How To Rape A Straight Guy by Sullivan, Michel (phonics reader .TXT) š
Book online Ā«How To Rape A Straight Guy by Sullivan, Michel (phonics reader .TXT) šĀ». Author Sullivan, Michel
Even fuckinā Anthony, as much as I hate the fucker, I -- shit, I gotta admit, I did want to be buds with him. He wasnāt the Big Man On Campus; the football quarterback always got that job ācause, for some weird reason every one of āem looked like they shouldāve been on a box of āWheaties.ā But Anthony, as uptight anā āproperā as he was, he played ball like it oughta be played -- easy anā natural, like he was destined for the majors. He actually made it to the big leagues for a few years, till he ruined his knee slidinā into home, one game. I think thatās why I let him con me into givinā him that joint -- for a buck, which didnāt even cover its cost; that anā I sort of wanted to see just how loose heād get once he got stoned.
Yāsee, he reminded me of pictures I saw of the guy mom said was my old man. Some hippie or yippie or whatever they were called at that time, passinā through Wyominā on his way to Seattle. In a VW Microbus that wouldnāt go moreān sixty downhill. He picked my mom up in Cheyenne anā she rode with him up to Sheridan -- that was momās moneymaker route -- anā somewhere along in there I got started. āFor free,ā she said, āācause he looked like Jesus.ā Anā he did. Itās weird. She took some Polaroids of him by a creek in the middle of nowhere anā he seemed to glow in āem. Long brown hair. Deep sleepy eyes...he was probably stoned. Golden skin. An expression of peace anā happiness...no, he was definitely stoned. Even with somethinā of a beard, you could tell he had a strong chin anā good nose -- like mine. Anā he had a perfect mouth. A manās mouth; I got more my momās lips. He was wearinā this Indian-lookinā pullover that was so light, you could almost see through it, anā that with tight low-cut jeans, you could tell he was in good shape. I got some good genes off him. Wonder what ever happened to him, ācause she never saw him, again. Never heard from him. Nothinā. He probably donāt even know heās got me as a son. Lucky fuck. Whoād want tā be related to a guy whoās dumb-fuck enough to get sent to jail by some tight-assed dumbfuck heās tryinā tā be friends with for buckās worth of pot?
Shit, where was I? Walkinā down Santa Monica. Smilinā at the faggots who looked me over anā whistled anā made their faggoty little comments anā shit. Anā the whole way Iām thinkinā, āDream about it, cocksuckers. I donāt need you, right now. Iām in control, asswipes. Iām king of the fuckinā world.ā
I didnāt realize it, then, but lookinā back I can see thatās when I first got this hint of an idea of what it was I really needed. Control. Power. No matter what you call it, makinā another guy do what you want him to do when heād never want to do it on his own -- thatās the best feelinā in the world as regards beinā the man. I felt it with my first punk, when somethinā behind my heart started racinā. Somethinā deep inside me that said, āFuck drugs, fuck booze, fuck worries forever. Right now, you are the master. You are in control. You are the man, anā you aināt nobody who can get pissed on.ā Anā here I was about to get it, again.
I dunno if I can really get across the feelinās I caught hold of as I walked down that street. The tingle of my jeans anā shirt not...not rubbinā but whisperinā against my thighs anā pecs anā tits anā ass, makinā me feel like I could cum without a thought. The cool night air movinā round my face. The breezes whipped up as busses anā cars zipped past me in the opposite direction. The sounds of silence over long stretches of the street, where the cars anā trucks anā busses were stopped at one corner or another. It all added to the moment. I was startinā to feel...I dunno, light headed, I guess.
I passed the āpinkā part of Santa Monica anā headed into the red-light area. Passed tired lookinā kids waitinā by bus stops in hopes of makinā fifty bucks for the night. Most of āem looked like the junked-out tossed-aside runaways that they were anā it almost hurt to see āem. But some of āem were still kinda fresh. Kinda still with an attitude. Anā as I passed āem anā they glanced me over to see if I was gonna be their next John, Iād think, āI could take you back into an alley anā make you give me what you charge for, no problem.ā Anā itād give me a jolt that shot from behind my heart anā into my balls anā spread over my thighs to make me even crazier.
Then I passed Highland anā zigged up to Sunset, since my crib was up near Franklin anā Cahuenga. That brought me past the āA Clubā, anā I saw these sleek neat Young Hollywood guys in their clean pressed shirts anā hundred dollar jeans bouncinā in anā out of the place, all tryinā to look hot for these tiny Hollywood sluts with inflatable tits who had zero interest in āem unless they had cash enough to buy āem more than a leaf of lettuce to eat. I stopped across the little side street anā watched a group of guys by
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