When I came home after the show, I
immediately wanted to call Ryan, but found that our phone had been
disconnected. Money had been especially tight lately, and the
phone was one luxury we couldn't afford. I was just disappointed that
it had happened so soon. Now I'd have to wait until the next day at
school to talk to Ryan. I figured it would be better, anyway, to tell
him in person rather than on the phone. That way, he could see in my
eyes that I really meant it.
Every time I admitted it to myself, that I loved Ryan, I felt a tingly
sensation all throughout my body. It felt great. I just had to hope
that he would accept what I needed to tell him, and that he would feel
the same way. We had shared a lot together, so I needed to have a
little faith, and I was trying to be confident, despite the negative
turn things had taken at home. What else could I do? I had practically
up before, and I wouldn't do that this time. Because I loved him!
As I was reading the next lesson in my World Religions text book,
trying to distract myself, the door to my bedroom was flung open, and
I looked up to see my mother and a man I had never seen before standing
there. My mother looked even more strung out than usual, and
the man gave me the creeps.
He was tall and lanky, with dark hair and a receding hairline that was
combed slickly back. He was holding a tattered leather briefcase and
wearing gray slacks that looked like they
hadn't been washed in a while, and a white dress shirt with frayed
that was only
buttoned up halfway, revealing a bony looking chest. He was sweating
profusely and breathing in short, ragged breaths. I could smell his
pungent body odor from across the room, and it immediately made sick to
my stomach, not to mention the way he was looking at me, as if he was
appraising me. I was suddenly very frightened as they just stood there
staring at me, the man frequently licking his lips and wiping the sweat
from his brow.
"So this is the boy?" he asked, apparently addressing my mother,
although his eyes never left me.
His high-pitched, trembling voice and piercing stare left me feeling
"Yeah, and it turns out that he's a fag. He'll probably love this," she
said with a nasty smirk.
I didn't like where this seemed to be headed. I wanted to run, but
there was no way out.
"The stuff you wanted is in the brown paper bag on the kitchen
counter," he said, again addressing my mother. "If he's good, then
we'll call it even."
"Fine," my mother said. "I don't care what you do to him. Just try not
to kill him. He might come in handy again later."
There was no emotion in her voice, and as soon as she finished
speaking, she left the room, closing the door behind her, and leaving
me alone in my bedroom with the crazed-looking man.
"What do you want?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Actually, I was pretty sure what he wanted, and the thought was both
revolting and terrifying. I couldn't believe that my own mother would
do this to me. She was trading her son for her drug fix. She'd been
cruel to me ever since I'd moved in with her, but I never could have
imagined she would go this far.
"We're going to have a little fun tonight, sweet thing," he said, with
a sickening laugh.
"Stay away from me! Leave me alone!" I shouted at him.
I'd never stood up for myself before, never fought back when my mother
or one of her boyfriends beat on me. But not any more. What he wanted
from me, I was not about to give up without a fight. I was determined
that that was for the one I loved, Ryan, and the thought of this
disgusting man defiling me, taking away the last of my innocence, and
stealing something that should be between my boyfriend and me was
enough to make me want to kill him, or die trying.
Before I could react, though, he had darted across the room and pounced
on me, pinning me down on the mattress, holding my arms above my head.
I could feel his sweat dripping onto my face as he eyed me hungrily,
his putrid odor filling my nostrils.
"You can be a good little boy and give it up easy, or we can make
this difficult," he said, sneering at me. "Although personally, I'd
rather you put up a fight and scream. I like to play rough. And once
I'm done toying with you, you'll be begging me to fuck you over and
over again. Yeah, that's right, I'm gonna make you beg me for it, you
There was suddenly the sound of a loud crash from the other room, which
distracted him long enough to give me the chance to bring my knee up
into his groin, causing him to roll off of me, clutching his groin
in pain. I took the opportunity to bolt towards the door, but he was
too fast for me, grabbing me by the ankle and dragging me down to the
floor with him.
"You little shit!" he screamed. "You're just going to make it a lot
worse for yourself!"
Unfortunately for me, since this was the first time I'd ever decided to
fight back, I wasn't really sure what to do. I was operating on pure
instinct by that point. He obviously wasn't new to the whole rape
thing, though, and before I had the chance to recover from being
tackled, he was on top of me again, grabbing me roughly by the hair and
slamming my head into the floor several times.
Still holding onto my hair, he pulled me up to my feet, then grabbed me
by the throat and slammed me up against the wall, pinning me there. He
was smarter this time, and turned his hip toward me so that my knee
wouldn't have access to his groin. He then reached into his pocket with
his free hand and pulled out a vial of liquid. With the hand that was
strangling my throat, he managed to pry my mouth open and with the
other poured in the
liquid. He then forced my mouth shut, using his free hand to pinch my
nostrils closed and force my head backwards, causing me to swallow the
vile, bitter tasting liquid.
"That was GHB," he said, continuing to hold me pressed up against the
wall. "It'll make you a lot more cooperative. You might even like it."
I was still struggling, but his grip on my throat was firm. Before I
realized what was happening, he pressed his mouth against mine, forcing
his tongue inside. He tasted like alcohol and stale cigarettes. I took
the opportunity to bite down on his tongue, causing him to let go of me
and give me another chance to make a mad dash for the door.
Again, though, he was too fast for me, and managed to tackle me to the
ground. Once he got me down, he sat on my chest and began punching me
repeatedly in the face. I lost count of how many times he hit me, but
before long could feel a warm liquid running down my face that I could
assume was blood. I certainly wasn't crying yet. I wouldn't let this
son of a bitch see me cry, no matter how badly he hurt me.
By that point, whatever he'd drugged me with was taking effect,
and it dulled the pain somewhat. It also made my body feel like a dead
weight, and waves of both euphoria and extreme lethargy began to pulse
through my body. My mind was telling me to keep struggling, but my body
wasn't cooperating, and as my vision became more and more blurry, and
the sensations stronger and stronger, I knew I wouldn't be able to
longer. Much to my horror, I was also starting to feel really horny.
horny for him, but just in general. And that sickened me.
As he began pulling me toward the mattress, my mind was in turmoil.
Visions of Ryan kept flashing before my eyes, telling me that I
couldn't give up without a fight. I couldn't let myself be raped by
this scumbag. But at the same time, the chemicals flowing through my
blood stream were breaking down my willpower, telling me that it
wouldn't be that bad. I was starting to feel very relaxed, but I
didn't want to be. Part of me kept telling me to fight.
Before I completely succumbed to the effects of the drug, I managed to
let loose one last wild flurry of kicks and punches as I lay there on
the bed, with him standing above me. But they were totally
ineffective and off the mark. My arms and legs were completely
uncoordinated. My attempt
at fighting back, however, caused my attacker to start kicking me
fiercely in the ribs and head. It seemed like hours that he
was savagely pummeling me.
It was growing difficult to breathe with each kick to my ribs. After a
few more kicks to my head and face, I could hardly see through all the
blood. At that point, I couldn't stand it anymore. I just wanted him to
get it over with. I was barely conscious and prayed that I would either
pass out or die. I would have probably preferred death at that point,
because if I survived, I would be forever tainted. I wouldn't be able
to face Ryan, and he would probably never want to touch my filthy body
As I lay there moaning, barely aware of my surroundings anymore, I
noticed him kneel down on the floor and open his briefcase, pulling out
a number of items and arranging them neatly on the floor by the
mattress. There were handcuffs, some rubbery objects that were shaped
like massive penises, and a long strand of large beads. I had no clue
what he could possibly use those for, and by that point, I didn't
really care anymore.
The next thing I felt was being rolled over on to my stomach, and my
shirt and pants
being savagely ripped off. I then heard the faint sound of a zipper
being undone, and moments later a heavy weight pressed on top of me,
and something large and hard began probing at my butt hole.
"You're about to get the ride of your life, little boy," I heard a
disembodied sounding voice crooning in my ear.
I couldn't scream, I couldn't move, I couldn't fight back. I was sure
that I was going to die. The last thing I saw in my mind was Ryan's
face, the one thing that was worth living for. But he couldn't help me
now. No one could. Not even God. Because He couldn't exist. He couldn't
let something so cruel and evil happen to one of His own children. No,
God never came here. God passed me by.
And then, as I felt something wet and slimy slurping at my neck, and
the searing pain of my butt hole being violently forced open,
everything went completely dark.