How To Rape A Straight Guy (12 page)

But Wayne, shit, he just sat there behind the wheel, hummin’ some kind o’ sixties tune I couldn’t quite make out, not lookin’ at anything.  It sort of ticked me off, ‘cause I was wonderin’ if he really understood what we were about to do.  No, I was wonderin’ if he really cared.  That’s what’s dangerous ‘bout doin’ the crime -- not carin’ about gettin’ caught.  That’s when you fuck up an’ lead the cops straight to ya.  An’ me, I’m a one-timer, already so I didn’t want to go down with a second strike.  Or third, the way some DAs’d screw around with the law.  So after a couple minutes of Wayne’s non-music, I was close to tellin’ the fuck to shut up an’ pay attention; but then he stopped all on his own.

I looked at him, an’ all of a sudden he looked really tired an’ -- I dunno, sad.  No, not sad.  Stunned.  Like he’d just seen somethin’.  A car wreck or disaster that he couldn’t take in.

“Curt,” he asked in this voice so soft I almost couldn’t hear it, “do you ever wonder at what you’re capable of?  At what you’re really truly capable of doing?”

That spooked me.  An’ relieved me, a little.  Maybe Wayne was gonna back out -- which I almost wouldn’t have minded.

I shrugged an’ said, “Crazy question.  Especially now.”

“Yes, it is.  You know, I’ll be forty-six in three days, an’ I’ll see it as a grandfather.”

That jolted me.  “What?”

“My oldest had her first child a couple months ago.  A boy.  Kendall.  ‘Ken Doll’.  I doubt she caught the irony when she christened him.”

“Wait, wait, wait -- whoa.  Oldest?  Daughter?  As in more than one?”

He gave me a smirk.  “How observant you are.  I have four.  Well, ‘had.’  I was forbidden contact with them once my wife learned I liked men more than I did her.”

“Shit, Wayne.”

“To put it mildly.  It was not the sweetest of divorces.  What’s funny is, I can understand why she was so upset.  I’d kept it such a good secret for so many years, both before and during our marriage.”

“Why?”

“C’mon, Curt -- even in Los Angeles there are large pockets of fag haters.  In the great Midwest, there are entire states of them.  If you want to be accepted by people, do business with people, get ahead in any way, you have to be like them -- big dumb breeders who think art is a Norman Rockwell poster framed on their wood-panelled living room wall.  But if you’re careful, if you toe the line, even if they have their suspicions -- so long as you have a wife and four children they’ll never say anything.  Unless you’re fool enough to try something with one of their teenaged sons.  And there were a couple...”

“That what got you caught?”

“Not exactly.  I was smarter than that.  I owned two store franchises from a company in Texas.  I had to go down every now and then, so I bought a small house on a nearby river.  Not far from a good-sized university.  I was thirty pounds lighter, then, all of it muscle.  I ran ten miles a day.  I never had trouble picking a college boy up.  That’s where I met Lenny, you know.  He was doing his Master’s in Theater Arts.  When we moved out here, he actually built up a nice little resume on television and low-budget features.  He was even up for an Emmy, once, and I think a Spirit Award, though I can’t swear to that.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, one of the students I picked up freaked out and accused me of rape.  It was just his word against mine, but I was still arrested and threatened with prison.  My wife was called and told all about it by the local police.  The charges wound up being dropped; it seems the boy in question had drug problems and was put in rehab by his parents.  But I still lost my family.  My businesses.  Everything but the house in Texas.  Once my wife knew what it was for, she didn’t want anything to do with it.  So I sold it and moved here.  Lenny came with me.  We started over, together.  That was seventeen -- no, eighteen years ago.”

“Shit, Wayne, you were younger ‘n me, now.”

“I was never younger than you.”

“Wait, dude -- wait, you had four kids; when did you get married, twelve?”

“When I graduated college.  With a card that said, “Congratulations, Grandma.” Just to let her know I know.  My 23rd anniversary would have been last Monday.  I sent my ex flowers.  My ‘fuck you’ to the bitch.”

“Shit, Wayne.”  Knowin’ this sort of spooked me.  An’ got me to wonderin’ too much about what we were plannin’, so I had to ask him, “You answer me a question?”

“If I can.”

“Be honest?”

He looked at me, that “I know what you’re up to” look flashin’ cross his face.  “What is it, Curt?”

“You’ve never done this, before?”

“What we’re doing now?”

“Anything like what we’re doin’ now.”  Like to that kid that accused him.

Wayne looked at me with this expression I couldn’t read.  I didn’t budge, but lemme tell ya, I was ready in case he tried any kind of bullshit on me.

“Why do you ask?”  It was more of a statement than a question, but I went ahead an’ took it as one.

“You’re too cool about it,” I said.  “It’s got me just wonderin’.  Wonderin’ how much practice you’ve had.”

He smiled.  “You should see me on the inside.  I’m a quaking mass of nerves.  I told you my story to keep my mind off this.  And to remind myself of why I’m doing it.”

“Okay.  But you ain’t answered my question.”

“You mean, did I do it to that boy?  Force him to have sex with me?”

“C’mon, man.”

“Are you looking for an excuse to back out?”

“Little late for that...” but not too late, added the little voice in my brain.

“True.”  He looked at me, dead on.  “No, I didn’t.  No, I haven’t.  Ever.  I swear.  Double-dog swear, even.”

He was lyin’.  I could tell by how tight in control he was of his voice.  His words.  His actions.  But it was too late; that’s when Shayes popped out the front door.

He was wearin’ his favorite ratty shorts an’ tee-shirt, thick white socks an’ Nikes already on, gym bag in one hand, hanger with fresh clothes in another.

Wayne perked up a little an’ said, “My God, your legs are better than I imagined.  But, honey, drop the shorts.”

What the fuck?  Was he tryin’ to be funny?

“What’re you on about?” I asked.

“They’re ugly,” he snapped back.  “I realize breeders don’t have much clothes sense, but any idiot could see those baggy long khaki things make even the best legs look stunted.  It’s a disgrace to human anatomy.”

Shit, fuckin’ Wayne.  Bitchy like always.  All I could do was laugh an’ shove aside what I’d just learned about him.

Shayes dumped his bag in the trunk an’ set the hanger in its hook in the car, hopped in an’ drove off.  Shit, just like clockwork.  Fucker never even glanced at us.

Wayne followed him, an’ I got to admit -- he was like ice the whole time.  Drove like a guy out for a drive, not like he was tailin’ somebody.  But he kept us right behind Shayes for over a mile, makin’ every turn the guy made, not changin’ lanes even when Shayes did, an’ never losin’ sight of the guy till I made Wayne take a short cut, one I found out so Shayes wouldn’t have reason to notice us followin’ him.  I mean, we knew where he was headin’; better to get there first.

We parked at a meter two blocks down from the gym just a couple minutes before Shayes’ Ford zipped past.  He was goin’ faster than we thought he would, so Wayne had to peel out to follow him, an’ we almost got side-swiped by this truck that came out o’ nowhere.  It honked an’ the guy flipped us off, but Wayne kept his cool.  He just shrugged a “sorry” at him then caught up to Shayes at the next light.

The gym had a parkin’ lot, but nine times out of ten it was packed to the point where people were sittin’ idlin’ in their cars, waitin’ for somebody to pull out, so Shayes usually put his car on this residential area nearby.  That way he didn’t have to feed a meter.  Those streets were lined with trees an’ had lots of bushes an’ not much traffic.  It was perfect.

He drove on down to the street an’ turned, never once lookin’ at us.  Wayne slowed down as we turned after him, so we could pull on some ski masks to hide our faces.

Shayes parked a block down, behind this huge SUV an’ popped his trunk from the inside.  That’s when Wayne slowed down even more to let me out, then he stopped right by Shayes’ car, so close the cop couldn’t open his door or see inside the van.  Then I snuck around to the other side.

Shayes noticed the van an’ honked his horn, irritated.  “Hey, hey, I’m trying to get out!”

He didn’t even notice me till I’d yanked the door open.  The dumb fuck left everything unlocked when he drove!  All Shayes could do was jump an’ say, “Holy shit!” ‘fore I had one of Wayne’s carvin’ knives to his throat an’ was pressin’ him hard against the door.  His eyes got so big an’ wide, I could see white all around as I whispered, “Shh.  Shh -- one word an’ you’re dead.”

He put his hands up an’ whispered, “Okay, man.  Okay.”  Wayne drove the van out of the way, then I forced Shayes out through the driver’s door.

He moved like he was readin’ my thoughts.  “Get out.  Nice an’ slow.  Don’t move too sudden.  I’m followin’ ya so be careful.”  I moved out with him.  He was shakin’ so he stumbled a bit.  I grabbed him with my free hand.  I still cut his neck a little -- by accident -- but that was the only problem.  One back door to the van swung open an’ Wayne yanked him inside.  I jumped in, after them.

That’s when Shayes realized this wasn’t just some plain ol’ muggin’.  He jolted an’ jammed Wayne back against the truck’s seats, but before he could turn on me, I grabbed him by the hair an’ yanked him against me.  Then I put the knife to his throat an’ snarled, “Pull that shit again an’ I’ll slice your fuckin’ head off, motherfucker.”

He froze, mutterin’, “What the fuck?” over an’ over.

I held the knife as Wayne scurried over an’ wrapped the plastic strap ‘round his ankles.  Then he forced this dildo-gag into Shayes’ mouth.  The fucker didn’t want to take it, but I slit the skin by his Adam’s Apple -- deliberately, this time -- an’ he let Wayne put it on him.  Then I rolled him onto his belly an’ Wayne tied his hands together an’ strapped the blindfold ‘round his eyes.  He was bleedin’ a little from the two cuts, but nothin’ serious.

When he was done, I scrambled back an’ grabbed the gym bag from the Ford’s trunk an’ scrambled back into the van.  The second I closed the door, Wayne jumped in the driver’s seat, whipped off his ski 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.