How To Rape A Straight Guy (11 page)

“No, no, strung up.  Hanging by his wrists?  His ankles secured?  Are you open to that, as well?”

That sounded weird.  “I -- I dunno,” I said.  “I can’t picture it.”

So he went online with this bondage website to show me what he was talkin’ ‘bout.  I gotta tell ya, I never seen the kind of shit they got out now that you can buy, all of it aimed towards tyin’ a guy down so you can do what you want to him.  Leather straps.  Thick leather gags with things stickin’ out of ‘em like dildos an’ connected by little buckles, like they were sandals for your face, or with little colored balls to stick in their mouth that were from the size of golf balls to baseballs.  Harnesses like you’d find on horses.  Hammocks to strap a guy to so he could hang in the air when you fucked him.  An’ that’s on top of all the handcuffs an’ hoods an’ little pouches for God knows what they offered.  The only thing I saw that I really understood the use for -- I mean, aside from just tyin’ a guy down -- was a silver cock ring, ‘cause this one queen that bought me a few weeks back asked me to wear it while he sucked me off.  Took me forever to cum, an’ when I did -- it was weird.

What Wayne was talkin’ ‘bout was havin’ Shayes hang from the ceiling by a rope or chain, wrists wrapped in some wool-lined leather straps so there’d be no marks, legs held apart by some kind of leather strapped pole buckled to his ankles.  They’d be wide enough apart for me to slip ‘em over my shoulders an’ fuck him standin’ up, if I wanted.  It’d be sort of like he was on his back.

“I can do it,” I said -- shrugged, really, “but why not just let me do him on a bed?  It’s easier.”

Lenny nodded when he saw it an’ said, “Yeah, you -- you’d never get him to cum if -- if you do it like that.”

I looked at him, wonderin’ if he was tryin’ to egg me on.

Wayne worked up a sketch of what he wanted to do to a shed they had in their yard behind the condo.  He was gonna cover the walls with foam blocks to muffle the sounds an’ attach hoops or hooks to the ceilin’ to string Shayes up.  The only furniture’d be a bed an’ dinin’ chair to tie Shayes to.  Between the mattress an’ box springs of the bed, he was gonna lay in these straps that got chrome rings you can loop rope through.  They had a picture of this one guy tied to it -- spread eagle an’ goin’ nowhere -- that looked kind o’ creepy.  It also looked like I wasn’t the only one gonna have some fun with the fucker.  Not that I gave much of a shit about what happened once I was done.

Now I was gettin’ to where I knew who Wayne was -- in his brain, anyway.  The quiet ones, they’re always the ones that’re plannin’, thinkin’, figurin’ out ways to rock your world in one way or another.  I could almost picture him havin’ these long talks with himself, plannin’ the whole thing out like it really WAS a military campaign then goin’ through the actions in his head as he whacked off.  Made me wonder if he’d been tryin’ to figure out some way to do this to me.

I hoped the stupid fuck wasn’t dumb enough to think he could.

It wound up, Wayne got hold of this bondage catalog from the back of some “Tie Me Up” rag to order all the “restraints”.  He told me he did it under a fake name, paid for ‘em with a money order an’ had ‘em sent to this mailbox place on Beverly, where he had a box.  Had ‘em sent FedEx so the guy at the place’d sign for ‘em.  Like that’d keep the cops from trackin’ him down if they wanted to.  He got a blindfold, too, an’ he showed me this weird leather gag that had a metal ring in the middle of it.

“What the fuck’s that?” I asked him.

“Force the ring between his teeth,” said Wayne, usin’ Lenny to show me, “tie it in back and, tah-dah -- he can’t yell, can’t speak.  And, most importantly, can’t bite.”  Then he stuck his finger in the hole an’ poked Lenny’s tongue, makin’ him gag.

“Ring ain’t big enough,” I sneered.

“For you, maybe.”

“How far you plannn’ to go, Wayne?” I asked him.

He looked at me, dead on, an’ said, “Oh, as far as I can.”

“You don’t think we’re gonna do a three-way?”

“What’s the matter, Curt?” he asked with this freaky little smile.  “Is this becoming too queer for you?”

“Yeah,” I snapped. “All I wanna do is fuck him up!”

“So do I!” Wayne snapped right back at me.  “But I need these things to hold him down as I fuck him!  And suck him off!  And make him taste my dick!  All of it!  I need them to help me make him see he’s as big a queer as he pretends not to be.”

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, man,” I said.

“Am I?  Or am I just finally fighting back against these homophobic motherfuckering vice cops with the only weaponry they really understand?”

I must’ve been lookin’ wary or somethin’, ‘cause he got real nice, sayin’, “Don’t worry, Curt; I won’t even touch him until you’re done.  That way it won’t seem like sex, to you.  Hell, I won’t touch you throughout the taping.”

“Taping?”

Then he showed me he bought another camera just like Lenny’s an’ another VCR.  Now that freaked me out.

“Three cameras?!” I yelled.  “What you fuckin’ think you’re gonna do!?”

Wayne smirked an’ said, “Tape it.  Edit it.  Sell it on eBay, if I can.  Show the world what vice cops really like.”

Now I was pissed.  “Meanin’ people’ll see me on it, too, asshole!”

“No, no, no, Curt.”  That’s when Wayne showed me this head mask.  He was dolin’ out the surprises like they were Halloween candy.  “You’ll wear this the whole time.  And we’ll cover your tattoos with makeup.  Or change them so you can’t be identified.”

“Forget it!  It’s bullshit!  I’m not out to make a porno flick!  I just wanted to do some damage to the fucker!”

“And that’s what we’ll do,” he said, his voice all gentle an’ soothin’, again.  “Think about it, Curt.  What will hurt Shayes more -- you putting your dick up his ass?  Or his buddies watching you do it?  And watching him ejaculate as you fuck him?  And then seeing me cum on his face as he sucks me off?  Won’t that give you even more pleasure?  Won’t that cause even more damage?  All the other guys you’ve done this to -- it’s a secret kept between you and them.  This time, our boy won’t have the option to keep it quiet.  I’ll send a carefully edited version to vice to let them know ‘we’re mad as hell and we ain’t gonna take it no more’.”

“Will you say what th’ fuck you mean, for once!?”

“I’ll tell them we’ll do it to their other vice decoys, too...unless they leave us alone.”

“We?!”

“Me.  Once I see how you do it, I’ll be able to copy you.”

“But the cops’ll -- .”

“Yes, the police will grow furious.  And they may come looking for me.  But many will still wonder if Shayes didn’t really seek these pleasures out and wind up caught on tape.  This will at least drive him out of vice.  As for the rest, they’ll begin to wonder if we mean it.  And worry that the next time they pull their shit on a fag, they might wind up being taken down by a dozen more of us an’ gang-banged in some alley.”

It made a weird kind of sense an’ -- well, that got my warnin’ bell goin’ off, again.  Any time I ever got myself into deep shit, it was by usin’ these same kinds of arguments to talk myself into doin’ it.  That’s how I wound up in Mid-State -- listenin’ to dumb-fuck Terrence convince me that carryin’ his baggie of coke wasn’t the same as dealin’ it.  “You’d just be a mule, man,” he said, over an’ over.  Emphasizin’ it was also a quick two bills for nothin’.  Over an’ over till I swallowed it, whole.  That’s what me screwed for the rest of my life -- “literally,” as Lenny would say.  An’ now way deep down somethin’ was warnin’ me it was gonna happen, again.  But it was a tiny voice.  A real weak voice.  So it was easy to push aside.

An’ then Wayne was promisin’ me more cash on top of Lenny’s offer -- lots more.  Now I needed both money an’ car, real bad, no question.  But I got to be honest, here -- I liked the idea of screwin’ with the cops, again.  “Literally.”  So I kept on with it.

‘Course, that’s when Lenny suddenly started tryin’ to weasel out of the mess.  “This is getting too crazy,” he whined.  “It was just a one-time bet and it didn’t happen.  It wasn’t meant to happen, so it’s off.  It’s off.”

Wayne sneered at him.  “Don’t play so innocent, Lenny.  You were all set to partake of Officer Shayes when he was just Jeremy, so you’re part of this, too.  You don’t have to join in the festivities -- you can just run the cameras -- but you’ll be there the whole time.  It’s your punishment for almost getting us arrested.”

“It’s my car,” said Lenny.  “And my camera.  I won’t let it happen.  I’m the one who’ll have to sign the title over, and you wouldn’t know how to run a camera if you took a six year course in it, so forget it.”

I thought Wayne was gonna have a stroke, he got so red.  He yanked Lenny off to one side an’ said some things to him I couldn’t hear -- but that I could sure tell were not nice or pretty.  Then he came back to me.  Lenny stayed away, sittin’ on the same couch arm he’d sat on when Shayes first tried to bust us, lookin’ like he was about to cry.  He never tried to stop us, again.

For sure I was gonna keep my eye on Wayne.

I also started keepin’ a low-key eye on Shayes.  I was perfectly set up for it -- workin’ nights off an’ on an’ things gettin’ nastier an’ nastier between me an’ Connie.  Seemed like she was yellin’ at me more an’ more.  An’ for nothin’, most of the time.  We weren’t fuckin’ like we used to, so I guess she was findin’ out that’s all we had in common, or somethin’.  Not that I gave a shit.  I mean, her doin’ the cunt-wagon got me to hatin’ her.  An’ every time I went to Wayne’s, I wound up with a blow job from him or Lenny an’ a hundred bucks in my pocket.  It got to where that was better than sex with her’d ever been.  I mean, not physically, but financially.  That’s all.  Same for emotionally, from either side.  In fact, the only good thing about her goin’ on the rag was, it gave me an excuse to bust out of the house.

As for Shayes, he was too fuckin’ easy.  He worked the late shift, got off at midnight or just before.  I followed him home, one night -- it was easy cake, even in the dark -- an’ wrote down his address.  Up in Woodland Hills.  Pricey, but not too much so.  I went back a couple times over the next two weeks to scope it out, an’ found out from sneakin’ a look at his mail that his full name’s Jonathan Robert Shayes.  “The third.”  An’ I caught on to how he’s got a wife an’ three kids -- two girls an’ a boy, none of ‘em in grade school, yet -- two cars an’ a membership at this gym in Van Nuys.  He’d drop off there to pump iron, shower an’ shave before headin’ to work, four days a week.  Almost like clockwork.

Wayne got a buddy of his at some TV news station to pull up some of Shayes’ arrest reports, both before an’ after our encounter.  The bastard busted a couple dozen guys over the space of a month with the same routine -- them callin’ him up, him goin’ over an’ then writin’ ‘em up or slappin’ the cuffs on ‘em.  A couple were guys from out of town.  Probably away from the Mrs. for a sales job an’ thought they’d have some fun in La-La land doin’ what they really wished they were doin’ back home.  An’ wound up gettin’ fucked over for it.  So they’d plead “no contest” an’ pay their fines as quietly as they could an’ hoped nobody’d find out.

Now, I didn’t like Shayes, no question, but I didn’t hate him, at first...not like Wayne seemed to.  Watchin’ him drive his year old Ford an’ mow his lawn in ratty old GAP shorts an’ skanky tee-shirt an’ wave at people in the neighborhood an’ play with his kids an’ his dog an’ his cop buddies when they came over for a barbeque -- he just made me tired.  Beyond belief.  He was a nothin’ guy in a nothin’ world doin’ a job bustin’ guys who tried to forget they had nothin’ lives, too.

But readin’ those reports?  Seein’ how they all read the same, almost down to the word?  Knowin’ it meant it didn’t matter what did or didn’t really happen, that when Shayes went off on his little visits, it was with the sole intention of bustin’ up somebody’s life ‘cause they weren’t what the world saw as acceptable?   Well, I started hatin’ him, too.

I started seein’ in him all the assholes who ever put me down.  Who told me how to live then turned their backs on me when I tried to be like they wanted.  Who punished me for not just lettin’ ‘em kill what little fire I had inside me.  Who let others try to tear me apart to prove I was breakable.  Who just vanished from my life.  He was those guards on my first night in prison, who put me in a cell with three beaners knowin’ full well they’d fuck me in the mouth an’ in the ass.  He was that fuckin’ minister who told me to live by God’s word then didn’t do a fuckin’ thing to help me do it when I was freed.  He was that fuckin’ dealer who gave me my first drag on a doobie then got me to workin’ for him so I could afford to keep doin’ it, ‘cause it helped me not to care.  He was Connie always ridin’ my ass ‘bout not doin’ better with my life.  He was my mom for not bein’ my mom.  He was her asshole husband.  He was fuckin’ Anthony.  He was shit, to me, an’ I was gonna show him just how shit gets treated.

An’ I was gonna make it worth prison.

We decided the best time to take the fucker was before he hit the gym.  Nobody’d notice he wasn’t there, so he wouldn’t get missed till he didn’t show for work, an’ by then we’d be havin’ our fun with him.  I had it worked out how to grab him, all Wayne had to do was drive the van.

Shayes always left his house right between one an’ one-fifteen, so me an’ Wayne were ready an’ waitin’ by that time.  I wanted us to be down by the gym, waitin’ for him there.  I knew what his car looked like an’ where he usually parked it, but Wayne had this need to see him come out of his home.  “Preparation,” he called it.  I didn’t get it.  Didn’t like it, but then he pointed out somebody might see us waitin’ for Shayes an’ get suspicious; better if we follow him like a couple guys who just happen to be goin’ the same way as him.  I still didn’t like it, but I went along.

So there we were, half a block down in an empty subdivision.  Waitin’.  I dunno ‘bout Wayne, but my heart was poundin’ an’ I could barely sit still, I was so up for it.  I kept tryin’ to figure out how things could go wrong an’ lay plans to take care of that.  My only real worry was if he had a pistol in his car.  I hadn’t seen him carry one with him to the gym, but bein’ a cop, for sure he had to have one...somewhere.  What if he pulled it when I went for him?  I wasn’t worried about gettin’ shot; I was worried I might go off an’ kill him.  Or get Wayne killed.  I mean -- yeah, Shayes may be worth prison, but nobody’s worth the needle.  I did my best to keep thoughts like that out of my head.