How To Rape A Straight Guy by Sullivan, Michel (phonics reader .TXT) 📗

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