I'm Not
Gay: Philip's Story
by Ashley
Hardric ©2006
ahardric@gmail.com
Disclaimers:
This is a work of fiction.
That means it is not true.
Didn’t happen. It’s a figment. No boys were involved or harmed in
the writing of this story and no trees were sacrificed. Author does
not condone sex with
boys; he just writes
fantasies about it. Further, sex in reality requires caution and
protection, but my characters won’t catch any bad bugs unless I write
them in. Be safe and legal in the real
world, and enjoy the story
only if you are of age and location to do
so legally.
**This story is the property of the
author and may not be reproduced elsewhere (i.e. other than Nifty
Archive) without his permission.**
If you enjoy this story, a great way
to demonstrate that would be to
send a donation
to the Nifty Archive to help keep the
free service available.
Plus,
feedback
on the
story is always appreciated.
********************
Author's
note: My research for the martial arts content of this story is
limited to reruns of Karate
Kid, as
well as some basic Google searching. I ask your indulgence if
details are wrong or even impossible! I also want to thank Jeremy
and Kenneth for their thoughtful and very helpful critiques of early
drafts of this chapter.--AH
Philip's Story,
part 2
It was in the
shower at the Y in sixth grade. I’d gone after school for
open-gym -- they had open gym every Wednesday and I liked to play
volleyball. I used to like volleyball. Now, even the
thought of it makes me feel sick. And I will never set foot in
another Y gym in my life. Anyway, I was getting a shower
afterwards. No one else was around; I was kind of late getting
out. Then these high school football jocks come in to the
shower. Of course they start picking on me. I try to ignore
them, but they’re too big and they‘re getting right in my face. A
couple of them have hard-ons, and they’re huge. I try to just
leave but they won’t let me past. Then one of them grabs me from
behind by both arms and pushes me against the wall. I have no
leverage to kick or anything. He pushes his hard dick against my
ass a few times, like he’s humping me, and then he half drags, half
carries me out to one of those low benches in the drying-off
area. He’s so strong I can’t do anything to resist -- I was even
skinnier when I was younger. In sixth grade, I was about the same
size as boys who were in fourth. So anyway, this guy drags me
over to the bench and pushes me down over it, face down. My head
is hanging over the bench, my hips are on top of it, and my feet are on
the floor. One of the other jocks pins my arms to the floor by
kneeling on them and squeezing my head between his legs -- I can’t go
anywhere, and I’m so scared about what they’re going to do to me.
I knew about anal rape, but I didn’t know what it would be like, and I
was so scared. Then one of them says “Who’s got the faggot
lube?” And then someone is rubbing my asshole with cold stuff,
which feels really strange, and they’re pushing their fingers in, and
I’m like exposed and embarrassed and frightened all at the same
time. And then one of them gets down on top of me, he’s like
lying on me and I can feel his hairy legs against mine. Then he
pushes something against my butt hole, and I know it’s his dick, I know
what he’s trying to do, so I try to clamp my asshole shut. But it
doesn’t do any good, and suddenly he jams it into my ass and I thought
I was being ripped in half. God! That hurt! That hurt
so bad, worse way worse than when I broke my arm on the skating rink
when I was seven. So now I’m crying and trying to get up but the
jock keeps me pinned and I can’t move and the guy in my butt is fucking
me and fucking me and fucking me and every time he rams into my ass it
hurts worse than the time before and I think he’s never going to stop
and I just want to die from the pain and the humiliation. But
then I feel his dick pulse a few times and he pulls out. I think
it’s over, but then the one kneeling on my arms says, ‘My
turn.’ He lets go of my head, and instead grabs me by my
hair, and shows me his massive cock. It looks about a foot long
and three inches thick. ‘Look at this beauty, little girl,’ he
says. ‘All nine inches are here for you. Kiss it for good
luck.’ He shoves his dick into my lips, and then gets up
and another guy stands on my arms, and he moves behind me and mounts me
from the back, and rams it in me with no warning at all. He
hurts me even worse than before, and I didn’t think it could get any
worse. I feel him inside me so far I’m sure his cum is gonna
shoot out my mouth. When he’s done the third guy goes. My
ass is absolutely on fire, and the pain is just constant now, and I
just want it to stop. But it doesn’t.
Some of their
friends come in, and they’re like, “Sure, you can fuck him. We’ll
hold him down.” And so it starts all over again, only this time
one of them wants a blowjob. Now, I knew about blowjobs, like I
said, but I’d never given one to an older boy yet, just some
experimental sucking on my friends when none of us were into puberty
yet. So this one boy is holding his dick in front of my face and
telling me to suck it, and another one is behind me pressing against my
asshole. And I don’t want to suck it, not like this.
Blowjobs are supposed to be about love and gentleness and pleasing your
partner, not pain and force, so I won’t open my mouth, and the
guy smacks me across my face so hard I literally see stars, and when I
cry out he jams his dick into my mouth and then I’m getting fucked at
both ends. When they both push into me they lift me up by my
mouth and my ass, and when they pull out, I flop back onto the
bench. This went on forever, at least it seemed like it.
Then he came in my mouth and his cum was nasty and I gagged and coughed
and he kept his dick in my mouth and told me to swallow. But it
wasn’t even close to being over, because another one wanted a blowjob.
By the time the
“second string” got done, some of the original guys were hard
again. The big jock who caught me first said something like, “I
think that blowjob looked like fun. I think I’ll try that
next.” And then he was sticking his hard, smelly, slippery cock
into my mouth. And I had to suck on it. I had no choice,
and it was gross. While the first guys went again, the second
group rested up. So by then the second string were ready for
more. It went on and on for a couple of hours, I guess. I
was one huge bundle of pain, and I must’ve had a quart of cum in me,
and I thought they were killing me. I seriously hoped they would,
I was so miserable, and I hurt so bad.
And then when
they were done fucking my ass and my mouth, all but the first two put
their sweats on and left, and the guy who had been pinning my arms down
finally let go and left me lying there while he put on his
sweats. I just lay there dying while he dressed, just wishing
they’d leave and let me die. But then, a little spark seemed to
dance in front of my face, and I recovered just enough to start to get
mad. “Fucker shit bastard turd cunt son of a bitch!” I thought to
myself, calling up all of my rather limited set of swear words.
That little
spark was something I’d been learning at martial arts: a
technique sort of like self hypnosis that you can use to get your body
ready for battle in an instant. It’s a visualization and keyword,
like a mantra, I guess. I hadn’t exactly perfected it yet, but I
was working on it. Anyway, the JiuJitsu stuff suddenly flooded
into my head and I realized that I had a small chance to fight
back. But I only had a couple seconds before the jocks would be
dressed and gone. I drew a shaky and painful breath, and I did
the rest of the visualization that I’d been taught, and I whispered the
keyword. It worked.
I pushed myself
over the bench with my legs and let my body roll over my head, coming
up onto my feet in one smooth motion. The jocks were surprised to
see me up and started to come at me again. This time, however,
they did not have my arms immobilized and my feet off the ground, and I
was no longer scared. I was past being scared. What else
could they do to me? They had done their worst, and now it was my
turn. I kicked. And I connected. I landed a solid
foot punch in jock number one’s solar plexus, and he doubled up trying
to breathe. I sent another kick at jock number two’s chest and
heard a satisfying crack. I was pretty sure that I’d broken a rib
or two. I aimed another kick between jock number two’s legs and
felt another satisfyingly solid connection. That was purely a pay
back kick. That one went down with both hands clutching his
balls. Jock number one seemed to have the idea that he was still
going to subdue me, so I removed that notion from his head with a
osoto-gari sweep that took his legs out from under him. And then
I was on him and I let loose the full fury of my recent rape. I
was out of control.
Of course, loss
of control is a major no-no in martial arts. But I wasn’t in
martial arts class now, nor competition. I was a ravaged boy with
a ruined asshole on fire and I didn’t much care about control at that
moment. Or rules. I am pretty good at grappling, and I gave
that jock no quarter. I was maybe half his weight, no: more like
a third, but I knew about leverage and using your opponent’s momentum
against him. And I knew about choke holds.
I had taken him
down
easily enough, but my weight was like nothing against his. For a
200+ pound football jock, a 75 pound boy is nothing. Unless, of
course, that 75 pound boy happens to have his legs in a triangle choke
around the football jock’s neck applying steady pressure to the carotid
artery. Which is exactly what I was doing. I was squeezing
that bastard’s neck with all the fury their fucking had created in
me. I had only one goal, and that was to squeeze the life out of
the one who had violated me, who had caused me so much pain, who had
ruined my small body, and left me to die. I wanted to kill the
bastard. And I was well on my way to doing it when the Y staff
ran in and pulled me off him. Apparently my counter attack made
enough noise to attract attention.
By the time the
staff got there, the jock between my legs--and NOT up my butt, this
time--had passed out. I still had the triangle choke around his
neck and had no intention of letting go. Until the staff managed
to pry my legs apart, and I returned to some semblance of conscious
control. I looked at the two jocks that I had disabled, and just
started to cry. Like a baby I cried, and sobbed out enough words
about rape and fuck and my ass, and there was blood all over, most of
it mine, and they took me to the hospital in an ambulance. They
took the jocks too. With good reason. The one I had in the
leg lock was close to suffering brain damage from lack of oxygen (as if
he had enough brain to damage) and the one I kicked in the balls ended
up losing one, I had done that much damage.
I don't
remember much about the ambulance ride. I do remember how gentle and
sweet the paramedic was to me. And the IV in my arm. And a really wet
feeling under my butt. I asked him if I was going to die. He brushed
the hair out of my eyes, cupped my face in his strong hands, leaned
over me and said, "No way, little dude. I will not let you die, do you
hear me? You are not allowed to die!" That helped
reassure me, and I guess I went to sleep for awhile. I had lost so much
blood I had to have an IV for the first night. I had to stay in
the hospital for a week while my ass healed and my blood got checked
and then I had to have blood tests every month for a year until the
doctors were satisfied that the jocks had not left me with any
permanent bugs in my body. That paramedic came to see me every
day I was in the hospital, and I really liked him. I guess he
saved my life. And I had to start talking to a therapist, Dr.
Long, who is a really neat lady, I must add. She’s the one who
suggested that I try writing all this down. And that I talk to
Ferris about it.
But I still
can’t believe that I could almost kill someone. Even that asshole
jock who let all his friends fuck my ass until I was hemorrhaging that
badly. I mean, fucking someone’s ass when they don’t want to be
fucked is really, really bad. But is it bad enough to kill
over? I don’t think so, but I guess that afternoon I thought
differently. Because I could have killed that boy. Because
I was going to kill him.
So I decided
that I would never use my JiuJitsu outside of class unless my life was
absolutely in danger. Getting teased in school, that’s no big
deal. Being called a fag, so what? I decided that I would
never put myself in the position of trying to kill someone again.
And that’s why I put up with the bullying and the teasing, after we
moved to this school district. My parents made a deal with the
police and the Y, that I would not have charges against me if we did
not press charges against the jocks, and we moved. And I have not
used my JiuJitsu since, except in class and competitions.
And I think
that it was the right decision, but I don’t know how Ferris will
react. He’s such a stud, I don’t know if he’ll understand where
I’m coming from. He’ll want to protect me, of course, even though
it happened two years ago. But he’s my boyfriend, and I guess I
have to try to make him understand.
Thend.