I'm Not Gay:  Philip's Story
by Ashley Hardric ©2006

    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.**

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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.