How To Rape A Straight Guy (8 page)

I passed the “pink” part of Santa Monica an’ headed into the red-light area.  Passed tired lookin’ kids waitin’ by bus stops in hopes of makin’ fifty bucks for the night.  Most of ‘em looked like the junked-out tossed-aside runaways that they were an’ it almost hurt to see ‘em.  But some of ‘em were still kinda fresh.  Kinda still with an attitude.  An’ as I passed ‘em an’ they glanced me over to see if I was gonna be their next John, I’d think, “I could take you back into an alley an’ make you give me what you charge for, no problem.”  An’ it’d give me a jolt that shot from behind my heart an’ into my balls an’ spread over my thighs to make me even crazier.

Then I passed Highland an’ zigged up to Sunset, since my crib was up near Franklin an’ Cahuenga.  That brought me past the “A Club”, an’ I saw these sleek neat Young Hollywood guys in their clean pressed shirts an’ hundred dollar jeans bouncin’ in an’ out of the place, all tryin’ to look hot for these tiny Hollywood sluts with inflatable tits who had zero interest in ‘em unless they had cash enough to buy ‘em more than a leaf of lettuce to eat.  I stopped across the little side street an’ watched a group of guys by the entrance, laughin’ an’ clappin’ each other on th’ back an’ actin’ like a bunch of frat boys an’ I thought, “I could wipe those smiles off your faces, punks, one right after the other.  Punk you out, one after the other.  All in one night.  All together.  An’ I’d have the time of my life doin’ it.”

An’ then one of ‘em headed right for me.  A big blond buck with perfect teeth an’ perfect hair an’ still perfect shirt, even after hours of playin’ pool an’ downin’ beers.  He looked like he probably played football in college.  Tight end or half-back or somethin’ that called for speed an’ agility, but he wasn’t keepin’ himself up.  He still had broad shoulders, but they couldn’t hide the gut he was startin’ to get.  But he was wearin’ these black jeans that made his ass look inviting.  An’ when he turned away from me an’ headed up the side street, I followed him.

I dunno why I did, I have to admit.  Nothin’ hit me in th’ form of a thought as to what I was gonna do.  I just saw how happy he looked, an’ how easy his life’d been an’ how perfect it would be from then on.  So I followed him.  Watched him jaunt towards this three year old Dodge parked halfway between two street lights.  Watched his ass move under those jeans.  Even th’ way he walked screamed at me how happy he was, an’ I knew I had to kill that walk.

I dug in my pockets for somethin’, anythin’ I could use for a weapon to make him come with me.  Shit, all I had was a fingernail clipper.  But it had a file, an’ the file was sharp.  If I held it right, he’d never know.  I mean, if a guy believes you can cut him, you don’t really have to be able to, right?

He “beeped” off his alarm an’ got to his car an’ opened his door an’ I was about to make my move when I heard, “Hey, Chad!” behind me.  I went cold, but I didn’t stop.  Didn’t even hesitate.  Just kept walkin’ right by him as I heard somebody run up to him an’ chatter loudly, “I’m comin’ with you.  Rob’s got too much shit in his back seat.”

“Fuckin’ dick,” I heard Chad say.  “What you wanna bet his crib’s the same way?”

“If it is, I’m gone.”

I heard two car doors slam an’ th’ car roar to life as I kept headin’ down the street.  A second later, they zoomed past me, radio blarin’ with some second-rate rocker’s rendition of “Relax” an’ turned left to go back to Sunset.  An’ I dropped to my knees.

I mean, I was shakin’ like you wouldn’t believe.  Like I was scared.  But I wasn’t scared, that’s what’s so freaky about it.  I was pissed off that he got away.  Really fuckin’ pissed.  I wanted to chase that fuckin’ Dodge down the street an’ fuck Chad’s fuckin’ buddy, Rob, in the ass an’ in th’ mouth an’ rip his fuckin’ dick off an’ shove it up his ass for helpin’ fuckin’ Chad get away from me.  I dug my nails into the sidewalk, wishin’ it was fuckin’ Chad’s fuckin’ face I was rippin’ apart.  I tore my fingers up, good, but it didn’t help.  I leaned against the wall of this ratty old buildin’ an’ sat there, fightin’ to shut the anger down, but I couldn’t.  I could feel myself drownin’ in it, even as I wondered where the hell it came from.

I don’t remember standin’ up, but suddenly I was half-walkin’-half-stumblin’ back to Sunset.  I don’t remember seein’ a clock, but somehow I knew it was after one.  I heard music -- I remember it bein’ like dance.  Like what I’d hear at the raves I went to.  But I don’t know what the song was or anything; it just fed the mess in my brain.  I remember there was a bar down the street, some kind of club with a long line of people waitin’ to get in.  An’ people laughin’ an’ chatterin’ while they waited.  Couples.  Good-lookin’ couples, like there used to be.  Fuckin’ happy good-lookin’ couples.  Shit, that fed the mess, too.  I wanted t’ head on.  Go home t’ Connie.  But I felt sick.  My stomach was churnin’ an’ it was all I could do to lean back against that buildin’ right at the corner of th’ side street an’ try to keep from hurlin’.

Is that how a lion feels when he loses his kill?  Is that why they roar an’ pace an’ snarl after they’ve got themselves all primed up for a feast an’ then find their fresh meat’s been able to skit away to safety?  Not defeated.  Not hungry.  Just fuckin’ pissed off.  Am I that much of an animal?

My hands dropped between my legs an’ I jolted.  They’d brushed against my crotch an’ I realized for the first time I had a major hard-on.  I’d forgot I wasn’t wearin’ briefs.  I’d got so used to them, since leavin’ Mid-State.  I’d never really liked boxers, except to sleep in.  Always liked briefs when I’m in jeans.  Felt more protected.

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.”