit, his ass rocked as he walked, smooth an’ even, makin’ the jeans look like they were part of his skin. The rest of him fit it. Nice an’ trim yet solid. Could’ve been a model for some fag underwear catalog or somethin’.

  He got to the street, cast us back a dirty look an’ hopped into his unmarked car an’ drove away. Then his little piggies followed him in their cruiser. I turned to ol’ Wayne an’ said...no, I growled, “Man, he would’ve been fun.”

  That’s when Lenny bolted for the bathroom an’ began praisin’ the porcelain gods. It was funny, listenin’ to this guy who pushed an’ shoved for me to prove my shit, all but begged me to let him tape it an’ danced around like a kid under a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve when it was about to happen, suddenly hurlin’ his dinner because he’d almost got busted for soliciting. Shit, hadn’t the fuck even considered that rape’s a felony? Don’t matter if you drag a straight guy in off the street or give a back-page guy an invite home an’ do more to him than he bargained for -- you’re makin’ ‘em do what they don’t want to do. Plain an’ simple. What would he’ve done if we’d got busted for that?

  That’s when I noticed Wayne had been watchin’ through the window as Shayes an’ his pigs left. An’ he had this look on his face -- swear to God, he had murder in his eyes.

  “Fucking pigs,” he said. “They pulled this shit on me, before. When I was walking through that park between Robertson and San Vicente, in West Hollywood. A couple of sheriff’s boys, two racist skinhead punks, said I made a pass at them. Like I’d be interested in a pair of ugly homophobic little pricks like them. They arrested me. No mere citation; a full-scale arrest. Fingerprints. Mug shot. Overnight stay in jail. Arraignment. Threatened me with prison. Tried to make me sign a confession. Everything! Like this was Iran or China, but I wouldn’t give it to them. I wouldn’t say a word. I waited till I hired an attorney an’ we fought it, in court. Hung the jury. And that’s only because I’d never been arrested before in my life. Not even any outstanding parking tickets on my record. The D-A had nothing but those two little pigs, and my lawyer got them to contradict each other, right and left. And three out of six people on that jury still
believed that all a gay man wants to do is seduce a straight man. Turn him into another faggot. So there had to be at least a grain of truth to what those fucking little pigs said. Motherfucking closet cases. I’ve hated breeders, ever since.”

  He moved back, lettin’ the curtain drop, still not lookin’ at me an’ gettin’ more an’ more pissed. “My bet is, he gets off on it,” he said. “Our Officer Shayes. He gets to wag his dick in our faces then toss us in jail for merely suggesting we want it. Then he goes home to his wife and says, ‘Honey, I had three men come on to me, today. I could’ve gotten blowjobs right an’ left, so you’d better give me one. Right now. Careful with the teeth, this time. Not that I know how a blow job’s supposed to be given, seeing as how I’ve never been touched by another man.’ My bet is, that’s how he gets himself up. That’s how they all do, these plainclothes vice queens who see gay men as inevitable criminals.”