How To Rape A Straight Guy, Sullivan, Michel [e reading malayalam books .TXT] 📗

to Wayne.  What can you fuckin’ say about Wayne?  Yeah, he’s fat-assed, but it’s not like he’s a pig or freak or anything.  He’s just...thick.  An’ lazy-lookin’.  He’s got that black an’ white hair -- “salt an’ pepper,” that’s it -- an’ he’s always lookin’ at you sidewise, like he’s not really lookin’ even though you know he is.  Which is kind of creepy, y’know?  My feelin’ was if he’d just take care of himself -- like run or swim or do somethin’ besides sit in a bar an’ try to pick up guys to buy -- he wouldn’t have to sit in a bar to pick up guys to buy.  Guess that’s what makes what happened kind of sad.  No, stupid.  Just fuckin’ stupid.

Anyhow, on the other side of me was this skinny little faggot named Lenny.  Well, not so much skinny as just plain small.  Like that blond-haired guy on that TV show, a couple years back -- what’s it called?  I had to watch it in Mid-State ‘cause one of the guards had the hots for one of the girls in it.  Some Italian chick who I gotta admit had a nice rack an’ great mouth.  Anyway, Lenny -- if he’d just pump up, a little, an’ add a few pounds, he’d come across a lot better’n he did.

Hey.  Listen at me.  Thinkin’ up ways guys can make themselves into better shape.  That’s what trainers do, ain’t it?  Maybe I should’ve been one of them.  Show scrawny little guys how to get big an’ feel better ‘bout themselves, an’ all that “bullshit” bullshit so they could go out an’ pick up anybody they wanted.  Make a hundred bucks an hour, too, on top of workin’ out.  Hmph, I’d never thought about that, before.  But do you need a license or trainin’ or...?  Or...

Aw, shit, listen at me.  Still full of crap.  What a dumbass.  I keep forgettin’ I ain’t the kind of guy for dreams like that.  They always crash an’ burn around me.  Always.

Shit, where was I?  Oh, yeah -- Lenny an’ Wayne.  They were tryin’ this double-team shit on me.  Flankin’ me an’ keepin’ the beer comin’ like they’re gonna drop a “roofie” or some “viagra” on me or some dumb shit like that an’ drag me home or out back or to their car to have some fun.  Dumb fucks.

Oh, they’d been cool an’ shit, at first.  They knew somethin’ about baseball an’ followed the Dodgers.  “Though not as much since Mike Piazza was traded to the Yankees,” Wayne let slip.  Lenny piped in with a sigh that sounded like, “Ah, yes,” an’ then paused to see if I was so dumb fuck I’d let slip I got the meanin’ of it.  ‘Course that’s when I knew for sure they were bullshittin’ me, ‘cause it’s been years since Piazza got shipped out.

I didn’t react.  Just told ‘em I liked the Cubs.  I didn’t, really; I’m a Dodger doggie, too, but I knew agreein’ with guys like that’d just make ‘em bolder, an’ they were gettin’ kind of hands-on, already.  No need to rush things; not till I get myself worked up for it.

But somehow they got to bitchin’ back an’ forth about guys an’ sex an’ who’d do it an’ who wouldn’t.  They wanted me to think it was all about some football player they’d heard rumors about an’ whether he’d do it even if he wasn’t into guys if he got drunk enough.  But I still figure they started it as a way to see if they could do a double suck-off on me.  I’d done that for two-hundred once, but they didn’t know that an’ I was takin’ the attitude that “I didn’t do that kind of thing.”  Which I thought’d probably get the price up to two-fifty before they were done.  But all of a sudden it was turnin’ into a real bitchfest.  Not as bad as Connie’d been, but not fun.  Not what I wanted t’ be around.  Like I said, it gets rough thoughts goin’ in your head.

Anyway, Lenny was swearin’ you could get any guy you wanted, in the right place at the right time if you approached him right.  An’ Wayne was sayin’, no way.

“It’s a biological thing,” he sniped in this snotty queer way he had.  “Some men just cannot have sex with men.  At all.  Others may or may not, depending on where you are in the bell curve.”  Which brought a big “Huh?” from me.  “And some men cannot have sex with women, period.  End of story.  It’s not a choice to those on the opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“Bullshit,” said Lenny, snipped, really.  Sniped an’ snipped; the perfect nicknames for those two.  An’ he kept on with, “Sexual function is beyond one’s control.  ‘Period.’  Researchers are just now figuring out that men have no real say over what their dicks will and will not do.  No, seriously!”

I was laughin’ at that one.  These “researchers” are so fuckin’ lame.  Posin’ questions in blind studies an’ expectin’ the answers they get’re true ‘cause the guy doin’ the answerin’ don’t have to tell ‘em who he is.  Which is bull.  Everybody lies, even to himself.  Even in private.  But I’ll tell you one real truth -- show me any guy in prison, give me ten minutes with him an’ I’ll tell you what he can control an’ what he can’t.  I know; I’ve run my own “tests.”

Like there was this one guy -- few years younger than me -- wound up in my cell.  It was his first time in house an’ he was scared shitless some big black fuck’d fuck him.  He had reason -- he was white an’ had a pretty mouth.  I even caught some vatos givin’ him the look.  I figure he played lots of basketball; he had that kind of feel.  Those kind of legs.  Not sticks like all