Some fags carry the seeds of their own self-destruction within themselves. It is up to a real man to identify those fags, to water and fertilize those seeds and to let that destructive force within them blossom. Like my freshman fag roommate Goeff. The fag was so fucking in love with me that he would endure the most outrageous abuse and humiliation in the expectation that it would please me. I learned that the way to ensure this self-destruction is to constantly raise the threshold of what pleases me until it reaches the level of absolute debasement of the fag, Then just sit back and enjoy the self-destruction of another fag,
I ran into another such fag the summer between my Junior and Senior year at college. I had taken a job as a lifeguard at the pool at a local country club. Really brainless work, but with fringe benefits – scores of beautiful, rich girls, with lots of time on their hands and lots of daddy’s money. A few weeks into the job, I noticed a middle-aged guy also spending a lot of daytime hours at the pool when he should have been off to work someplace. After a few days, he came over to the lifeguard stand and tried to strike up a conversation. I chatted with him while keeping my eyes on the pool and the good looking chicks playing around in the water. But i sensed where this dude was going and happily led him on.
He invited me out to dinner that night and I accepted. He picked me up at the house where I had rented a room in his Corvette and before the evening was over I was driving the Corvette (a beast of a car, overpowered and without the subtlety of my Porsche, but the fag didn’t need to know that I had my own Porsche) and the fag was sucking my dick while I tooled around country back-roads. “This is a cool car,” I said. He offered to let me use it for the summer, I accepted. Two days later i moved into the fag’s house. I quickly took over the fag’s life, telling it what to wear, having it pay for elaborate parties i would throw, inviting college guys over specifically to fuck the fag. The fag never complained and always was anxious to please me. My demands became more and more outrageous. I made the fag come to the country club pool while I was working just so he could blow me in the Men’s Room. Often, the fag would leave the Men’s Room with cum all over his face and return that way to his lounge chair until the next time I needed him. I wouldn’t let him wipe it off. My friends from school would come by the pool and summon the fag to the Men’s Room to blow them. The fag always would leave the Men’s Room and stare up at me in the lifeguard chair. I would nod my approval. The fag would smile, his face full of cum.
Then, toward the end of July, I completely reversed course. I wasn’t fucking the fag. He still serviced a dozen or so of my college buddies and teammates, but he got none of my dick. I was boffing an endless stream of co-eds and their mothers. Most were country-club members and friends of my fag. I would fuck these bitches in his house, in his bed, on the sofa in his living room, on the deck behind his house, is his pool. And every time when I was done fucking the girl, I would call the fag over to clean my cock. And he would do so in front of the girl or woman who was part of his country-club social class. Since I was not fucking him any longer, he was grateful to get any part of my cock under any circumstances – even this most humiliating of all possble circumstances. And pretty soon, I noticed that when the fag was at the country club pool, no one would use a lounge chair within 30 feet of where he was sitting. By the end of the summer when I went back to school, no one would talk to my fag. He moved somewhere – I don’t know where. But he gave me that Corvette (which I sold to pay for my books and part of my tuition). Never saw the fag again.
