[CONTENT ADVISORY: This one goes out to a very specific, seldom acknowledged subset of my followers who have periodically asked for a story aimed their way. Please be aware that the piece deals with issues of identity in my usual, fucked up fashion, and thus may be distressing to the uninitiated.]
Brent is my best bud, and has been for half my life. He’s a good dude; a decent point guard, helped me move twice, and the bastard’s an uncannily effective wingman at the club. We graduated high school together, started college together, and dropped out the same way. Not that it’s been 100% cool between us; the fucker got so drunk at my 21st birthday party that I would have sworn he was gonna die, he borrows money he never intends to repay, and the ugly truth is that he’s snaked a chick or two from me over the years. But objectively… when I really needed him, when the shit truly counted, he was always there, in his way.
So I think it’s going to feel really weird at first, when I start raping him tonight.
Not that I’m dreading it or anything; I’m sure I’ll get used to it really quickly, and believe me, I expect to enjoy myself in a way I never thought possible. It’s definitely going to be strange when those first few thrusts tear into his ass, but I’ll power through the weirdness no matter what, no matter how close we’ve been. ’Cause this morning, at long last, I finally took a cold, hard look at myself and our relationship and realized that –more than anyone in this whole, wide world– he’s got it coming.
Why? It’s partly because of one of those girls he snaked. Sure, I hadn’t talked to her about it, but I was privately thinking marriage and a family, so when I came home a few weeks ago and found Brent on top of her… well, he’s lucky I didn’t do him right there. The way he looked up at me, wide-eyed and bare-assed between her legs; I could tell he knew. He knew. He knew he’d wronged me once too often; the only questions were what I would do about it, and when. The “when”, of course, turns out to be tonight, but the “what”? Oh, I’m beginning to think that part of our story was settled long ago, the first time he took a girl away from me.
Amanda was my best friend for half my life, from grade school until junior year. I was a nerdy and awkward kid, and she was a painfully shy tomboy; we both spent a lot of time getting picked on, and I guess we were just drawn to each other for protection, or better yet, solidarity. In time, necessity became habit, habit became affection, and without noticing, we were inseparable. Our childhoods didn’t progress in parallel; we were entangled, always mixed up in one another’s lives. Her parents were relentlessly mean, so she’d stay at my house as late as she could every night, avoiding their anger and disappointment by playing video games in my room, listening to music, and wishing we could be anywhere else. When we turned thirteen and everyone started pairing off, we fell together instinctively, easily, almost by default. She was my first hand held, my first lips kissed, the first dancer in my arms, the first breath on my neck; she was my heart, until one day, when she just stopped.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by it all, but I was; I stared mutely into space as it was explained to me through tears and agonizing pauses, sitting on the edge of an unmade bed in the room we’d made safe for sharing secrets. I was promised that it wasn’t about me, that some things simply aren’t choices to be made, and god damn it, I did my best to believe that. He assured me that he was sorry he hadn’t been able to be more honest with me, with us. He begged for my understanding, my care, my patience… and even through my confusion and hurt, I gave what was asked. I let go of all that I loved about Amanda in order for Brent to have a place in the world. I surrendered my happiness so he could live and she could fade away, like she never was. Because in all the ways that mattered, she wasn’t.
No more. Fuck him; it’s my turn to be who I’m meant to be. I’ll think of Amanda tonight, when Brent is squirming and howling beneath me. I’ll think of the love we never had a chance to make while he screams into the mattress and takes the load that should have been hers. Hell, I may just dress him up in her old clothes and turn him into the cunt he doesn’t know how to be. I’ll make his rape my ritual; his destruction, her resurrection.
Finally. Tonight. A change is gonna come.
