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Send to FriendHe let out a muffled cry as flashbacks haunted him of just last week when one of the seniors had grabbed him in just such a matter, forcing him into the stall. Nausea and terror gripped and painfully twisted his stomach as he remembered being frisked against the wall, his pants forced down around his ankles before his rapist repeatedly thrust his hot steel cock into the young boy's anus.
Matt's cheeks now flushed with shame as he looked away, squeezing his teary eyes tightly shut, for it was happening all over again. Matt's body jerked back as the stall door slammed shut, the sound of the lock latching almost a violation to his ears. His lips quivered as he pleaded: "No, not again, no, please!" But the six-foot senior bore down upon him, menacingly and without even looking at him, Matt knew somehow that it was the same one, the same gay rapist as before.
"Relax; I'm not going to hurt you." The stranger's voice almost eerily soothing and much different from that of last week's rapist. "And I'm not going to rape you either."
This last bit might have put his mind at ease, yet even if such reassurances were true, there was no way he could have known what had happened for no one should have known. The senior that had raped him wouldn't have told, for surely being a homosexual in high school wouldn't have won one any popularity contests, and Matt was much too ashamed of what had happened to confide in anyone the grisly details, for his fellow classmates, and perhaps even his parents and sister as well, had questioned his sexuality, since he showed no real interest in girls.
The thing was that he had no interest in guys either, so that surely didn't make him gay. He was asexual, possessing no sex drive at all. In fact the act of intercourse seemed bizarre and disgusting to him, which he knew was very strange for a boy his age, but he had no complaints about it. If he never had sex, he never had to worry about getting a girl pregnant or catching a horrible disease like AIDS (unless his rapist was HIV-positive, Matt thought with a shudder). There wasn't even any mess to clean up either from masturbation or nocturnal emissions, nor the embarrassment other boys suffered in class from sudden erections since he had never gotten one.
"What do you want?" Matt stammered, trying to slow his rapidly beating heart. His eyes slowly opened and his vision cleared as he blinked the tears from his eyes.
He was relieved at least by the painful throb of his bladder, for it meant that he hadn't wet his pants from terror as he had when he had been bullied in the past. Or that one time a group of seniors had ambushed him in the boys room right when he was about to take a piss, then held him down and tickled him relentlessly for what seemed like hours until finally his bladder exploded and each senior laughed and taunted him and called him a baby. "Think we need to get some fuckin' diapers for this huge crybaby!" one of them had shouted, before they finally dispersed at the ringing of the bell.
He didn't recognize the boy standing before him, standing close enough in this tight and confining stall to bend over and kiss him before Matt could move away on time, or to reach over and cop a feel over Matt's forever limp dick. But this boy—who looked no younger than twenty, with his thatch of blond hair over his chin and the thin stubble that covered his cheeks—did none of those things, only stood there, peering down with his soulful, compassionate blue eyes, standing well over six feet, while Matt was an inch below five. With a warm smile this "boy" said again: "Relax, I have no intention of hurting or raping you. I'm here to help, actually."
"How do you know what happened?" Matt asked again, bewildered.
"That's not important now, and don't worry, it doesn't make you gay. Not that there would be anything wrong with that if you were."
"I'm not gay," Matt said meekly.
He could still feel the hard, throbbing cock thrusting painfully in and out of his ass as his rapist's hot breath slapped against the back of his neck with every sickening moan and grunt. "Yeah, fuck me, you fucking faggot, fuck me!" cried the rapist with yet another prolonged grunt as he started to approach orgasm. "Yeah, I'll fuck you harder, you gay-ass homo, you know you enjoy this, you fucking fag!" And then finally, the ultimate act of humiliation, as Matt's face pressed even harder against the filthy bathroom floor, he felt the rapist's hot semen spray thickly against his ass, dripping down his legs, and his nausea intensified. He retched, ready to vomit, as his face slid against the bathroom door and he knew that as with prison rape, it wasn't about the sex, it was about the power and the humiliation, about making the one who was raped into the rapist's bitch.
The stall door swung open and the rapist quickly left, sparing his victim one final contemptuous glance with the utmost hatred and disgust spurning in his eyes before he left Matt lying there, sprawled on the filthy bathroom floor.
The ringing bell signaled the beginning of the next class period as Matt slowly emerged and shakily made his way toward the mirror standing above the sink, not caring in the slightest that he would be late for class, or that he would be given detention for it his tardiness. His bleary eyes swiveled toward the bathroom door, hoping desperately that no one would come here and witness him as he was now, with his pants and briefs around his ankles and the rapists cooling semen dripping down his legs, mingled with Matt's own blood. There was a sharp, ripping pain in Matt's anus, but this was of little concern next to the utter shame and violation he felt now. With a sharp cough, he doubled over and vomited profusely into the sink, then looked up at his own gaunt, pallid reflection gazing back at him through the mirror as his shame multiplied tenfold.
"What happened that day wasn't your fault," the new student said now.
Matt nodded reluctantly. "I know but I can't shake the guilt, this dirty feeling." He shook his head as fresh tears filled his eyes, wondering how people could be so cruel, why not just seniors, but juniors and even sophomores had to make his life a living hell just because he was a freshman. Weren't they freshmen themselves not that long ago, subjected to the same cruelties he had now endured at their sadistic hands? Was there any legitimate reason for this hazing? Matt didn't think so, nor could he imagine himself being this cruel when he became a senior. Not that his fellow freshmen were very loving toward him either, with him being the "weird kid" and all. He tried not to hate them, despite his increasing resentment toward the human race as a whole.
"I can help you put a stop to it," the new student who Matt had never seen before now said, with a proposition almost right out of The Matrix, except there was no blue pill, only a small, bright red one that seemed to cast its own bright luminescence in this otherwise dimly lit bathroom stall as the student held it between his thumb and index finger. "This pill will give you what you need to get the respect you rightfully deserve. Without you, you will be as you are now: nothing! But with it, you will be a god."
Matt said nothing, merely gazed, transfixed by the bright red pill as his throbbing bladder continued to ache and the rape was for once briefly and blissfully forgotten. Despite what the DARE program had taught him when he was in elementary school, never in his miserable two years of Junior High, nor in his equally horrible month as a freshmen been offered drugs, perhaps because he was unpopular, and the other students either hated him or didn't care about him. He had never gotten high or started smoking (though from what they say, he was probably smoking right along with the other students in the bathroom even if he never touched a cigarette, given the reek of cigarette smoke that permeated the air) and had never really wanted to. He wondered: if someone had offered him pot or something much worse, how would he react? Would he simply walk away (seeing as he was generally incapable of firmly standing up for himself), or simply cave in and take a drag, unable to resist the dealer's coercion? And yet here he was, offered a drug of some kind, not weed or ecstasy, but no doubt something that would change him, and probably not for the better. Perhaps it wasn't a drug at all, but a poison. Given how things were now, would his death really be such a tragedy? Or maybe it was some kind of date rape drug and the student wanted to have his way with Matt as well, but without the struggle.
"I told you, I don't want to rape you," the kid said again, as though he could read Matt's thoughts.
Matt backed away, slowly creeping out of the stall as his chest tightened. He opened his mouth, either to say he wasn't interested or that he would think it over, but no words came out. He breathed heavily, startled by the ringing bell, and it was there that his bladder finally loosened and hot urine poured down his jeans. His mouth hung open and he blushed, ready to cry again, but as he looked at this new student, the kid merely stood there, within the stall, holding the pill in his hand, with not the slightest judgment over his warm and amiable features. His eyes glistened with an almost paternal love.
"They'll make fun of you for that," he said, his eyes gazing at the darkened patch over Matt's crotch, and then veered toward the pill in his hand, which he now held even higher into the air as he grinned. "But not with this."
"I...I really need to get to class now," Matt said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The student, if that's truly what he was, merely shrugged. "Well, at least think it over. It won't cost you anything."
"I will," Matt said, a little louder this time, and hurried out of the bathroom.
"You're late," Ms. Whitmore said with a sigh, her eyes barely moving from the blackboard, not noticing the wet patch over Matt's jeans as he entered his Algebra class, though a few of his classmates snickered and groaned in disgust. "I'm going to have to assign you detention."
"I understand," Matt groaned, his voice barely audible as he quickly took a seat.
And as always (thanks to the assigned order) sitting in front of him was Shayna Reynolds, who turned around and gave him a dirty look, whispering "dweeb" at him and then rolled her eyes. He sniffled quietly and rubbed his nose and she glared at him, then whispered: "Awww, am I making you cry."
Matt bit his lip and said nothing.
"Will you stop it already!" she snapped at him.
This, in turn, drew the attention of the entire class, including Ms. Whitmore, whose icy gaze pressed hard solely against Matt, even though it was that bitch Shayna Reynolds who had made the sudden outburst. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Matt's kicking my feet and distracting me," Shayna whined.
Ms. Whitmore sighed, and just like that, without even bothering to hear Matt's side of the story: "Matt, I'm going to have to see you after class." And without missing a beat, she immediately turned back toward the blackboard and resumed her lesson as a few quiet giggles and snickers echoed throughout the classroom. Matt rested his head against the desk, his reddened face pressed tightly against his forearms.
Matt's attention turned back toward the red pill as frustration, no, rage, burned within him at the unfairness of the situation. Just because Ms. Whitmore had a latent hatred for men didn't mean she had the right to judge the situation without hearing both sides of the story. And as she rambled on about the various different ways to solve for x, the red pill called forth, beckoning him forward. As his eyes gazed up at the ceiling, within the rust-colored patches amid each tile, danced a bright red pill. Its shape distorted in such a way that the top half became a beckoning finger, pulling him in its direction.
A sudden pain in the back of his neck, as well as further laughter from his peers had jolted him out of his reverie. Clamping his teeth down hard, he was barely able to muffle a startled gasp and a moan of pain as the nape of his neck ached. His hand picked something up from the back of his neck and it was a paperclip shot from someone's elastic. He winced as his neck stung sharply, yet this incident only enhanced the temptation of the pill.
He had no idea what the pill would do to him, how it would help him or what the cost might be, but it seemed his only ticket to getting any kind of respect. Sweat dripped down his temples as his heart beat rapidly and he was terrified of what that pill would do to him. Right now, as another elastic shot another paper clip that slammed painfully against the back of his neck, making him wince as his head shot forward from the impact and his fists clenched so tightly together he could feel his nails digging into his palms, he felt he needed that pill, but he didn't want it. He didn't want to risk it. It was an unknown answer but it offered some hope. He didn't want it, but at the same time he did.
Once more the putrid stench of cigarette smoke assailed his nostrils as he pushed the door open and slowly entered the boys' room. He wondered if that new student would be sitting at that very same stall, with that very same bright red pill, or if the whole surreal encounter had been nothing more than a hallucination, a waking dream somehow, perhaps a fantasy of an easy way to garner respect from his peers. In some ways, he was relieved, for there was no urgency to use the bathroom; his urine was still cooling and drying over his pants, but his heart sped up all the same as his stomach churned, fearing both what he would find as well as the disappointment he feared if it were nothing.
"I don't know what the problem is, Matthew Schuster," Ms. Whitmore had admonished him after class, "but I can't have you coming into my class late and distracting the other students. Maybe learning Algebra isn't as important to you, but the rest of the class is here to learn and they don't need your distractions."
I didn't fucking do anything, you stupid bitch! Matt wanted to scream, but of course his strong inhibitions had prevented him from doing so, which was probably for the better, for such a comment would surely get him into even more trouble.
"Why do you feel the need to distract Shayna almost every class, kicking her seat and making goofy faces at her? It's so immature, you know."
Matt's eyes remained glued to the maroon and black checkerboard floor as he shuffled feet, biting his lip in frustration, and mumbled almost incoherently. "I never did any of that to her. I didn't do anything."
"She's complained about it before," she informed him as shimmering red pills danced in her heated brown eyes. "And if you keep up this behavior, I'm going to have to talk to your parents about it."
Matt's blood boiled even hotter when he thought of this last comment and he slammed his hand against the manila brick wall of the bathroom, feeling his palm sting from the impact, but not caring as he rolled his eyes and gazed up at the tobacco-stained ceiling. Fucking bitches, he thought sullenly. It wasn't that he hated them (he tried hard not to hate anybody, as increasingly difficult as it might be), but there was a strong resentment toward them, building, growing stronger.
His chest tightened as he slowly and hesitantly slid the stall door open, and just as he half-expected (feared), there was the new student, sitting on the toilet seat with his pants still up and an expectant gaze in his glimmering eyes. With a welcoming smile over his face, he still held the brightly lit red pill between his thumb and index finger, and Matt wondered idly if, in the hour since they had last met, that pill had ever left his hand. "Offer's still good if you're interested," he said as his eerily soothing smile widened. "It's the only way you'll ever get any respect from your peers. It's the only way you'll ever make your very existence mean anything at all."
Once more he drew the image of Shayna, Ms. Whitmore, and those obnoxious brats who had flung paperclips at him into his mind. "I'm still thinking about it," Matt stammered reluctantly as his heart thumped madly in his chest and cold sweat poured profusely down his face and stung his eyes. He winced nervously as his lips and nostrils quivered while he took in a deep and tense breath.
The new student said nothing, merely placed the pill in Matt's hand and Matt's quivering, taut eyes gazed, transfixed by its alluring radiance as his sweaty hand trembled uncontrollably. He squeezed his eyes shut as his tremulous arm moved seemingly of its own accord, and in the darkness the new student whispered seductively: "Without it, you're nothing." He put the pill in his mouth, salivating profusely as a delicious cherry flavor filled his mouth and his entire body tingled blissfully.
He swallowed.
And his chest and throat closed as his stomach swelled painfully, twisting and churning as the nausea gripped him harder and sharper than ever before. He gasped, gagging and ready to puke as the vomit seared the back of his throat, rising and falling, teasing him but never fully erupting. He staggered backward a few times as the image of the new student became distorted, his face twisting, contorting, and becoming elongated, a flesh, blue-eyed blond prism. At first it was only his rubber knees that trembled fiercely, and then it was his entire body convulsing sharply and painfully as every joint twisted in agony. He could have sworn that he heard the new student laughing, an echoing, sinister cackle that thundered from inside Matt's throbbing, aching head. He had time to think that the pill was poison after all and this was nothing more than another cruel, sadistic prank that ultimately wiped him out of existence.
And then the world grayed before his eyes as his pain dulled and his legs finally gave out and his back slammed against the hard, filthy, moldy bathroom floor. He lay there, his limbs twitching and shaking as his back arched sharply into the air for a few seconds, then lay flat. The tobacco stains that splotched various patches of the ceiling lost color as the ceiling rippled then darkened. He felt icy fingers massage and numb his entire body, and then everything went dark and he died.
His blank, glassy eyes gazed up into the heavens and then began to water as his eyelids twitched and he blinked as he drew his first awkward, painful breath, gasping. His heart started beating slowly at first, and then sped up gradually to a normal, steady pace. His chest rose and fell steadily as his respiration became easier. His vision at first was one big gray blur before colors began to bloom in a flickering rainbow that danced and billowed for a few minutes before solidifying, his vision coming back into focus until once more he was gazing up at the filthy, moldy tobacco stained ceiling of the boy's lavatory.
Matt Schuster rose slowly and shakily to his feet, breathing heavily, his back leaning tightly against the wall for support as his head lolled drunkenly upon his shoulders and the black dots on the dingy white bathroom floor started weaving up and down, right and left in a dizzying, nauseating dance. He blinked—his eyelids burning slightly—as his fingers massaged his throbbing temples. His brain felt fuzzy and there was a slight burning sensation deep within his sinuses.
The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class period, the grating sound painfully heavy against the boy's head. With great effort, he staggered slowly toward class, his knees rubbery, his legs threatening to give out any minute as his head swayed to and fro and his bloodshot eyes watered profusely.
Yet despite all this, Matt Schuster somehow felt reborn.
He could barely remember what happened between the time he had taken the pill and the time he had left detention; they were like vague early childhood memories he had been too young too remember with any great clarity. It didn't matter, for what mattered was that he felt better than he had right to after taking the pill. His mind was no longer a muddled, fuzzy mess, but sharp and alert to everything around him. And his body was no longer aching in every joint, chilled, or rubbery as if he had the flu but fully rejuvenated, brimming with energy, better than he had ever felt his entire life. As he left the school building, the sun burned his eyes, making him squint, but only briefly, until he was quickly able to get used to the new change in lighting.
Up ahead was Shayna, along with her other cheerleader friends, laughing, giggling, and smoking cigarettes after just getting out of cheerleader practice. Matt thought of the conversation he had had with Ms. Whitmore after Algebra class, all because of Shayna. She hated Ms. Whitmore, but she hated Shayna even more. That's right, hatred! It wasn't resentment or anger that filled him; no more of that politically correct bullshit and no more euphemisms for what he felt. It was hatred and admitting and acknowledging it as such was liberating.
"You stupid bitch, you got me in trouble!" Matt shouted as he raced toward her.
Shayna's eyes immediately darted toward him, both shocked and amused that such an outburst had come from the scrawny, geeky, whiny, wimpy Matt Schuster. She sniggered before blasting smoke from her nose. As Matt hurried toward her, the cigarette dropped from her fingers with a thunderous uproar of hysterical and uncontrollable laughter that was so intense it made her eyes water as she doubled over, unable to stop laughing.
Matt snorted and spat a huge, thick, nasty wad of snot and saliva into Shayna's mouth that lodged just above her throat and immediately stopped her laughter. Her face turned dark red as she coughed and gagged in disgust and now it was Matt's turn to laugh, though his laughter was nowhere near as loud, obnoxious, or prolonged as hers. Her friends flinched, taken aback by Matt's shear audacity, their mouths hanging open and Matt could only catch a few snippets of "Oh my God!" that they whispered to one another.
"Ugh! You little shit!" she hissed and coughed queasily.
"Would you prefer I come in your mouth instead?" Matt said, grinning as he unzipped his jeans and exposed his tiny, hairless cock in all its glory for the world to see, fully erect for the first time ever. Shayna recoiled in disgust, coughing some more, her face going from red to sickly green as she retched, ready to vomit any minute. "Stupid pathetic whore," he murmured as he put his penis away and zipped his fly so his erection now pitched a sharp tent in his pants. "You know you like it, you stupid little whore."
As he walked away and headed home, the entire scene seemed almost surreal and Matt was in a state of disbelief when he reflected upon his actions for it was surely nothing he could have brought himself to do before and nothing he would have expected or even considered doing previously either. Yet here he had done it, and he had his erection, now softening slightly, but never going fully limp, to prove it. It was unbelievable, simply unreal, yet it felt so good to finally stand up for himself.
As Matt continued walking, a car pulled to the side of the curb and the passenger side opened as his nineteen-year-old sister, Marissa, greeted him with a warm, relieved smile over her face. "So there you are," she said as Matt climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. "I was getting kind of worried about you, since you didn't show up on time at our usual meeting place."
"I got detention."
"Detention? That isn't like you, Matt. You've always been such a good kid. What happened?"
Well, I haven't quite been feeling like myself lately, he thought, trying to hide his grin, but that's okay, because I'm now feeling much better, much more alive.
"I was late for class. I really had to go to the bathroom," he confessed, his grin fading as he blushed with deep embarrassment, hoping she wouldn't notice the dried urine stain over his jeans. "Before I knew it, the bell rang and I was late." He thought with a dark grin: And that bitch was all too happy to give me detention; she always had it in for me, but she'll pay. They'll all pay eventually. Even that son of a bitch that raped me. His grin widened as he chuckled, then added: "Funny, it usually doesn't take that long to take a piss."
He imagined what would happen if he had told her the full story, of how that new student had offered him the pill and how after a single class period, with some hesitation, he had finally given in and taken it, ingested it, and afterward felt like he was dying. Perhaps upon awakening it hadn't been like being born again, thrust abruptly from his mother's warm and nurturing womb into a cold new world, but it hadn't been comforting either, at least not at first. It felt horrible, in fact, but now he truly did feel reborn...in a good way.
Another student offered me something, he would say, a pill. He said it would earn me the respect I deserve and make my life meaningful. And slowly but surely, I think it's finally starting to work.
And she would slam her foot on the breaks, and although they were coasting at no more than twenty miles per hour, the breaks would squeal to a halt, throwing both her and Matt forward until their seatbelts caught them and snapped them hard back against their seats. Matt, his entire body shaking and his heart beating, would utter a soft moan, breathing heavily as Marissa sobbed, tears pouring down her face as lunged forward, almost right through the restraint of her seatbelt. Oh my God, she'd cry, clutching fiercely, almost painfully to his shoulders as she pulls him toward her and the seatbelt, still securely fastened, held him back in an awkward tug of war. How could you be so stupid? Did you even know what was in that fucking pill? Did you have any idea what it could have done to you? My God, it could have been poisoned. You could be dead right now. You never should've taken it! Her fingers clutch tighter into his shoulders, her nails digging through the fabric of his shirt, nearly piercing his flesh as she squeezes her teary eyes shut and her anguished cries echo through the hazy sunlight.
Marissa pulled the car into the driveway and killed the engine. "Is everything okay?" she asked with a look of concern glistening in her eyes as she unfastened her seatbelt and pulled her keys out of the ignition.
"I guess I'm okay," Matt said softly as he unfastened his own seatbelt and the two of them exited the vehicle and walked side-by-side to the front door of their house. "Thanks for the ride."
She beamed and rubbed his back tenderly. "No problem."
And from her touch, his body tingled with an alien bliss, that same exquisite arousal he had experienced upon humiliated Shayna magnified tenfold. He started to sweat as he blushed madly and his entire body started to tremble. With great effort he fought back a moan that had been building in his throat and instead gasped, breathing heavily as his cock hardened once more, throbbing in blissful agony and ready to explode. These new sensations were so intense they scared him, but he wanted more. He wanted her to touch him some more to brush his fingers through her flourishing hair that glistened beautifully in the sun. He wanted to kiss her long and passionately while her sumptuous breasts pressed tightly against his. His trembling intensified until every joint in his body ached from this blissful torture and finally he did moan, softly but still audibly. He had to fight to keep himself from jumping into the air, from tackling her and squeezing her breasts, feeling her hardened nipples poke through her blouse into his palms as he pumped his hardened cock into her again and again. It was a great, torturous, but heavenly struggle. He wanted to fuck her badly, right now, in broad daylight and in front of anyone who passed by so they could bear witness to his unyielding and undying love for her.
"Matt...Matt, what's wrong?" she asked, her expression was one of bewilderment and great concern.
Oh God, he wanted to rape her, right here and now!
And with that thought his arousal was completely extinguished, replaced with a great shame and self-loathing for such a horrible desire. It was one thing to wish ill-will on those who had hurt him, for he had finally reconciled and even embraced such feelings. But to wish harm upon one who had loved him and given him kindness, who would have surely protected him from all the bullies had she still been in high school, but had still managed to schedule her classes at college around being able to drive him to and from school so at least the bullies couldn't torment him off school grounds? One of the few people besides his parents who had ever shown him any kindness recently? What he had thought now was utterly reprehensible and he would never be able to forgive himself for it.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed and started to cry.
"I...don't understand," she murmured, stunned and perplexed at first, unsure of what to say or do. But as the tears poured uncontrollably from Matt's eyes and he could say nothing, only stand there and sob with his face buried in his hands, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as he cried over her shoulder. In her arms, he felt a small tinge of arousal flicker within, but his overwhelming guilt and remorse greatly overpowered any desires he felt for her.
"I'm so...so sorry," he murmured once more, his sobs greatly distorting his words.
"It's okay," she said softly, "whatever it is I'm here for you, buddy."
"I can give you anything you want," Marissa's voice echoed in the darkness. "Whatever you need to make you happy." Her flourishing blond hair billowed brightly, casting its own luminescence as her sumptuous ruby red lips puckered, teasing him as she lightly kissed the side of his neck. "You know I'll always be there for you. I'll protect you from all the bullies and the assholes that make your life miserable." She moaned softly as her naked breasts heaved with each intake of breath until her hardened nipples caressed his chest as she fell on top of him. He smiled up at her as her hair fell forward and tickled his face. Their lips locked in a passionate kiss and when she withdrew, she murmured: "Just because I can't be there to keep them away when you're in school, doesn't mean I can't help you, give you what you need." She rolled over toward the side, her arms still wrapped tightly around his body in her blissful loving embrace as their eyes remained locked in a loving gaze and she grinned and giggled. Her smile faltered slightly. "I know exactly what you are," she whispered cryptically.
Matt almost smirked at that remark. "What am I?"
Her grin widened once more as she rolled on top of him again. "But I love you anyway."
And his entire body tingled in ecstasy from the friction caused by her breasts brushing hard against his chest as his throbbing erection sank into her. His eyes tightly closed as a strange but wonderful sensation overtook her, rippling waves of pleasure coursing throughout his entire body as his penis convulsed blissfully.
His eyes fluttered open and Marissa was gone. He had awakened in the darkness of his bedroom, beneath his blankets. The time on his alarm clock said 3:00am. At first he felt pangs of shame that he had wet the bed and was thankful that he was alone (unlike in school those couple of times when anyone who looked close enough could easily tell he had had an accident). But the sticky fluid that drenched his sheets and soaked his naked belly wasn't urine but...something else. Perhaps one of those wet dreams they had told him about when they showed that puberty video in fifth and sixth grade? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that while he wanted to hide it, he felt exhilarated by it as well. Perhaps he had finally started puberty, though as his hand scrutinized his crotch area, smearing the sticky fluid against his abdomen, he still felt not a single hair anywhere near his pre-pubescent penis.
By the time he had snuck into his sister's room--naked save for a pair of stained briefs--Matt's eyes had already become well adjusted to the darkness. He was startled by the sudden creak as he slowly opened her door and shuffled slowly inside, fearing that she might be awakened by the noise. But Marissa remained asleep, her navy blue comforter covering her naked body, yet leaving her nipples partially exposed, which peaked shyly out from the covers with each soft, steady intake of breath. She stirred and rolled over to her side in such a way that sandwiched her arm beneath her pillow as a lock of hair fell across the bridge of her nose. She murmured something beneath her breath as her eyes fluttered beneath their lids. Her lips parted and she murmured something incoherently.
Matt lurched forward and then froze in panic as Marissa rolled slowly onto her back once more, her left arm resting by the edge of the bed, fingers dangling slightly. For a second he could have sworn her breathing had intensified, as if she would wake with a startled jolt, perhaps screaming from a nightmare, as was the clichéd standard in all those movies and TV shows. But she remained asleep and her breathing appeared slow and steady once more.
Nevertheless Matt was terrified at the prospect of being caught sneaking into his sister's room and invading her privacy like this. His heart pounded madly in his chest as cold sweat trickled from his temples as his body trembled. He was terrified but excited at the same time after seeing his loving sister in this new light. Before his love for her was platonic, a perfectly healthy and normal brother/sister relationship, with some mild teasing and bickering during their childhood, but with a bond of familial love and a sense of protection that had always held the two together. Such feelings were still very strong, but were now enhanced by an overwhelming sexual longing.
"No...no, I can't..." Marissa murmured softly.
And as soft as her words had been, Matt was still startled, still feared that her eyelids would snap open as her body jolted awake and she would look at him and realize he had snuck in here. He wanted to touch her, to comfort her, but that would surely wake her. Instead, he merely gazed down at her, frozen and covered in cold sweat, but aroused at the same time, his penis quickly becoming erect, despite the fresh semen that cooled over his belly and dampened his underwear.
"No... not him," she whispered, her voice growing a bit louder now as her tremulous body rolled over once more so her back was facing him, her body still trembling a bit.
With great hesitation, Matt lightly rested his own tremulous hand over Marissa's shoulder and the sudden friction made his entire body tingle with an almost agonizing bliss as his penis throbbed and once more threatened to spill its load. Whatever concern he felt for the emotional wellbeing of his sister was briefly forgotten now as he closed his eyes, breathing heavily.
Yet he was abruptly taken out from his blissful reverie as his toes brushed up against a cold metallic object under her bed.
In class the next morning Ms. Whitmore resumed her lesson but she might as well have been speaking in a foreign language as far as Matt had been concerned. If nothing else, her grating, smoke-stained voice was tiring, an irritating disturbance that prodded incessantly in his eardrums while his mind wandered elsewhere.
Matt grinned as he imagined the terrified screams in his mind of the students as he let loose a hail of bullets upon all the assholes that had persecuted him in the class. The son of a bitch who liked to shoot paper-clips and tightly waded paper projectiles against him that stung so badly. Shayna, always taunting him, taking so much pleasure in getting him into trouble for no reason other than her general bitchiness demanded it be done. And then there was Ms. Whitmore herself, always ready to dish out punishment without even bothering to hear what he had to say; or if he was allowed to tell his side of the story, she would simply shoot him down, call him a liar, and punish him anyway regardless of what had happened. Always kind, forgiving, and understanding to the girls, but if you were a boy, she was more than happy to stick it to you every chance she got. And the rest of the class? Why not? They were all probably assholes in one way or another and a few years from now when they were seniors, they would probably put that generation of freshmen through the same hell he had been put through since day one. And if by chance they actually were good people then they'd surely make it to heaven and be better off anyway.
Matt hunched downward and dug his hand deep into his backpack and felt his penis harden as his palm lightly caressed the smooth chrome of the barrel of the gun packed snugly inside, resting on top of his English and History books.
With his eyes closed he remembered finding it beneath his sister's bed. His heart had raced with excitement and anticipation at this blessed discovery, his eyes gazing transfixed as he held this uncovered treasure in his hands. Sweat trickled down his face as a triumphant grin had creased his countenance. His eyes glazed over with an almost drunken elation. The fear that Marissa would stir awake had lingered still, exacerbated by what she would now find upon awakening, but as the girl continued to turn over, her eyes rapidly moving as she moaned and murmured something as if in great peril within her dream. If she awakened now, not only would she see he had invaded her privacy but she would see what he held in hand and somehow know what sinister deed he had planned (though it didn't escape him that she had some explaining to do as well about the gun's presence). But despite these fears, he was almost paralyzed with excitement and anticipation, his sweaty hands tightening his grip over the .45; his mind wanting to go, to leave immediately before she finally did awaken from her nightmare, but his body refusing the command, insisting that he stay and bask in the glory of his discovery, of what was to come.
"Matthew Schuster," Ms. Whitmore called impatiently, startling Matt out of his memories and thrusting him back into the present. The bitch called his name, a little louder this time. "Matthew Schuster, what are you doing?" And she slapped her wooden pointer loudly against the blackboard as Matt's sweaty hand let go of his gun and his body jolted, bolt upright in a sitting position. A few runners of perspiration trickled down the bridge of his nose. His mouth hung open and he was breathing heavily as his heart thumped madly in his chest and his bladder lurched forth and emptied a hot stream that soaked his crotch, his seat, and poured down his legs as well.
"I-I'm not doing anything," he stammered, biting his quivering lip.
"How dare you interrupt my class!"
"I'm not, I was just—"
The entire class started laughing as Matt's cheeks flushed.
"What's in your bag?" Ms. Whitmore demanded to know.
"Nothing! It's nothing, really. It's just that my pen ran out of ink and I was...uh...I was...I was grabbing a new one, yeah."
"Let me see it," the bitch hissed sternly.
"I'm just—"
"I said let me see it!"
Matt clenched his teeth so tightly shut that his jaw ached and his temples throbbed as his nostrils flared with a soft but angry growl. His body continued to tremble, but with a boiling rage rather than crippling fear as angry tears welled in his eyes. "Goddamn it, I told you, I'm getting a pen!" he snarled at her. "Why're you always picking on me when I'm not fucking doing anything?" Rabid spittle flew from his lips as he screamed, letting loose an almost savage growl that reverberated throughout the class.
Some of the students continued to laugh while others gasped in shock and even Ms. Whitmore was taken aback, her mouth dropping open as her eyes raised, momentarily stunned by what she just saw and heard. It wasn't longer than a few seconds, however, before the firmness returned to her features and she regained her composure, her eyes regaining that brutal, unflinching focus that burned through each wayward student that dared disrupt her class. The veins in her neck threatened to burst open and the wrinkles of her sixty-year-old face tightened while she took a few slow, almost calculating steps forward.
"Just because I have a penis, I'm automatically up to no good, is that how it works?" he said, beginning to drool like a rabid animal. "I'm automatically stupid and evil, always at fault without exception no matter what the situation. Is that how it works?"
The bitch said nothing and continued forward.
"Fine, here's what's in the bag." Matt lurched forward, breathing heavily as his tremulous hand dug into the bag, his sweaty fingers closing around the butt of the .45 and he shivered even harder with ecstasy as his palm caressed the cold metal surface. His mouth hung open and he grinned, his tongue poking out slightly as he uttered a soft, almost sexual moan. His hand fumbled and then firmly closed around the handle of the gun, his finger poised securely at the trigger as he yanked it out of the bag and opened fire.
Matt's body jolted sharply, startled by the thunderous gunblast that left a slight buzzing in his ear as the tremors surged from his hand all the way up to his shoulder, leaving his entire arm aching from the recoil. The muzzle flashed brightly in the dimly lit classroom as the bullet slapped against Ms. Whitmore's forehead, stopping her immediately in her tracks as it punched an even bigger hole through the back of her head, spraying blood, skull fragments, gray matter, and tufts of hair still attached to small chunks of bloody flesh against the blackboard. Her head flung back from the impact as runners of blood trickled from her entry wound, as well as her nose and the corners of her lips. She fell backward, her back slamming hard against the floor followed by what was left of her head, which sloshed wetly against the black and white checkerboard floor as a few more chunks of brain poured out from the back of her head. Her right leg twitched slightly, but she was otherwise motionless, her glassy eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
The entire class screamed as each student left from their seats, their bodies trembling from the crippling panic that seized them as they turned and ran blindly toward the door, with cries of: "Oh my God, he has a gun!", "Someone help us!", "Holy shit!", and "He's gonna kill us!" A few students probably shit and/or pissed their pants as well, Matt thought with a slight chuckle.
Matt fired another shot into the ceiling, exacerbating his already aching arm. The plaster dust sprinkled over his head and the smoke billowed from the barrel. "I want your hands on top of your head and I want every single one of you bastards on the ground now!" Matt demanded. His right eye stung from the plaster dust as the buzzing in his ear continued. "First motherfucker out that door dies! Now get on the fucking ground now!"
Each student immediately stopped in their tracks and complied with his demands, their tremulous fingers lacing tightly together as they pressed their palms tightly over the top of their heads. Their screams had ceased now, yet each of their lips quivered uncontrollably and many continued to cry and snivel softly as they fell slowly to their knees before laying face down upon the floor, their bodies twitching and trembling uncontrollably as they held that position.
Whatever fear that had gripped Matt before was gone now and he was lost in the moment. His heart raced from the adrenaline high as his body trembled from the excitement of it all, from the overwhelming power he held over each student, who would live or die based upon his own whims and nothing more. As their crying, sobbing, and sniveling grew louder, his exquisite excitement compounded until it became a sexual arousal that left his penis painfully erect, threatening to tear the fabric of his urine-soaked jeans. The only thing that could possibly make this any better would be to add his rapist into the picture, but alas, he still had no recollection of what the bastard looked like and try as he might to conjure his face, all he could come up with was a silhouette with brightly lit red eyes burning with the power he held over him.
At first, his smoking gun simply wandered throughout the classroom, switching from student to student and back again, until finally he focused on Shayna, who was sobbing face down by his feet, with her hands tightly clutched to the back of her head as her long blond hair spilled against the floor around her.
"Get on your knees," he grunted.
She sobbed and sniveled louder. "No...please..."
"Goddamn it, bitch, I said get the fuck on your knees!" he ordered, his voice louder and slightly higher in pitch.
Reluctantly, Shayna rose to her knees, her hair falling in her face as she turned her head slightly, just enough to catch Matt in the corner of her eye.
"Eyes forward."
She did as she was told, her head slowly turning so she was facing forward, as she sobbed loudly and pleaded: "Please, please don't kill me."
"You got me in trouble almost every day and made my life a living hell," Matt thundered and spat into her hair, grinning as he chuckled. "So tell me, did it taste good when I spat in your mouth yesterday?"
Shayna said nothing at first, apparently considering what answer she should give as she sobbed and gasped loudly, squeezing her eyes shut, with tears and snot running down her face. She swallowed hard and nodded slowly and hesitantly.
"I don't know what you had against me anyway," Matt said as he rolled his eyes. "I never did anything to you, did I?" He jabbed his gun hard against the base of her skull for emphasis. "I mean, what did I ever do to you anyway?"
"I-I don't know. I'm sorry, okay, I'm really, really sorry."
"You're sorry? Fuck you." Matt squeezed the trigger and his ears and arm ached from yet another deafening gunshot but such minor discomforts were easily drowned out by the overwhelming exhilaration of vengeance. He let out a cry of victory as Shayna fell forward, her face exploding as blood, pieces of flesh, teeth, and brains vomited from the large exit wound.
Once more the gun wandered slowly throughout the room, going slower and slower with each head it passed until finally it stopped at the cowering head of Bryan Nectar. "Get up," Matt ordered sternly, and then screamed louder: "Get the fuck up!"
And slowly, Bryan Nectar, his hands still pressed tightly against the back of his head, his tremulous fingers digging into his short brown hair. His fogged glasses hung slightly askew upon the tip of his long nose that delved into a sharp point toward the tip, as tears filled his terrified green eyes and spilled profusely down his pallid freckled cheeks. As with everyone else, his lips and nostrils quivered madly as his sobs greatly distorted his speech. "Please...please don't kill me...please..."
With his finger poised at the trigger, Matt shot him an icy, unforgiving gaze. "Those paper clips you shot at me really hurt, you know," his voice remained calm, yet full of hate. "Those tightly folded paper projectiles hurt as well." He grinned as his thumb cocked the hammer of the .45. "Hurt so bad it made my want to cry sometimes, cry the way you're crying now."
"I'm sorry, I-I was just havin' some fun, just some fun, you know."
"It wasn't fun for me, you piece of shit, it really fucking hurt!"
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Please...please don't kill me, I don't wanna die, please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"
"When you threw gum at me, that was just disgusting," Matt cringed and shuddered in disgust. "It was so fucking gross when you did that, you son of a bitch, and those paper projectiles and paper clips fucking hurt!"
"I won't do it again, I swear, I'm sorry, I—"
Bryan's pleas were cut off by yet another thunderous blast as Matt squeezed the trigger. The left lens of Bryan's glasses shattered and the rim split in two as his glasses flew off his face. The bullet plowed through his left eye, leaving that eye a black, sunken pit of oozing blood. The bullet burst from the back of his head in yet another spray of blood, brains, skull fragments, and tufts of hair.
And once more, the gun wandered from head to head throughout the room as each student cowered and sobbed beneath their desks, trembling uncontrollably. He hated none of them as much as he had hated those he'd already killed, for while they stood by and did nothing when he was being picked on, they mostly didn't contribute to his misery either. And yet he wanted to kill them, at least a few more to make his point, to put his foot down, to proclaim that Matt Schuster wasn't going to be a victim anymore. With everyone left being neutral, it was a difficult decision to make, so he closed his eyes and let his gun wander on its own.
And when he opened his eyes, he was alarmed to find that he was now the one looking below the dark pit of someone else's gun. He recoiled and all the old fear, all the old shame returned tenfold. Breathing heavily, his heart now pounding against his chest, he looked up and saw that the one holding the gun was Marissa. Her eyes were filled with tears, not from terror, but from sorrow and she swallowed deeply, stifling a few sobs as she spoke, struggling to keep her composure: "These people haven't done anything to you." She sniffled, swallowed hard, and then added: "The people you killed didn't hurt you either."
"They made my life a living hell. They deserved what they got." Matt's voice quavered and he blinked away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. "And the seniors, they're even worse." He paused, hesitant for a few seconds, then simply blurted out: "One of them even raped me!"
Marissa shook her head. "Whatever memories you possess were inherited from your victim."
Matt lowered his gun, gazing at Marissa with great bewilderment.
"You're not Matt Schuster."
His gun nearly slipped from his sweaty fingers as his chest and throat tightened and he was literally taken aback. His mouth dropped open as he gasped and fresh tears filled his eyes. "You fucking liar," he croaked, both appalled and utterly confused by what she had just said.
"Matt Schuster died after taking the pill," Marissa explained grimly, her voice mostly inflectionless. "You're the offspring of an alien invasion. They target teenage outcasts throughout the world...like my brother. They offer them a pill, saying it will change their lives, make them a new person, someone people will love and respect. They say it will give their lives meaning. What it really does is poison them, shut down their mind, effectively killing them while leaving their vessels free for an entirely new soul to take over. This new entity takes full possession of the person's body while inheriting their memories and personality traits. This alien entity truly believes that they are and always have been that person and has absolutely no awareness of its true origins."
As Marissa explained this, Matt fell to his hands and knees, his tongue dangling from his mouth as he gasped and breathed heavily, sweating profusely as he remembered how he had taken the pill just twenty-two hours earlier. He groaned, gripped by a sudden fit of nausea as he raised his head and looked up at Marissa in disbelief. Surely what she had said couldn't be true. He was the real Matt Schuster. He had to be. But why would Marissa, who had always been one of the few beacons of light and happiness in his otherwise miserable existence, taunt and torment him with these wretched and totally outlandish lies?
He imagined the red pill in his bloodstream, becoming elongated, stretching, distorting as four tiny legs formed, two on each side, with a lizard's head in front and a serpent's tail in the rear, whipping back and forth as this new malformed, grotesque red sperm swam not in glistening white semen but red blood, heading for his brain, a fertile egg within the womb that was his skull. And as the sperm and egg finally fuse together, a fetus is conceived through the death of Matt Schuster and the birth of some sinister force inside him.
"Until your kind has gathered a great enough army to pose a true threat, you are made to believe that you are the one who's body you have inhabited, because for now, your race has determined that the best way to keep the conspiracy under wraps is to make you guys unaware of your true origins and purpose," Marissa went on.
And in five to ten years when enough of these beings had been created, a signal would be sent out throughout the world that only his kind could detect and it would lead him instinctively to their base of operations, the way birds flock to the south during autumn. And in that underground base, the masses taken over by these beings would stand in a dense crowd of confused excitement, yearning to know why they were called here, yet like a child awaiting a rite of passage, they would experience an overwhelming excitement for whatever it was they were about to do, despite being completely unaware of their objective. Snippets of dialogue and questions would echo throughout the room until their leader, appearing in human form at first would rise to the podium. And during his speech, a blue flame would manifest, briefly illuminating the room around them, and in that luminescence their host would reveal his true form and their mission to eradicate all of humanity.
"If only we could detect the dealers as well, I could have stopped all this." Marissa said with a rueful sigh. She sobbed and swallowed hard, biting her lip. "I could have saved him."
"But...but I am him," he protested meekly, still unable to accept all she had told him. These memorires, these emotions were far too intense to be a mere illusion.
Marissa shook her head grimly and looked around the room, examining the destruction around her. The slight hesitation and distortion betraying her sorrow, yet her finger remaining poised at the trigger. "The real Matt Schuster would have never done anything like this."
Matt's mind drifted back to about a week ago, when his face was pressed tightly against Marissa's bosom as she held him in her arms, caressing the small of his back and offering what little comfort she could. His lips quivered as the tears poured from his eyes. "I-I think I hate them," Matt said reluctantly as his sobs greatly distorted his voice. "I know its wrong to hate anybody, and I feel like such a horrible person, but I can't help it."
"It's okay," Marissa said with a comforting smile as she stroked his hair and kissed him lightly over the cheek. "You're a good person, and I know your freshmen year is hard, but it will eventually pass and your sophomore year won't be nearly as bad, I promise."
"I know, but it seems so far away," he said, and as the tracks of tears glistened over his cheeks, his face flushed, haunted by the memories, the guilt and shame that plagued him, when he had been raped earlier that very day. He was utterly sickened just thinking about it, revolted by the thought of what had happened. He opened his mouth, ready to blurt out the whole incident, but he croaked and sobbed instead, squeezing his eyes shut as he whimpered: "I think I hate myself most of all."
The tears filled the boy's eyes now, for even if his memories and emotions were not his own (which still seemed unfathomable), they were still no less vivid or compelling. His heart ached and he sobbed as his hands closed around his gun and slid it slowly along the floor. He raised his head, blinking the tears from his eyes, as he saw a few tears fall from Marissa's eyes.
"I was appointed to stop your invasion," Marissa said, her voice now barely above a sobbing whisper. "They put an implant into my head so I could detect your presence, as were many other people in different areas of the world. Until we can determine the source of this invasion, all we can do is kill your kind as they emerge, delaying your invasion as long as possible until a better solution can be found." She paused and sighed dismally, shaking her head. "I didn't want to believe my brother had been taken, I couldn't believe that." She sighed, biting her lower lip. "I didn't think I could bring myself to kill my own brother." Her face darkened as she raised her gun, the muzzle pressing tightly, almost painfully against Matt's forehead, her finger no longer trembling, but firmly poised on the trigger. "But the more I thought of it, the more I thought about how you killed my brother and raped his memory." She sobbed as fresh tears filled her eyes.
No one expected 14-year-old Matthew Schuster Jr. to shoot two students and one teacher in his algebra class this morning before turning the gun on himself as well. Yet because the boy was a social outcast, the quiet and strange kid that no one liked, none of the students were surprised in retrospect that the shooting had taken place either. What is surprising is that not one of the nineteen surviving students can remember in detail exactly what happened. "I remember the sudden gunshots," an anonymous female student reported, "and we were all ordered to get on the floor or we would be shot. Next thing I remember, Matt was dead with a gunshot wound to the head. I don't know...it just doesn't make any sense."
Matt's older sister Marissa Schuster, age 19, has refused to comment.
When asked about where the boy might have come into possession of the firearms, his parents denied any knowledge. "We don't own any guns," Matt Schuster Sr. age 54, proclaimed. "We don't believe in them and we have no use for them. I have no idea how he could have gotten his hands on one." Investigations are on their way to determine how Matthew Schuster was able to acquire his firearms.
In the meantime, our prayers go out to all the victims of the Howard Walters High School as well as their families.
The end
June 04, 2007
July 26, 2007