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> those who didn’t accept you
We’d known each other since kindergarten. Lived across the street from each other. But the summer we started to grow hair “down there” I had was curious about anything having to do with sex. Too scared to admit that I wanted to try it, I set up a game of high-stakes black jack, BJ for BJ’s, where the loser sucked off the winner. Of course I through away every good card I had and in no time at all I owed him more than 20 blow jobs.
But he never asked for payment. Finally, one night I said I should get started working off my debt and we went to the basement where I knelt in front of him. He unzipped his jeans and flopped his cock out ober the tops of his underwear.
I couldn’t get him hard. He couldn’t tell because I was kneeling, but I was as hard as I’d ever been. Finally he pulled out, apologized, and said he’d jerked off that afternoon. I felt like a total loser. Not even a good cocksucker. We never spoke of the remaining debt. A couple of months later we were having a spat about something stupid just as classes were ending, and I said something like “Well at least I don’t …” And he cut me off in mid sentence. Anger and a look of finality on his face, and in a loud “outdoor” voice, in a room full of our classmates, people I’d known for 10+ years he said:
Yeah? Well at least I don’t go around letting strange men put their dirty cocks in my mouth.I felt the blood drain from my face. Everyone had stopped moving and was staring at us. He turned his head and walked away. Didn’t speak to me again for about 5 years.
*** I figured out that he spoke ABOUT me to some other guys. Told them some secrets and some things I’d said.
— Most of what I write is based on things that actually happened.
— As far as I can tell, these things actually happened. And they’re still happening.— Someone gets into my Laptop (how?) and takes a copy of almost everything, from my own emails (really graphic) to tumblrs like “Toilet for Alpha Men”. At least there was no actual scat.
— thank goodness I’ve never been into being photographed or filmed.— A years worth of (fake) email is created to simulate a years passage of time. Text macros are developed that encrypt some
of them. The person who writes the ones from “me” thinks it would be a hoot to write about me giving blow jobs to students at work. Some of these fake email (which look as real as the real thing) end up in my Inbox.— There seem to be voices saying some strange things in the apartment at night. THe TV was off, so was the strereo, and DVD player. Nothing playing on the computer as far as I can tell.
Did not know about the apps.— Everyone at work finds out what was in the downloads. Some of them have read them. The titles are all catalogued.
— At times my email is interfered with. My phone number or apartment number is either changed or blacked out
By now, I’m frantic. Someone out there IRL knows about my submissive side, knows how wild and raunchy I like my sex, and knows most of the details of every sexual act I’ve had in the last several years. In fact there are quite a few that know. From the people that collated and printed off the stories, to the operators that backed up and restored my laptop. Some of these people are at work. Some are involved in a new project.
Some are doing it because they think it’s fun. These ones seem to want to destroy an old faggot. I guess they don’t think I should be out there anymore. It started with the public exposure of how I’d cruise craigslist looking for cocks to suck. IIRC he simply wrote about that in the fake emails. I wonder if I could get him in trouble for not attributing his sources, if nothing else. In time, this exposure forces me to acknowledge in front of my boss that it’s true that I put adverts on CL. That’s why those fake emails were so upsetting.
Data encryption macros are developed that turn text into cross-hatches that cannot be read by humans. These fuckers could have all of the things they wrote about me hidden in plain sight. They could leave them like that for years and years.
Any new thing I do at work that I’m proud of, that I think is a particularly helpful development is lampooned, its weaknesses exposed and emphasized, for the amusement of his friends, who happen to be my co-workers, most of them my subordinates.
Finally I realize that the attempts to counteract these things through conventional means just makes things worse. I remember complaining about a skit he wrote that featured pictures of my family and a sub-plot involving a submissive foot worshipping, scat eating scholar. In my memory (this might have been a nightmare) they showed up at my apartment and went over the performance. But Alan decided what was written wasn’t really that bad. “The only thing that might have made that worse is if I’d involved to police and Fastrunner had just started to spew down my throat when we heard the door.
So I counter-attack from a different flank, and Larry-the-Fairy is created.
— yes, this is true as far as I can determine\
