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

mask an’ calmly drove away.  Took us a total of forty seconds, if that.  So far, so good.

He drove fast but careful, not exactly like a typical L-A driver.  I mean, they are the freaks, out here.  We turned back onto Van Nuys an’ hit down to the one-oh-one.  The plan was to head for the Cahuenga Pass then to go down Highland to Sunset an’ back to the condo.  Just a van on the road in the middle of the afternoon, nothin’ special about it.

“Rather like William Bonin,” Wayne’d said me when he plotted it out.  I had zero idea of who he was, so he told me, “A local man who did something similar about twenty-five years ago, albeit with teenaged boys instead of men.”

My only response was, “Gross.”  Wayne had nodded in agreement.  But I noticed he knew all about the guy.

Anyway, I stayed in the back to watch Shayes to make sure he didn’t try anything.  An’ seein’ him lie there -- face down, his legs tied at the ankles with a strap, his hands strapped behind him at the wrist, his eyes an’ mouth invisible behind the gag an’ blindfold -- it made me feel...I dunno, easy.  Strong.  I mean, I could do anything I wanted to this guy, right now, an’ here I was just sittin’ here watchin’ him.  Noticin’ how his shorts had rode up to reveal his briefs on one side.  An’ how one arm of his tee shirt had gotten almost torn off -- when, I don’t remember.  An’ how the hair on his legs lay flat against his skin, like mine.

I saw how he’d taken off his weddin’ ring -- so he could hit on the pump-bunnies at the gym, I guess -- an’ how his fingernails looked neat an’ clean but not too perfect.  An’ how his feet weren’t all that big but his calves were.  As I sat there, I dug through his gym bag an’ found his wallet.  Rifled through it an’ saw he was thirty-one, weighed 185, had brown hair an’ blue eyes, an’ was an Aries.  I looked at pictures of his wife an’ kids, all perfectly posed, an’ counted out eighty bucks in cash that went straight into my pocket.  On top of it all, he had two credit cards an’ full insurance coverage.  A real stand-up guy in the “real” community.

His bag held socks, briefs, tee shirt, towel -- all “Springtime fresh” -- soap, deodorant, sandals, workout gloves, sweat rag, pack of DoubleMint gum.  An’ his pistol, buried at the bottom.  His badge was there, too, gold an’ shiny an’ big.  I smiled, knowin’ full well he’d never get these back.  Then I just sat there, watchin’ him.  An’ feelin’ how soft that fuckin’ towel was.

It’s weird -- but that towel hurt me.  Gave me a pain deep inside.  I dunno why, but I held it close.  Smelled it.  Let it go smooth over my skin.  Lay it gentle ‘round my neck.  I’d never felt a towel like that, before.  Even Connie, who knows her materials an’ how to wash ‘em, not even she ever had a towel like this.  So rich an’ beautiful.  But he had it.  That motherfucker had it.  Fuckin’ shit, he had it.  An’ I couldn’t stop caressin’ it.  An’ what’s funny is, even though I had it, I couldn’t say it was mine.  It was too alien to me.  So all I could do was keep touchin’ it as I watched Shayes.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, he was breathin’ so hard an’ shiverin’ so much.  But then I could almost see the gears start workin’ in his head, tryin’ to figure out what the deal was.  Why we’d grabbed him.  Where we were goin’.  Anything he could make out in spite of the blindfold.  He started to mutter stuff -- things like, “Hey...hey...is somebody there?” an’ “What’s going on?”  His voice was muffled an’ garbled an’ hard to understand, but I could pretty much make out what he was sayin’.

Fuckin’ movies -- they make you think puttin’ a gag on somebody shuts ‘em up, but it don’t.  They can still yell an’ chatter an’ make plenty of noise.  I always had to laugh when some “bad guy” would put his hand over the “heroine’s” mouth to keep her quiet.  I tried that once with Connie an’ she only screamed louder an’ nastier, an’ nearly bit a finger off.

So here was Shayes, his little cop brain goin’ ninety to nothin’, tryin’ to talk to somebody, tryin’ to figure out what he can do to get back in control, but he was gone, lemme tell ya.  Didn’t know it yet, but he was mine.  An’ I was startin’ to enjoy just sittin’ there, holdin’ that towel an’ quietly watchin’ him squirm.

After a couple minutes, he scrunched together an’ started tryin’ to sit up.  The van was jerkin’ an’ rollin’ a little an’ it screwed him up a little, but he finally got to where he was leanin’ against its side.  Then he sort of tried to look around under the blindfold.  I knew I was out of his line of sight, if he had any, but I was close enough in case he tried somethin’.

His legs were bent, an’ it struck me how good of a shape they did have.  Nice form.  Muscled.  Not too built up like mine were gettin’ to be.  Not too short or too long.  Good clean skin.  Nothin’ sharp or harsh to ‘em.  A real guy’s legs.  Perfect legs for this perfect towel.  An’ why the fuck was I noticin’ that?  Why the fuck was I even thinkin’ that?  Shit.

I made myself put down the towel an’ then I rubbed my eyes.  I kept my focus on Shayes as he worked at the straps ‘round his wrists.  I shook my head.  Fuckin’ cop’d used the same fuckin’ things