Unmasked and Exposed

"Open wide, cum bucket."

On cue, Shane tightened his grip around my neck. My mouth opened involuntarily to get some fresh air. Dustin seized the moment and pushed his length into me. It was not pretty. He roughly slammed his pelvis against my face. In one powerful thrust, I could feel his tip nestle in my throat.

I tried pushing back, but Shane's hold rendered me immobile. Dustin's large hands gripped my hair and he began moving back and forth against my face. At every stroke, my face would be buried in his abdomen. My mouth was subject to relentless abuse. Dustin pounded my lips mercilessly. Each thrust by his pelvis had the force of a boxer's punch.

"Oh yeah, baby. Your fairy mouth feels awesome."

He threw his head back in ecstasy. The bulbous head kept penetrating my throat with a piston-like rhythm. His hairy sac slapped against my chin every time. He quaked and spasmed when he came, ejecting into my mouth. His cum was thick and viscous. The taste was bitter, symbolic of the tasting itself. He pulled out of my mouth and took a few minutes to catch his breath. Shane released me and let me fall to the floor.

The cold floor was now stained by the cum dribbling out of my mouth. My mouth hurt and my lips were numb and probably bruised. My first sexual experience was not quite how I had pictured it.

It got worse as Dustin raised my face off the floor and lined my lips for Shane's member. It was slightly smaller, but no less menacing. Even as the shiny knob came closer to my unwilling lips, I stopped struggling in my mind.

We wear masks all the time to hide who we really are. For a few minutes that evening, Dustin Roth and Shane Moskowitz needed to wear the mask of being bi-curious. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

It wasn't their fault. Just a misunderstanding between me and Fate.

* *

A few days went by after the incident. Complaining would be pointless, simply because no one would believe me. It would be like the bullied kid trying to get back with a lie. There was one upside to it though, as Dustin and Shane began avoiding me after that incident.

Was it shame? Perhaps. Not because of what they did to me, but because of what they would have done to each other. Either way, it was a welcome relief.

Not quite so for the rest of school, who kept up gay innuendos all day long.

In class, I sat in the front row. Bruce (he insisted I call him that) taught us physics with a remarkable ease. Complicated formulations of electromagnetism never seemed so simple. Maxwell's equations were lucidly laid out for us.

I always listened to him at rapt attention. He had a magnetic voice, which demanded it. Once in a while, I would feel a spitball against the back of my neck, but I chose to simply ignore it. Bruce sometimes saw the perpetrator and shot him a steely glare.

Within the confines of his classroom, I was safe.

"Stay back, Leslie. I need to tell you something."

The class slowly filtered out to the hallway in a stream of constant chatter. I caught the occasional despicable glance as I walked up to the desk. Bruce was settling his papers together.

"Leslie. I want to say you have been making great progress in physics. Unfortunately, I can't come to school later today as I have some paperwork to take care of. Would you mind coming over to my place later on for your physics lesson?"

I thought it over. Mr Hendricks' apartment was a short subway ride from Brighton Beach.

"I'll be there. When should I come?"

"Five thirty should be fine. I'll have some takeout ready for us. You can have dinner as well before going back."

I took the bus back home. Dad and I lived in a low-income highrise in the heart of the working district. The walls were in a state of advanced decay and maintenance was virtually non-existent. Grime covered patches of the ceiling and the elevator creaked on the way up.

Everybody here lived on the fringes of society. Some worked menial jobs to somehow make ends meet, others only bothered about their next score. This is the Brooklyn no one wants to see. The New York people like to pretend doesn't exist. This is the underbelly of the Big Apple.

Heads turned as I walked past. They were mostly strangers. The residents knew me well enough not to shoot a second glance. I opened the door to the squalid ghetto I called home and flung my bag over the table. The TV was on in the next room. I saw a hairy arm resting on the armrest clutching a beer. The Jets were playing on the screen.

I tried to slip by unnoticed. Half-way to my door, I heard the gruff voice of recognition.

"Get me a beer, cunt."

I slumped my head and walked to the rusty old fridge. There was one can still inside. I brought it to him. He was displeased by a decision the referee made and crushed his empty can before dropping it.

"Filthy faggot," he snarled at the television. "Bet he rimmed the coach on the way out."

I was about to make my exit when he spoke again. "You hear that, Les? Faggots don't deserve to live. You're a bloody abomination."

I sighed and slouched back into my room. A few years ago, that would have made me cry. Then again, I would die of dehydration if I had to cry every time I heard my father swear. I had no friends here. He would have his drunk friends over once in a while, but they barely noticed me. I was a prisoner to my sexuality, guarded by a sentinel.

The clock moved through the hours fast enough. Soon it was time for my study-date with Mr Hendricks. I left the room to find my father snoring on the couch. Grabbing my hoodie for concealment, I ghosted out of the building to the subway.

Mr Hendricks opened the door a few seconds after I rang. He was wearing a loose polo shirt and track pants.

"Come in, Leslie. I've been waiting for you. Have a seat."

He had a relatively spacious and clean apartment. His paperwork was neatly organized into stacks on his large desk. Various plaques and certificates of accomplishments adorned his walls. There were pictures of him from his younger days. He had a goatee back then.

"Like my goatee eh?" he asked light heartedly. "That was back in the days of cassettes and magnetic tape."

I laughed a bit. We started our lesson and covered most of the problems in the chapters we had targeted for study. After that, he pulled out some reference books from his collection and we solved a few more numericals.

"Oh look it's already eight thirty. How time flies," he said. "Order a large pizza of your choice and we'll split it for dinner."

I gave my order and went back to his side on the bed. He stood up and placed his hand on my shoulder.

"You make me proud to be a teacher, Leslie. The hardships and insults you face everyday. It's amazing how you still keep going."

His palms gently rubbed around my shoulder blades and clavicle. It was comforting as he kneaded my skin.

"You remind me a lot of myself, you know?" he said with a smile. "Growing up, I never had much. I made do with whatever I got. I loved physics from a young age."

One hand moved to my back.

"I got into NYU physics major with a full scholarship. It was a big deal for my family. I was so happy when I moved in to my college room. My roommate, Gordon, was also majoring in Physics."

The touches were not exactly sensual, but very comforting. After a long day of commute, it put me at ease.

"He was gay too. My roommate. He was a vocal member of the homosexual equal rights movement way before it became mainstream. In fact, he organized a pride march in our campus."

I could feel my senses slowly numbing to the comforting massage as I leant against him.

"Then one day, we both got a bit drunk after our midsems. We stumbled and staggered back to our room. He was laughing. I got into my bed to sleep it off, being a bit more sober. He decided to have a little more to drink."

By then, I was pushing my body back against his large hands.

"He returned late in the night. I was sleeping when I felt his hand on my back. Looking up at his silhouette in the darkness, I tried saying something. But he did not answer."

Bruce took a deep breath and resumed. His tone was quivering now.

"He climbed on top of me and forced me down onto the bed. I tried pushing him off, but he was bigger and stronger than me. I had never been so scared in my life."

Suddenly, Mr Hendricks pushed my face down onto his bed and mounted my small frame in a flash. One hand pinned me down by the small of my back while the other lowered my tracks. I was too shocked to react.

"He raped me. There was no other way to describe it. It was horrible."

I was paralysed with fear when I felt his hard knob pushing against my virgin asshole.

"Please, sir. Stop," I wailed.

"I told him to stop too," he went on, anger seeping into his voice. "Did he stop? No."

An excruciating pain scorched my abdomen when he pushed into me. I could not see how big his hardon was, but I could feel every millimetre of length and breadth slowly push itself into me. My eyes went wide and I tried to scream, only to be muffled by the pillow.

"Please, sir. It hurts," I bawled, tears in my eyes.

"Yes it hurts. It hurt me too," he growled, pulling back before pushing into me again. "I could not sit the next day without wincing."

His kept a fast pace. His obscenely large cock buried itself entirely inside me one second and was only in to the tip the next. I could feel his pelvis slamming into my ass with a regular burst of pain around my stretched sphincter.

"It felt like a eternity that he kept fucking me," he said, his voice a mix of anger and bitterness.

His hands moved to my hips now. They pulled my ass cheeks apart and he pushed in even deeper into my virgin depths. I had partly lost feeling around me hole. I lay on his bed, dimly aware of a throbbing pain in my bowels. He pushed his hardness all the way into me in one deep thrust and kept it there. It pulsed and released a spray of cum inside my rectum.

Bruce got off the bed and walked away. I was in a mass of pain and could not get any feeling to my legs. The pain amplified around my asshole as blood rushed back there.

"What pained me the most was that I liked it," Bruce said quietly, "I wanted him to do it again, but was too ashamed to admit it. A few weeks later, he dropped his major to play a bigger role in the gay rights movement."

I used the pillow to wipe some of my tears. He continued in a disembodied voice.

"That was a turning point in my life. I could not stop thinking about what had happened. I actually found myself fantasizing about it again and again. But it was wrong as my pastor had told me."

I tried lifting myself off the bed, but flopped back. Mr Hendricks picked me up and carried me to the sofa. I could not sit down because of the acute burning pain. Instead, I curled up in a ball, still terrified of the man in front of me.

My idol. My hero. My protector...... My rapist. He had changed a lot in the last few minutes.

"It became an obsession. I could not stop thinking about it. I did not pursue my Masters and got a job. The internet came and along with it all the gay porn in the world. I downloaded the rough ones and kept them hidden on my laptop."

Walking to his bureau, he stopped to take out a bottle of Jack Daniels and took a gulp from the bottle itself.

"I thought marriage would change that, but it didn't. My obsession only grew stronger. Then two years ago, my wife found my hidden folder."

He paused to let the bitter memory pass.

"My obsession cost me everything. My future. My wife. My kids. I could have been at CERN. I SHOULD have been at CERN. Instead, I am one of the many underpaid teachers in a public high-school."

Some feeling had returned to my hips. I could move my legs now. I got up to get out of there and as far away from that monster as I could. He caught me mid-sprint and held my face up to his.

"Don't you even think about reporting this or I will come back for you and make you hurt in ways you dearly don't want to imagine. Let me have your ass once a week and I will give you a letter of recommendation to NYU. You decide what is more important -- a scholarship or justice. You're a smart boy, Les. You'll make the right choice."

I slowly nodded.

"Good," he said coldly. "Every Thursday at five thirty you come here for a study session. It will go like it has gone today, only I expect you to be more eager to please me, slut."

He let me go and roughly pushed me away.

"Now go, you filthy poof, and remember what I said."

I wanted to run back, but I was so sore that I could barely walk. I limped my way down and went towards the subway station.

And thus, at the tender age of eighteen, I had whored myself out to my teacher. My one ray of light was extinguished. The one person who I thought looked out for me turned out to be a monster, like everyone else.

In retrospect, I choose to look at this episode differently. Mr Hendricks wore a mask for a long time. It grew heavy on him. Hiding his true self from society was taking his toll and the mask was cracking. If it had cracked at any other time and someone else had been in the line of fire, it would have left the poor chap scarred for life.

Me? I have so many scars since that one more or less really doesn't make a difference. There is a purpose for ones like me. I serve as a receptacle for human frustration. If it had been unleashed on someone else, the balance of social harmony would have been disrupted.

I was born to take the brickbats of the world so you don't have to.

* *

The cold, biting air caused me to shiver. My hands were shaking and my pants were wet from the snow on the ground. I was on my knees in a back-alley in Eastchester. My lips were wrapped around a wrinkled member. I used my tongue to slurp over his underside. He pushed back and forth against my mouth at a sedate pace, gradually hardening in my mouth, until he exploded and filled it with his watery cum. I felt it flow down my throat.

He hastily took out a few bills from his pocket, dropped them on the asphalt and scurried away. I picked up my meagre earnings and counted them. He had short-changed me by twenty, but I would take whatever he gave. I had no other choice. I added it to the small roll of bills on the underside of my jacket and got up to my feet.

My knees ached and my teeth chattered. I contemplated on how I had let it get to this point. Too many things had gone wrong since I became a whore for Mr Hendricks. After being at his service for months, one day he disappeared. It turned out he was up to his hairline in debt. He was wanted by several reputable financial institutions and even a few less-reputable loan sharks. Disappearing was his only option apart from a permanent nap at the bottom of the East River. That after losing a few fingers.

The promise of a letter and a better life died with it. My dad kicked me out to fend for myself. A faggot had stained his apartment for too long. No one was willing to hire a freak of nature for any kind of menial job. I would have starved to death had I not started selling my body out.

I clutched my earnings tightly and began walking towards Waverly. My rented room was even worse than the one I grew up in, if that is at all possible. Even then the rent required me to whore myself out every night. There was a mobile sandwich van around the corner and I bought a salami sandwich. The soup kitchen was already overflowing with the homeless and all I would get would be leftovers anyway.

My tongue was so cold that my tastebuds refused to register any taste. Nevertheless, I hungrily scrunched it down. The night was dark and a swirling mist lay a thin veil across my field of vision. The neon sign on the bar on the pavement flickered and crackled. A shower of sparks fell to the kerb as the highest tube finally gave out.

One more light extinguished. My world was getting darker.

Getting within the ramshackled brick walls was a relief from the clammy mist outside. I coughed hard, expelling the last dregs of the night air from my lungs. It was a small relief. I somehow got up to my small room and threw myself to the ground. There was no bed, only a pile of clothes to shield me from the cold, hard floor.

My room is as nondescript as possible. Clothes, an old ratty laptop in one corner and a dresser. Each is strictly functional. The dresser is to give me a place to hide the bruises I sometimes receive while earning money (no one wants damaged merchandise) and the laptop is where I meet some of my clients. The internet saved my life. Before going online, I had to be content servicing drunks in back-alleys. Now, I can look further, even though sometimes I have to still fall back on the notorious dead-ends of Eastchester.

Like that night. It had been a slow night till then.

I checked my listing on an underground forum. It stays under the radar. The whores here are picked carefully. Anonymity is of prime importance. My heart skipped a beat when I looked at my requests page. Someone had requested a voyeur scene with me and another man.

The place was The Chandelier Room, a well-known night club. It puzzled me at first how such a place could be discreet. I gave my introduction to the doorman who immediately made a call. A few minutes later, the door opened and a petite girl came out. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt and matching heels.

"Follow me," she said curtly, ushering me in.

I walked a few steps behind her. Lights were strobing in all directions creating a bizarre psychedelic splash of colours. The heady music drowned all other sounds and a mob of dancers gyrated and ground their bodies against each other. My guide led me past this to a flight of stairs heading downwards.

There was a steel door at the end of the spiral staircase. The noise of the party above was barely audible down below. My guide knocked on the steel door once. A sliding slot opened and a pair of eyes gauged us. The lady with me smiled knowingly and the heavy door swung open. This was the private underground section, where the real parties went on.

I walked past a room where the blinking lights showed glimpses of bodies in various sex positions. The main party had split into several smaller groups occupying different parts of the room. It was equipped with chains and sofas, for the more adventurous subgroups.

The rooms were separated by quite some distance. The next room was around ten metres ahead. It was an ongoing game of strip-poker. Some of the participants were already naked. One of the guys was being intimately shaved by a clothed girl at the centre of the circle.

"What happens if you lose a round after dropping all your clothes, I guess," I thought.

Each door had some debauchery in progress. This was the Chandelier Room that no one knew about. I had heard rumours about this side of high-end nightclubs, but had not seen it till that night.

My performance was at a room on the far end of the corridor. It opened to a small room. The walls were covered in a plush, purple velvet. There were seats arranged in tiers of increasing height. Around fifty of them. They were filled... by women.

These were not ordinary women. Judging by their attire, I could make out a mix of successful executives, savvy professionals and formidable lawyers. The invites could not have been cheap, I surmised, by the amount I was offered for this show.

In the shadows of the room stood a tall, thin man. He stepped into the dim light, revealing his narrow face. His eyes had a wicked gleam and his villainously thin lips curled in a lop-sided smile. He wore a tweed coat and smooth black trousers.

"Good evening ladies," he said in a deep voice. "The show is about to begin."

He gestured in my direction. I knew my cue and slowly took my clothes off. There were the customary gasps at my complexion. Looking up, I saw my mystery partner completely nude too. He was thin and wiry, but solidly built. A tattoo of a two-headed phoenix was etched across his torso, craftily using his nipples as eyes.