Summary:
Straight football bully blackmailed and bent over.
Thanks to: Tex Beethoven, Robert, thor_p, and Wayne for editing.
Bully Stories: Faggot Fucks Me...
This faggot deserved all the public humiliation he endured at our hands. I mean the guy dressed constantly in pink, his wrist was so bent he wouldn't be able to catch a basketball if his life depended on it and his voice was so high-pitched we all figured he had a cunt.
I'd picked on him as far back as I could remember; he was just a weird, skinny, uncoordinated loser who didn't remotely fit into a southern Texas town where football was the true gospel. And his parents hadn't helped any either by naming him Cecil. But mostly he brought the constant teasing, bullying and ridicule on himself. He didn't seem to care what others thought and that only pissed me off even more. What right did a beanpole nerd fag like him have to strut around acting superior? I literally wanted to beat him straight.
It never worked, though. Once I'd finished beating on him (careful not to leave any telltale marks), he'd just look down his nose at me as if asking, "are you finished, because that was stupid and boring," and saunter away as if he'd put
me
in
my
place.
The ultimate irony is that he would end up turning me gay.
I should note before I was turned and became a complete submissive faggot, I was the most respected and popular guy in school. I was the star linebacker of our team, had already been offered a dozen scholarships to some of the top football college programs in the country and was dating the hottest girl and head cheerleader in the school (yes it was a cliché, but it was true... it's just the nature of evolution that the best-looking people normally end up together).
Lastly, although I was a great English student, strong in history and decent in the sciences, I really struggled in math. That particularly embarrassed me because my coach doubled as a math teacher, and he stressed that I needed at least a sixty to get the top scholarships and I was at a forty-seven at midterm, not even passing, never mind a sixty. He suggested a tutor and set me up with his brightest math student, Cecil.
Coach, who believed in academics as much as he did football, wasn't someone you argued with. It was his way or the highway, he had the balls to enforce it, and that was how I ended up at the faggot's house on a Saturday afternoon...still hungover after our big semi-final victory in district playoffs 36-13. I was hardly in the mood to be doing schoolwork, particularly with a faggot like Cecil.
The guys even gave me a hard time when I made the mistake of telling them I was being tutored by Cecil. "Better keep your ass cheeks clenched," "Don't bend over," and "Don't fall in love," were all thrown my way. I took it in stride because I was a man's man and could take the ribbing, just like I usually gave it.
It was our quarterback, Damon, who warned me with no sign of joking, "Be careful around him."
I asked what he meant and he just repeated, "I'm just saying, be very careful."
He walked away without explanation. I thought he might have been blushing, but that would be impossible. Damon never got uptight about anything.
I met Cecil's parents when I arrived, and they seemed pretty normal, his mom was surprisingly hot. Hard to believe two normal, good looking people could have reared such a flaming homo.
The study session went surprisingly well. Cecil was very patient and had a crazy ability to show me more than one way to look at a problem. His mom actually baked us cookies and brought us soft drinks. I have to admit his mom, who insisted I call her Shelly, had one of the nicest asses I had ever seen.
I was putting my books back in my backpack when I stumbled and spilt all the contents on the floor. I quickly grabbed up my stuff and put it back in my bag.
Cecil asked, surprising me, just as I was about to leave, "Why are you so afraid of me?"
"Excuse me?" I asked, the question ludicrous. I could absolutely break him in two without even raising a sweat.
"Psychological research demonstrates rather clearly that people who bully others do so because they are either afraid they will become them, or they are insecure about their true sexuality."
"Are you calling me a faggot?" I asked, anger bubbling inside me instantly.
"No, but it
is
interesting that's the first thing that popped into your head," he observed pedantically, his smug smile so much more confident and brave in his own home.
"You better watch your mouth or I'll shut it permanently," I threatened.
"Textbook response," he said. "You don't respond to the point, but attempt to intimidate me."
"I'm warning you," I said, my fists clenched.
"Do you think bullying me makes you more of a man?" he questioned.
I scoffed, "It's about maintaining the hierarchy."
"And what hierarchy is that?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"Do I?" He asked. "I see the hierarchy quite differently."
"How so?"
"You see it based strictly on looks and athletic prowess. Thus you play a Neanderthal game promulgated by morons with limited intellectual ability and where ninety-five percent of the alleged winners peak in high school."
"Are you calling football players stupid?" I bristled, even though I knew he had a point. Only a few of the players on the team were strong academically, but who cares, because high school grades don't matter.
"Most of them, yes," he nodded. "Plus, at least ten percent of them are gay and another twenty percent are bi and yet another thirty are bi-curious. That adds up to more than half."
"You've obviously taken too many cocks up the ass to think straight," I shot back, uncomfortably aware he was probably citing well-researched facts, and I was still responding with nothing more than insults.
He shrugged, "I've actually never taken anything up my ass."
"Bullshit."
"I'm not even gay."
"Yeah, right."
"But I do like to fuck guys."
"That's the definition of gay," I pointed out, bewildered by this conversation.
"No, getting ass fucked by a guy or eagerly sucking his cock makes you gay," he countered.
"Which makes you gay," I said.
"No, it makes four members of your team gay," he corrected.
"Bullshit."
"Soon to be five."
"I don't think I like what you're implying," I said, clenching my fist.
He shrugged, "At first neither did the others, but once they were on their knees bobbing on my cock, or bent over taking it in their ass, they realized their true nature."
"I'm going to bust your face in next time I see you!" I threatened, meaning it as I stalked out of his room, furious.
"You'll be back, steroid boy," he called out as I left.
I froze. How could he know I was doing steroids? Yet, too angry to deal with him now I stormed out of the house and off to the gym to work out.
It was after my workout when I went to my backpack and I realized my pills were gone. I then recalled dropping my bag on the floor in the faggot's room.
Shit!
Did he have my pills?
I went directly to his house, but he wasn't home and his mom wasn't sure where he'd gone.
I was frustrated and worried: this could end my scholarships and even make me ineligible for next week's championship game!
I went home to shower and figure out how I was going to deal with this. Was the faggot going to blackmail me? Was that why he was so fucking smug? He sure as hell hadn't been that smug at school.
Then I wondered about the supposed other four players he'd implied he'd fucked. I went through each player on the team and couldn't come up with one, never mind four, that could possibly be gay.
Was the faggot blackmailing some others too?
I was going to kill this queer!
I called Damon, wanting to question him about yesterday's warning.
