Free How To Rape A Straight Guy by Kyle Michel Sullivan Page B

look hot for these tiny Hollywood sluts with inflatable tits who had zero interest in ‘em unless they had cash enough to buy ‘em more than a leaf of lettuce to eat.  I stopped across the little side street an’ watched a group of guys by the entrance, laughin’ an’ clappin’ each other on th’ back an’ actin’ like a bunch of frat boys an’ I thought, “I could wipe those smiles off your faces, punks, one right after the other.  Punk you out, one after the other.  All in one night.  All together.  An’ I’d have the time of my life doin’ it.”
    An’ then one of ‘em headed right for me.  A big blond buck with perfect teeth an’ perfect hair an’ still perfect shirt, even after hours of playin’ pool an’ downin’ beers.  He looked like he probably played football in college.  Tight end or half-back or somethin’ that called for speed an’ agility, but he wasn’t keepin’ himself up.  He still had broad shoulders, but they couldn’t hide the gut he was startin’ to get.  But he was wearin’ these black jeans that made his ass look inviting.  An’ when he turned away from me an’ headed up the side street, I followed him.
    I dunno why I did, I have to admit.  Nothin’ hit me in th’ form of a thought as to what I was gonna do.  I just saw how happy he looked, an’ how easy his life’d been an’ how perfect it would be from then on.  So I followed him.  Watched him jaunt towards this three year old Dodge parked halfway between two street lights.  Watched his ass move under those jeans.  Even th’ way he walked screamed at me how happy he was, an’ I knew I had to kill that walk.
    I dug in my pockets for somethin’, anythin’ I could use for a weapon to make him come with me.  Shit, all I had was a fingernail clipper.  But it had a file, an’ the file was sharp.  If I held it right, he’d never know.  I mean, if a guy believes you can cut him, you don’t really have to be able to, right?
    He “beeped” off his alarm an’ got to his car an’ opened his door an’ I was about to make my move when I heard, “Hey, Chad!” behind me.  I went cold, but I didn’t stop.  Didn’t even hesitate.  Just kept walkin’ right by him as I heard somebody run up to him an’ chatter loudly, “I’m comin’ with you.  Rob’s got too much shit in his back seat.”
    “Fuckin’ dick,” I heard Chad say.  “What you wanna bet his crib’s the same way?”
    “If it is, I’m gone.”
    I heard two car doors slam an’ th’ car roar to life as I kept headin’ down the street.  A second later, they zoomed past me, radio blarin’ with some second-rate rocker’s rendition of “Relax” an’ turned left to go back to Sunset.  An’ I dropped to my knees.
    I mean, I was shakin’ like you wouldn’t believe.  Like I was scared.  But I wasn’t scared, that’s what’s so freaky about it.  I was pissed off that he got away.  Really fuckin’ pissed.  I wanted to chase that fuckin’ Dodge down the street an’ fuck Chad’s fuckin’ buddy, Rob, in the ass an’ in th’ mouth an’ rip his fuckin’ dick off an’ shove it up his ass for helpin’ fuckin’ Chad get away from me.  I dug my nails into the sidewalk, wishin’ it was fuckin’ Chad’s fuckin’ face I was rippin’ apart.  I tore my fingers up, good, but it didn’t help.  I leaned against the wall of this ratty old buildin’ an’ sat there, fightin’ to shut the anger down, but I couldn’t.  I could feel myself drownin’ in it, even as I wondered where the hell it came from.
    I don’t remember standin’ up, but suddenly I was half-walkin’-half-stumblin’ back to Sunset.  I don’t remember seein’ a clock, but somehow I knew it was after one.  I heard music -- I remember it bein’ like dance.  Like what I’d hear at the raves I went to.  But I don’t know what the song was or anything; it just fed the mess in my brain.  I remember there was a bar down the street, some