Two Southern Gentlemen Ch. 04

Content/trigger warning: This series contains bullying, homophobic language, and non-consensual sexual acts, but they are integral to the plot and character development so please take them in context.

Author's note: This is where the real story finally begins! Thanks to anyone who had enough patience to get this far!

4. DUSTY

The kid is looking groggy and dazed, trying to sit up. Jesus, this little fag just doesn't know when to quit. What's he think he's gonna get from trying to be a tough guy? A medal? Who's he trying to impress? I never really noticed before, but in his birthday suit he's got a trim runner's build and he's clearly not a complete weakling. But he definitely ain't no match for a guy who can bench press twice his scrawny weight. Even now he looks like he's miles away, who knows what he's thinking, when he should be freaking out about how much I could kick his ass.

I feel myself getting dangerously close to really blowing my fuse. Used to happen a lot when daddy and momma were arguing so much, before they got divorced. Really used to act out, pick fights with kids at school, even punched a telephone pole once hard, my fist was covered with blood, thought I might have broken it. It hasn't been nearly so bad since then, but it still happens. And when it does it sure ain't pretty. I usually end up breaking something. Joe and Misty could tell you stories for sure. Now when they see the signs they sure as hell make sure to high-tail it and get far, far away from me.

Right now I can feel that same pressure building up, looking for an exit, the heat rising in my face, my voice getting louder and more wild.

"Yeah, yeah," that naked little fag is mumbling. "Uh, yes, I want my clothes back."

I pull him up by his hair with my left hand so hard that he winces, and I pull my right arm back.

"Yes, what?" I say, putting a lid on my anger, keeping my voice low. Dangerously low.

"Huh?" he says looking up at me. Playing dumb.

"Yes, what?" I say louder, my voice almost cracking from the strain of holding back.

"What are you talking about?" he says, and for a moment I almost have a doubt and think he might actually be serious, but of course I know he's just trying to be a heroic little bitch. If he's not careful, he is really gonna get it.

"Didn't your daddy raise you right? Where's your respect, boy? It's yes, sir!" I emphasize the last word with a rough shake making him wince again from the hair pulling. I push him down to the ground hard and smack him across the face with my hand again, once, twice, raise my hand for a third hit and even start to lower it... but pull back just in time before I lose control. Usually Joe, he's a real mean son of a bitch, usually Joe is the one who takes it too far and I have to pull him off and let the fag run away. Without Joe here, fuck if I ain't really goin' to wreck this kid to hell if he keeps on like this.

The kid is trying to sit up again, and he ends up sort of hunched over facing down. I barely notice it, but my face feels like it's burning hot and I'm breathing hard. I try to count to ten in my head before continuing. But I haven't even got to two when I hear a strange sound. I look over at the kid, who's still facing the ground.

"Are you... laughing?" I sputter. I swear, I can't even believe what I'm hearing. I must have knocked a cog loose, this kid has just gone off his rocker, he's really gone off the deep end. His quiet chuckles get louder and louder until he's laughing out loud, laughin' long and loud. This little fucker's almost slappin' his knee like a grade A idiot.

The kid finally looks up, and right away I notice there's something different in his eyes. It's like a light switch has flipped on, and all the bits of defiance that I'd ever caught glimpses of before from him, glimpses that maybe I even admired kind of, deep down, have all risen to the surface of his eyes at once.

"What's so funny, you pussy, you weak ass worthless piece of shit?" I can't resist from asking. My anger had slowed to a simmer momentarily from the surprise of him laughing. But that lit up look in his eyes is so infuriating that I feel it rising again.

In between his not quite hysterical laughing the fag finally manages to speak.

"What are you playing at?" he gets out. More of that idiotic laughter. "Sir? You?" he says.

"You will respect your betters!" I shout back at him, a little too loudly.

"Your betters?! Good Lord!" he says, and the way he says "Good Lord", that ridiculous superiority in his tone, that stupid dismissiveness, the open scorn, from him, that worthless little fag, the kid I've beat up on for more than three years. I can barely speak, my rage threatening to take me over completely.

"Stop laughing!" is all I can sputter out, tryin' without a snowball's chance in hell to keep my emotions clamped down.

And the stupid little shit just keeps going. Baiting me. Still laughin', that son of a bitch.

"Respect?" he spits out. "Who? You? Someone who beats on people to make himself feel bigger? You, the redneck who has to surround himself with people who don't even like him, just fear him? Just there to do your bidding? Even your so-called girlfriend hates you. That girl's afraid of you, and you think she's in love with you? What a joke! Pigs in shit have got more smarts than you. Chickens with their heads cut off got more smarts! You've never earned a damn thing in your life. Everything handed to you on a silver plate by your idiot daddy, hoo boy, he's a real winner. A real buffoon, more like, a real bully, beat his wife 'til she finally up and left, causin' a scandal, and he still keeps on throwin' his weight around all over town. A prize know-it-all? A prize idiot more like! Everyone laughin' at him behind his back. And you, you're just like him. A real daddy's boy, good for you. You're the one who's weak. You're the one who's worthless."

I see an electricity crackling in his hazel eyes as he speaks, punctuating his every word. And with a cold clarity I see that moment as the line in the sand. There it is, he's done it to himself, he's just went and gone too far. This, oh Lord, this is the straw that broke the camel's goddamn back. It wasn't my fault, dear Jesus. You saw it. He's done it to himself.

All these thoughts rush through me on a wild wave of pure raw red hot anger. The anger rushes through me, and my entire body is consumed by the raw heat of it, like walking through the middle of a wildfire. In my mind I'm screaming, "You think I don't know that??", but out loud I'm exploding with:

"You fuckin' little pussy! You worthless little piece of shit! You dirty cunt! You're nothin' but poor white trash. No friends, livin' in a trailer on the edge of town in a shitty trailer. Your daddy the town drunk. Kids runnin' 'round barefoot, can't even afford shoes, eatin' welfare food, real great use of our tax dollars, all you little shits muckin' around in the dirt! Your family is a joke! You're a joke, puttin' on prancin' little faggy airs, actin' like you're too good to be livin' in this town, like gettin' good grades is worth jack shit! You're trash, fuckin' poor white trash, that's all you are, all you'll ever be. And you will respect your betters. I'm gonna teach you, and you're gonna learn all right. Learn to respect me!"

And the wave of rage crests and I don't give a shit about not leaving marks and how much trouble I'm goin' to get in later, I punch that little fag straight in his fuckin' smug white trash fag face full force.

A fountain of blood immediately spurts from his nose, and yep, that shuts the little fucker up finally. I hope I broke his goddamn nose.

...

...

...

The release brings me down several notches, and I realize I'm breathing again. And damn if that fucker ain't still glarin' at me. He's got his hands up to his face, blood is spurtin' everywhere. He looks a fuckin' mess, but if anything he's looking even more scornful. What. The. Hell. He's still thinkin' he won't get out of this completely broken? Is he out of his fuckin' mind? Does he wanna die? When is he gonna give it up for fuck's sake?

And there he goes again. He's trying to sit up again. A weak muffled chuckle now, his hands still trying to stifle the thick flow of red from his nose.

"Real big man, Dusty. Real tough guy," he says through what I'm sure must be a real good helping of pain.

I stand in front of him again and cross my arms over my bare chest.

"All right then, why don't we try that again," I say more calmly.

The kid looks up, his eyes duller but sparks still darting around the edges like tadpoles. I watch him with a fake friendly casual interest.

"So. Do you want your clothes back?" I say distinctly.

A pause. I can almost see him weighing his options. The pause draws on.

"Yes," he says through his hands finally with a sigh. I raise one eyebrow and raise my hand slightly in warning.

"Yes, sir," he says grudgingly. Finally giving in, I'm pleased to see.

"And how bad do you want 'em?"

"A lot." Long pause. My eyes narrow, and I raise my eyebrow ever so slightly again, as if I'm just waiting for him to give me an excuse to punch him again. For a second I think he's going to try to rebel again. But finally he says it. "Sir."

I make a gentlemanly welcoming gesture towards his pile of clothes and smile a fake smile.

"Go get 'em then."

"Huh?" he says uncertainly.

"Don't make me repeat myself, you shithead. Bring 'em here. Now!" I bark.

Another pause as he assesses the situation. Wondering again what I have in mind I reckon. He almost shrugs and starts to stumble towards his clothes, but I stop him and step closer toward him threateningly.

"I can't hear you!" I say warningly. "Bring 'em here, now."

He pauses again.

"Oh, right. I mean, yes, sir," he says. There's a hint of mockery in his voice that I choose to ignore for the moment.

I let him go and he staggers towards his clothes. I watch his slim naked body limping with the pain he must be feeling all over with some satisfaction. He tries to wipe the blood off of one of his hands on some grass and gingerly picks up his clothes with that hand, his other hand still holding his nose. Looks like its dripping has slowed down some. He staggers back to near where I'm standing.

"Drop 'em right there," I say, pointing at my feet. He does so, but still without the proper response. I give him a pointed look.

"Yes, sir," he says.

"Now kneel down."

"Yes, sir."

By this time I'm finally feeling he's behaving. Maybe he has learned his lesson.

I'm standing over the fag's clothes, and I deliberately start to untie the string that's holding up my swim trunks.

"You know," I say with fake casualness. "I had a coupla beers just before I swam over here. Beer goes right through me, you know? Boy, do I really gotta take a leak."

"Oh, come on..." he starts protesting.

"You'd best stay quiet, boy!" I warn him, raising my arm again.

He shuts up and I pull out my dick, a good eight inches I'm happy to say, and then I start pissing all over that little fag's clothes right in front of him. A huge stream of it, all the beer in my bladder coming out in a long, satisfying racehorse-level gush of smelly piss. All my remaining pent-up anger comes out with it and the release of it and seeing the fag's expression of pure powerless horror feels so, so good. No better than good, it feels amazing.

"Whoo!" I yell out to the world like a damn redneck. "Whoo hoo! Boy, don't that feel good! Whoo! Hahahaha!"

That pile of ratty clothes has gotten a real good soaking, but damn if I'm still not even half empty. Suddenly I turn to look at that fag, and inspiration strikes.

"You thirsty, sunshine? I got enough to give you a nice warm shower!"

On that last word I turn and aim the full force of my piss stream straight at that little fag's chest. He doesn't have time to react and he gets it all over him.

"Jesus Christ!" he splutters. "What the fuck!"

He starts to try to move away, but I kick him real hard in his side, where I know he's still hurtin'.

"Oh, no you don't," I say.

With the force of my blow the little fag has rolled over and around on to his side. Now I'm goin' all out, fully coating the front of his naked body with my beautiful yellow piss.

"Gonna hose you down good. Gotta get you nice 'n clean," I say, chuckling.

"What the hell, man! You sick fuck!" he says as he clumsily starts to try to scoot away backwards again.

I sigh big like a cartoon character. "You just won't learn how to stay down."

I grab that fool fag by the hair again, and now my dick is spraying him full in the face.

"But I guess I like it better when a filly's got a little fight in her."

The fag is trying to keep his mouth and eyes closed, but I start smacking him on his cheeks with my other hand.

"Open up, baby. You don't wanna taste daddy's piss? It's gotta taste better than dirt."

And the little shit is still not giving in. His face is scrunched up tight, his nose is still bleeding, he's trying to hold his hands up to stop the onslaught of yellow piss, his curly black hair is matted down with wet. My piss is streaming into his face and down his naked body and he's still refusing to open his goddamn mouth.

"Open UP! Open UP! Open UP! Open UP!" I say, punctuating my words with a hard slap to his cheeks, left, right, left, right.

Through it all that little fucker still refuses to obey. He still will not give in, goddamn him. He just will not give in. Still proud, still defiant. Goddammit! God damn him! God damn him! God damn him!

Then all of a sudden, this weird, I don't know what you'd call it, this sort of huge wave of feeling passes over me. I don't know what it was from. Maybe it was the heat. Too much sun? Too much fun? Too much excitement, that's what my grandma would've said.

I guess how I'd describe it, it's like I'm in this world just like the real world, except I'm in a video, like a movie, and suddenly someone's pressed the goddamn pause button.

I am frozen in this moment where I'm just about to smack this kid on the cheek again, force him to open his goddamn mouth, force him to give in, but somehow, and I know this is gonna sound batshit crazy, somehow I'm overcome by how... how beautiful the picture is. It's like a freeze frame and I can see, feel, hear, taste, smell everything around me. The sky is blue. Trees a little shady over me. Hot and humid as hell, weighty on my skin, that's a given, of course, summertime in Georgia. The warm water of the lake makin' little ripples behind us.

I can sense all that around me without even lookin', but at the same time I'm lookin' down at him. He looks a sight, that's for sure. Blood, some of it drying on his body, some of it still dripping down his face, a good amount of it mixin' in with my piss, wettin' his curly black hair, the piss streamin' into his face, his face still scrunched up, the encyclopedia picture of "defiance".

With a moment of clarity I realize: He will never give in. No matter how I try to break him, no matter how anyone tries to break him. This poor worthless little piece of white trash. He will never give in. He will never be broken.

And over him, or on top of him, sorta superimposed, sorta ghostly-like, it's like I'm lookin' at that picture of Jesus in the church. There's this huge painting that hangs over the altar. Jesus on the cross. Blood's drippin' into his eyes from that crown of thorns, he's got a huge gash on his body from some soldier I think, he's got blood from the nails oozing out of where his hands and feet have been nailed to the cross, gravity is pullin' his body down, pullin' him in a long and painful super drawn-out death. But... he's sort of almost smilin'. Sufferin', for sure, but... heroic, and wise, and... Invincible. Like he knows he's not beat. Like no one would ever be able to beat him. A smile of sorta... quiet confidence, not showy, just... secure. Knowing. Maybe even pitying the ones who tried to do this to him, tried to make him suffer. Pity at their ignorance, blind stupidity. But not pitying in a mean way. Just in a... holy way.

I swear, it was fuckin' weird as shit. Like I said, it sounds batshit crazy. I don't know if you'd call it a vision or what. I sure as hell don't know what it all means. All I know is that I'm in this beautiful Hollywood scene, and I'm lookin' down at this naked kid covered in blood and piss, and sure as sure can be, it makes me feel like absolute shit. It makes me feel completely worthless, just like that fag said I was. Worse. Lower than a dog. Lower than day old dog shit on the bottom of an old boot.

One other thing I realize right at that moment?

I am fuckin' hard. Harder than I've ever been in all my eighteen years, my dick feels like double its normal size. So hard I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' cum right then and there.

At the moment I realize that, that exact second, the world rushes back to normal speed. I am still pissin' on that little fag, he still has his face scrunched up, he's still got blood and cum minglin' on his face and naked body, and he's got that defiance, he's unbreakable, eyes tightly closed, his hands up, and my piss has finally slowed to near stopping.

In one single motion and without another word I shove my gigantic rock hard hard-on back into my trunks, run three giant steps to the water, dive in.

I high-tail it outta there and swim as far and as fast as I fuckin' can, like Lucifer and all his devils are behind me.