“You fought back. You swallowed that inner faggot of yours, and you started beating him up too. You straightened out and manned up, and dumbed down. By the time you dropped out of school, you weren’t little Eddie, that fucking faggot anymore–no, you were Big Ed, beating up the rest of the weak faggots with your big brother. The only difference is that you promised to go a bit easier on them next time, if they sucked you off in the woods after school.”
“Nah, fuck, that shit ain’t fuckin’ right! I ain’t one a ‘em I fuckin’ hate ‘em!” Eddie said, and tried to turn away from the mirror, but even though he could feel his body moving, the mirror and the room turned with him. He couldn’t escape the face, his face, the big, hulking, sexy fucking brute in the mirror. Was…was it really him? Could it be him? He’d always…thought about it, what might have happened if he’d stayed, if he hadn’t focused on school and gotten out as soon as he possibly could. Is this…is this really what he could have been? He knew it should have horrified him, but all he felt was so fucking horny.
“Yeah, you do hate them, those faggots.”
“Nah that ain’t what I meant! Don’t go twistin’ round mah words like that, this, I didn’t wanna be this fuckin roughneck son of a bitch.”
“Come on now, Big Ed–it didn’t happen. You didn’t end up like those faggots, you can relax,” Oliver said, stroking the side of his bearded face gently, seeing some of the intellect and memory in Eddie’s eyes dim back further. “You’re a real man, isn’t the right, Big Ed?”
“N-No, I…I was a…”
“That was just a bad dream–a nightmare.”
“Y-Yeah…yeah, I’m a real man.”
“And you do everything real men do, don’t you? You smell like a man, you smoke and drink like a man, you swear and growl like a man–you even fuck pussy like a man, on occasion, ain’t that right? Of course, you can’t stand women, not really–that’s the real problem, isn’t it?”
Eddie could smell himself now, standing there. The boozy breath, the lingering smoke in his beard. The musky pits, the dirty, muddy clothes he had on. It made him feel better–more secure. Oliver was right, he wasn’t a faggot–no fucking way was a real man like him a faggot. But what the fuck was he talking about? Ed had been with plenty of women! Of course, he’d…never really been able to get hard easily, but that’s because he was usually drunk, but fucking them in the ass usually did the trick for him, and if they complained? A few smacks would sort them out quick enough.
“The real problem, is that the faggot is still in you, deep down, and you’ll never be rid of him.”
“Shut yer fuckin’ trap,” Ed snarled at him, but there was a quaver, a bit, at the end of his drawl.
“That’s why you come here, that’s why you find the mouths on the other side of the stall, that’s why you did it that night, isn’t it? Listening to him moan around your cock, listening to how much he was enjoying it–it drove you nuts, because you want to enjoy it too, instead of all the shame, instead of all the self-loathing…”
Ed gasped, and realized he wasn’t in front of the mirror anymore. No–now he was in the stall, his cock in the gloryhole, listening and feeling some disgusting faggot slurping on his fat rod on the other side, the wet slap of the faggots hand on his own wet cock–he hated it. He fucking hated it. He hauled his cock out of the hole without warning, walked to the stall where the faggot was, and kicked in the door with one solid slam from his boot, the door slamming into the bitch, stunning him. Ed reached in and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him out of there with a snarl–and froze when he saw the face of the faggot, froze when he saw his face, his old face, looking up at him in terror.
“This is what you’ve wanted, ever since that night, isn’t it? This is why you can’t stop thinking of it, why you can’t stop dreaming of it. So do it. Fucking do it, be a man, show that faggot you mean business.”
Ed didn’t want to look at that face, he didn’t want to see that version of him anymore–so he started punching it. He punched it until it was broken and bloody and almost unrecognizable, and then he rolled it over, hauled down its pants, and started fucking it roughly, his thick, calloused hands gripping the thing’s hips hard enough to bruise, so hard he could almost feel his own hands on his own hips, but he didn’t think about that, couldn’t think about that, wouldn’t think about that, and he came deep–and the bathroom was gone, and Ed was left in the kitchen, his cock planted deep down Will’s throat, watching the gimp choke on his massive load, its erection still clearly visible in the rubber suit below. He hauled his cock free of the thing’s mouth, watching it slurp the cum down with a moan, and he fell into a chair behind him, looking down at his hands, his massive fucking hands, from years working on farms and construction sites. He could…remember everything, everything about this new life, and all that remained of his old one were just fragments, shards left over from the mental beating he’d given himself. He looked back at the gimp in front of him, at Oliver standing beside him, smiling, pleased with himself.
Bracken's Corner 