"YOUR A GODDAM FUCKIN QUEER. YOU SHOULD GO SUCK A COCK BECAUSE THATS ALL YOU GOOD FOR!!!" As I typed the words into the comment section after the story I'd just read, I felt a sense of satisfaction and relief. Maybe I should write to the editors of literotica.com to tell them to get this fucking gay shit out of other forums. I mean, it's not that the story was really about gay sex. But it was about a wimp-ass pussy-boy who got off watching his wife fuck other men. That's not the kind of thing that a normal man would write about. It's the kind of thing that a cock-sucking queer would think men would find exciting. Cause the cock-sucking queer was imagining himself in the role of the wife and thought the husband in the story should do the same.
I was getting so sick of this shit showing up in every category. If we're going to have stories about cheating wives, let's have ones where the dude acts like a dude. You know, he comes home and grabs a gun and kills them both. First, he shoots the balls off the guy and then fucks his wife in the ass on top of the guy as he bleeds to death. Then he puts the gun up the bitch's cunt and just as he's shooting his load in her ass, he pulls the trigger. Then all he has to do is clean things up a little and call the cops and say, "I'm sorry, officer. I came home to this." That's the kind of cheating wife story that a real man would write.
Well, I'd have to do that later. I was late for meeting George at the bar. I wiped the history in my browser so my wife, Marilyn, wouldn't accidently find out what sort of sites I visited. Then, I headed out to meet George.
When I got to the bar, George was sitting by himself in a booth, nursing a beer. He's a big guy-about 6'3" and built like a tank. He's been in the construction business all his life, first as a worker and now he owned his own business building small strip malls and things like that. I liked George. He was a regular guy. You could talk with him without having to watch what you said. No political correctness. He was fine if you made a racist joke or called women "cunts". He didn't raise an eyebrow if you called a queer a "faggot". You could just say what you thought.
I got a beer and joined George. He teased me about being late: "What were you doing? Yanking your crank because Marilyn won't give you any anymore?" I told him I lost track of time because I was reading a cheating wife story on literotica.com that really pissed me off and I posted an angry review. I could talk with George even about this. He read literotica.com, too. In fact, I think he was the one that told me about it.
"You really hated it, huh?"
"Yeah. It was another story by that faggot in hiding, Cinderblock. You know the guy. He writes about all kind of things but you can tell that he's really a queer that just can come to grips with the fact that he wants to suck a guy's cock."
"Yeah, I've read some of his stuff. Doesn't bother me as much as it seems to bother you."
"Are you kidding," I shot back. "The guy's a sick fuck. I haven't read one story of his that's just a straight, guy-fucks-the-living-brains-out-of-a-stacked-chick story. I mean, what the fuck? Does he think people like to read his twisted shit?"
"Well, you read it."
"Fuck you," I said. And, actually, I was a little pissed at George right then. "I read it because I keep wondering whether this guy will straighten his head out. But he never does. The faggot should just do the world a favor and fuckin' kill himself."
George kind of chuckled and I could tell that it would be better to move on to some other topic. I didn't really know why this guy, Cinderblock, pissed me off so much. He was really pressing my buttons and I could tell from George's response that my reaction was over the top. I decided it was best just to let it go.
The bartender brought us two new beers. We were regulars here and he pretty much knew to keep us stocked with beers until we stopped him. George went to take a piss and, while he was gone I got myself all worked up again just thinking about the stories that this asshole Cinderblock posted. But when I saw George returning, I resolved not to bring it up again.
George had other ideas. First thing he said when he sat down was, "So, do you want to get this guy?"
"Who?" I said, not wanting to make assumptions.
"You know. This guy who's pissing you off. Cinderella or whatever?"
"Cinderblock!" I corrected, knowing that George was just trying to provoke me. "What do you mean, "get him"?"
"I mean, track him down and beat the holy crap out of him." George paused. "You'd like to do that, right?"
"Would I! That would show him." I took a swig of my beer. "But there's no way to track him down."
"Maybe. But maybe not." Now George paused to take a gulp. He had my attention. I'd love to teach this little sissy-boy creep a lesson. "If you're right," George continued, "I'll be I can get this Cinderblock to show himself. I mean, if he's really a faggot-in or out of the closet-I'll bet I can get him interested in a date." He took another drink of his beer. "Then, we can beat him to a pulp when he shows up for his date night."
"Shit! That's fucking brilliant," I said, stunned by George's willingness to join in on this. "Of course, we'd have to be lucky enough for him to live near here. Who the hell know where in the world anyone on literotica.com really is?"
"Well, we can see." And with that, we moved on to other topics.
About three days later, George e-mailed me and told me that he'd gotten a response from Cinderblock. In fact, they'd been chatting up quite a bit in private correspondence through literotica.com. Turns out that Cinderblock lives in California. I suspected that it would be San Francisco, land of the queers and fairies, but it turned out he lived in Sacramento. That's a long way from Atlanta, where George and I lived. So, I figured that beating the shit out of Cinderblock would have to remain just an unfulfilled fantasy.
