Friday, May 24, 2013


This girl who works for, or is part of, an upcoming publication wrote me to ask if I'd submit to said publication. The thing was they only publish fiction. Despite the title of my blog, I mostly write (sort of) true/trve stories.

There was a deadline and I spent a lot of this past week trying to meet it. Because I'm slower at writing than people might think. But I remembered the girl telling me they would publish stuff that already existed on the Internet. Although I could give them temporary exclusivity for more money.

Anyway, I submitted and thought about the money. Then I thought about my piece. It might not make it in at all. I'm also really impatient when it comes to this shit. And my story is both anti-capitalist and anti-"anti-capitalist." The money shouldn't matter.

Especially because this is the most inauthentic story I've written in a while due to the fact that it's narrated by a lesbian high school student and I have no idea what it feels like to be that person. However, everything that takes place in this story is basically something I'd want to see in a porno. I don't know that it's possible to direct a porno like this unless I did it through Offbeatr or something. If you'd contribute to a crowd-funded XXX version of this, maybe you should say so in the comments section. Because that will make me more likely to do it.  

In the meantime, read the fucking thing.


“Bro, you like smoking crack with your girlfriend? How 'bout I curb-stomp your cock?”

The substance wasn't even rock-like. More leafy green. But it made for an interesting predicament. The boy could call out, “Liar!” and surely die. Or he could go along with the allegations and get his penis stomped to mush.

The boy kept his mouth shut, which I thought wise. Then we held him at knife point and took down his pants.

We used to do this with guns until Zeke pointed out how bourgeoisie it was. Considering most mass shootings were carried out by white, hetero males. And the fact that, socioeconomically, we had nothing in common with urban gangbangers.

Except that we were – in many ways – a gang.

It all started with our after-school LGBT club. Prior to the cause, it was just a room at the back of campus. A place for condoms, counseling, and homo-community.

Then Zeke arrived.

If he'd wore a jersey, Zeke would have been prom king every year of his life. But he hated prom and never played sports. Only lifted, ran, and fucked every boy he could. Which wasn't hard. Throughout Woodlake High's history, there'd never been a more highly prized cock.

Even the girl-on-girl girls – which I belonged to – passed rumors of his homemade porn. Gay, male erotica was the perfect way to externalize our sex without getting grossed out by bros. Besides, we wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Anyway, Zeke laid out the cause in a pretty clear way. “If you want to change the world, don't be like your parents. They're the ones that fucked it up.” He told us how heterosexuality fueled capitalism. “Without new consumers, there is no one to exploit. It's simple. Don't breed more consumers.” It made sense. And we weren't old enough to find it derivative.

The difference between Zeke and past high school revolutionaries was his stance on drugs. “The problem with putting shit in your body is not that it will kill you. If you want to do the world that kind of favor, more power to you. I'm talking about laziness and stupidity. In terms of being a less productive worker, I understand the appeal. But look at your parents. They thought it was rebellious and 'counter-culture' to get fucked up. Then they grew old and had you. Because of the economic crisis, many of them still sell drugs. They profit off a plant that belongs to the earth. Or they send money to other countries, which fuels cartels and genocide.”

“I thought death was a good thing,” said a twink from the crowd.

Zeke answered, “Only for the elite and the consumer. You and I are consumers. But we are selfish and don't want to die. So hopefully we use our lives to change the world for the better. When I talk of genocide, I refer to the third world. In the third world, there are no consumers. Only the elite and victims.”

If one got to know Zeke better, he confessed that the lazy and stupid part had more to do with being a terrible lay. He preferred an army of fit, sober bottoms.

But there was legitimacy to his straightXedge creed. “Drugs lead to spirituality. Spirituality leads to religion. There's nothing more heteronormative than that. Pharmacological hallucinations often suggest a purpose to life. Consequently, a desire forms to propagate.”

Of course, there were additions to his manifesto. But that was the gist. At school, he recruited. At nights, we took to the street.

The kid who got his cock stomped wasn't the first. It's why he let it happen without protest. Others ended up in the hospital for more than penile reconstruction surgery. They'd be caught at shows or parties, doping up their partners in hopes of catching that “pussy prize.”

In the beginning, I understood the excuse to put up a fight. No one outside our circle had heard of Zeke. But when half the football team had their balls turned to dust, I didn't get the continued machismo. I guess boys had to prove their strength. We had to keep showing them it wasn't enough.

When it came to the girls, though, we had a problem. The female breeders were just as complicit in risking a pregnancy. Feminism taught us to treat them equally. But misogyny was old-world stuff. Some of that shit our parents dished out.

Zeke admitted he let the girls off easy. He couldn't figure a way around it. “I'm a proud fairy, but still a man,” he'd say. “It's out of place to enact violence on the historically oppressed.”

Some of the lesbians asked if they could fuck up the straight girls. Zeke thought for a while and answered, “You shouldn't have to ask me.” Then, “I'd rather not know about it.”

It sucked for us girls because we didn't have Zeke's support in the case of repercussions. Ultimately, that was what kept the whole gang from going to jail. People were scared of him. But a bunch of angry dykes acting on our own? We were few in number and not so much a threat.

I liked being part of something larger than myself. In some ways, I bought into the cause. Though the longer it went on, the more it felt unfair.

Zeke liked fucking boys. So boys got all the attention. At the after-school meetings, his favorite piece of ass (for the week) spoke first about whatever issue he felt important. Then it was some other cocksucker. Eventually it would be the girls' turn and the trans community would stand up first. Young ones in high school with their dicks still attached. Without any rank to speak of, I still felt at the bottom.

So senior year, I got an idea. Closer to graduation, I decided to make it happen.

The day I caught Natalie under the bleachers was the first time it seemed possible. There were no bottles and no smell of smoke. But she was writhing around on the floor and laughing. The slipperiest dealer on campus laid beside her. We all knew he sold pills but never found the proof to beat his ass.

I approached and the dealer almost freaked. Natalie told him not to worry. “It's just Dylan. She's cool.”

“You're rolling,” I said to her.

She freaked briefly. “What? How do you know?”

“For one, you just confirmed it.”

“So what? Zeke won't touch me. I have a vagina.”

“But he'll cut you off. And if I tell the girls, we might just cut you.”

She thought about it. “Cut me off from what?”

I was stumped. “Don't know. Solidarity, maybe... Listen, I don't want to tell Zeke.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Your help,” I told her. “The gang's out of control and I want to put a wrench in things before I leave this place for good.”

Natalie laughed. Nodded like she understood. “You want some molly first?”

“Fuck no. You're embarrassing.”

To that, she took my hand and rubbed her face inside it.

Natalie invited me over after school. Said her pad was the safest place to talk.

I arrived to find her friend, Stokely, on the couch. The girl had something pressed to her lips. She lit the thing on fire and inhaled.

“Jesus, you get high too?”

“There's more than one way to change the world,” said Stokely. “Besides, I like my parents. They give me drugs.”

“Zeke's right about the spiritual part, you know,” said Natalie. “When I take acid, I can see your aura. I've looked at the sky and found mandalas in the clouds. Patterns exist in all living things. That knowledge gives purpose to life. My purpose is to love.”

“We haven't turned into breeders,” said Stokely. “I mean, we've discussed having kids. Nat and I want to adopt.”

“This is blowing my mind,” I said. “Why do you keep coming to meetings?”

“Because we love you guys and want to stay friends.”

“Plus, we like Zeke's politics. Like, in general. We're starting a gift economy at school,” added Natalie.

“There's an economy at school?”

“With drugs, yeah. You used to have to pay for it. That kid who gave me molly... He actually just gave it to me. I gave him something too. Let him put his hands down my pants. Acted like I was getting off so he felt better.”

My jaw dropped and I could hardly speak. “How... can you justify that?”

“The cisgender finger fuck?”

“It's the lowest form of...!”

Stokely trampled my words in defense of her friend. “Not the lowest. Fingers don't ejaculate.”

“But you're queer!” I insisted. “Aren't you?”

Natalie attempted to school me. “Even Zeke says not to put down sex workers.”

“Yeah, WORKERS! You said it was a gift.”

“Well, I guess the whole thing was more like a barter system.”

Since a wave of gay-straight alliance groups were popping up across the country, Zeke thought it a good idea to let heteros in on the cause. As long as they swore an oath not to breed.

“I understand if you're straight,” he told the converts. “You can't help it. But that doesn't mean you can just bust inside a girl or let a boy fill you up. There's an order to our sexual conduct. Dick-in-pussy intercourse is at the bottom. Punishable by death. Same goes for any act that might result in the birth of a new consumer.”

There was a story about two straight guys who went to him for a pass. They wanted to fuck the same girl together. Zeke recommended they jerk each other off first, or at least make out.

“Okay, whatever,” said the first one. “But can we try a DP?”

“Both of you will be in her ass,” said Zeke.

“That's the only way?” asked the second.

“Otherwise we'll kill you.”

“What if she's not into it?” asked the first.

“Not my problem.”

They agreed to try it out and rumor had it the girl was even down. But Zeke was cautious and sent a spy.

The day after, one of boys went missing and the other came to school in a cast. We didn't exactly know who the girl was, but one of the only straight chicks who came to meetings suddenly stopped. I heard she tried to kill herself after Zeke's de facto hitmen botched her abortion. 

Zeke alluded to the severity of breeder transgressions – even when considered mistakes. “When one plays with fire, he not only risks heat, but immolation. It's a quick slip from one hole to the other. Inebriation is the lubricant of the damned.”

“Feminism reminded us that we're equals. We should make our own decisions,” said Stokely.

“Even if they're stupid decisions?” I asked.

“Even if.”

“We like his politics but not Zeke himself,” said Natalie. “If we let a man tell us what to do, nothing's changed. Patriarchy is patriarchy. Even if 'the man' is a fag.”

My contribution was, “I agree completely. But what should we do?”

“I thought that's why you came here: to pitch your idea,” said Natalie.

“Yeah, but my idea was just to do something.” For the sake of honesty, I added, “I guess I'd like to destroy Zeke.”

Natalie and Stokely looked to each other. “Our love forbids his murder.”

“That's not what I meant,” I said.

“I suppose we'll subscribe to the idea of a certain kind of 'tough love,'” mused Stokely.

To keep up appearances, we attended Zeke's next party. It was mostly thrown together for boys to hook up. Like usual, Zeke put on a show in the living room.

Two teenage Adonises knelt and Zeke opened their mouths. He took turns fucking them. Then turned the boys over to stretch out their asses.

When he was done, Zeke approached us naked and smiling. He said, “You can use my parents' room,” like he was doing us a favor.

“No thanks, we're just talking,” I told him.

It was actually difficult to do this (i.e. sit around) without getting bored. We'd learned from raids on other high school parties that they were supposed to be a place to learn one's limits. Vomiting was tolerable. So was sex that might not be remembered. It meant you could be loud and obnoxious, and blame it on something else. With our responsibility intact, the whole premise felt constricting.

“Look at how awkward everyone is,” said Natalie. “Even the boys getting fucked look self-conscious.”

“This would be so much better if I was stoned,” added Stokely. When I gave her the evil eye, she lowered her voice and said, “I know. Sorry.”

We weren't there to have fun. Our purpose was reconnaissance. And to “think tank” ideas.

Once Zeke was out of sight, I said, “I don't want to be hypocritical. But I feel like the best course of action is to turn Zeke into a breeder.”

“How is that hypocritical?” asked Stokely.

“I'm fundamentally against breeding,” I answered. “It's just that Zeke is already a hypocrite. We just have to get it out in the open.”

“You're not going to convince him to have sex with a girl,” said Natalie.

“But maybe I could force him.”

“You mean, like, rape?”

“Think about it,” I said. “Female-on-male rape is kind of subversive. It rejects the heteronormative assertion of male dominance. So in a way, it's actually queer.”

“Say we 'accept' that argument,” said Stokely. “Who do you propose to rape him?”

“I don't know. Me?”

A silence fell over them. I could sense they were trying to read me.

Natalie spoke up, finally. “You'd put a dick inside you?”

“Don't make me feel bad about it,” I said. “If it's for the future of the cause, I'd be like a martyr. Right?”

I approached Zeke myself and told him the lie. “Us girls feel uncomfortable with all the boys around. We'd like to request the use of your home when your parents are gone. But not at a party.”

He smiled and said, “I wish I'd known before. Sisters, I'd be honored to help. Give me a few days and I'll get back to you with a date.”

“You'll be there, right?”

“You want me to watch?” he asked.

“We just feel... safe...” I cringed inside. “... when you're nearby.”

Zeke furrowed his brow. “I live there. So sure. It's not a problem.”

Both Natalie and Stokely agreed to my plan, but made a few stipulations of their own. We would use coercion, not violence. If assault became necessary, they'd act only as bystanders.

The date came around and we arrived on schedule. Zeke was there to open the door.

“Come in,” he said. Zeke glanced at the video camera Stokely held in her hand. “Kinky.”

“You're going to be the star of our little movie,” she told him.

He snickered as if it was a joke he thought unfunny.

Once we were inside, Natalie said, “She's serious.”

“We're going to tie you up and I'm going to fuck you,” I said to make it clear.

“Excuse me?” He looked around to no signs of jest.

“Well, where do you want it to happen?” asked Stokely.

“I don't know what's going on here,” said Zeke. “But I think you'd better leave.”

“On what authority?” asked Natalie.

“Mine. This is my house.”

“I sincerely doubt that. Either your parents' names are on the deed or it belongs to the bank,” said Natalie. “But that doesn't really matter. You taught us not to respect property rights. We belong here just as much as you do.”

“'A system designed to protect private property over the rights of individuals is inherently evil,'” I told him. “Those were your words, right?”

“Well, not originally,” he stammered.

“Even so, I think we'll stay.”

“And if I refuse to be tied up?” he asked.

“Dylan will try to rape you on her own,” said Natalie. “I won't interfere. But I'll be here as a witness if you attempt to fight her.”

“Consider the oppressive nature of your violence as a white, privileged male. We are akin to the sexual proletariat. Your rape will be a revolution,” Stokely said from behind the camera.

“But I'm gay,” cried Zeke.

“So don't be an asshole,” I told him. “We can do it on your bed.”

“I can talk my way out of this,” said Zeke as I tied his wrist to the bed frame. “You're just making yourselves look bad.”

“Is there a hierarchy to the cause?” I asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “Junkies and breeders are at the bottom. But you already knew that.”

“And for those of us who are neither?” I slipped into my harness while waiting for Zeke's reply.

“What do you want me to say? If you're upset by the way I run things, you could have just talked to me.”

“That's the problem,” said Natalie. “You run things.”

“Cooperatively!” he bit back.

I strapped on the biggest dildo from my collection and spit in his hole. “It was a cooperative decision to send a couple of sophomores to perform an abortion?”

“The cause prohibits the birth of new consumers,” he said without flinching. Even as I slipped the rubber cock up inside him.

“What the fuck!?!”

“It's not my first time,” laughed Zeke.

“That's interesting. You act like a top in public. We've been to all your parties. You've never once bent over to take it. Wonder why that is.”

“You want the truth?” he asked. “I'm guilty of wanting to look butch. Big deal. I love cock. I love it in my mouth and ass.”

“In some cultures, active anal sex isn't considered gay,” Stokely pointed out. “It's only receiving that makes it so.”

“It's like, symbolically, you want us to consider you a straight man,” said Natalie.

“What?” Zeke rolled his eyes.

“This is stupid,” I said. “He's not getting raped. We have to do something else.”

“In that case, I need a smoke break,” said Stokely.

Zeke started to protest so we put a gag in his mouth.

“Is restricting speech considered 'violence?'” asked Natalie.

“Uh...” Stokely said, then packed her bowl.

“Do you want a hit?” the girls asked me.

“I haven't smoked since middle school,” I admitted.

“How'd you like it?”

“It made me feel good. And after, depressed.”

“I find it allows for a different train of thought,” said Natalie. “When you're stuck on a certain way of thinking... like now... it helps to come at things from a new perspective. If you want a huge paradigm shift, I have some stuff that will really flip your mind.”

“Guess it wouldn't hurt to try some,” I said. “Just the weed.” They passed and I inhaled. One puff made me cough like I had the flu.

“You know what would be awesome?” said Stokely. “We should get Zeke stoned before you fuck him.”

Natalie started laughing and approached the naked boy. “Turn on the camera.”

Stokely opened the viewfinder and pressed record. Zeke's face was inundated with smoke. It was the first time he looked to be struggling. Even I got in a laugh.

“Let's do this for a while,” said Natalie.

Slowly, we hot-boxed the room.

“I think Zeke's problem is a lack of spirituality. If he comes inside you, Dylan, he's going to experience the creation of life. That's got to be powerful. Think of the energy released at a moment like that. All those little sperms flying towards your womb.” Stokely kept on talking.

All I could say was, “Whoa,” and maintain my place on the floor.

“I mean, what have we been doing? Capitalism sucks. But people, man... People are important. You can't just kill them because they might buy shit. I want to buy shit. Right now I want to buy a pizza.” Stokely turned to Zeke. “We need some money for pizza.”

Natalie took the gag from his mouth. He didn't scream. Just said, “In that drawer,” and, “I want some too.” The speech was slow. I'd never heard him talk like that.

“You're a doll for paying, Zeke,” said Stokely. “But I have a question. Do you think you're angry at the world?”

“Wait,” said Natalie. “I need the camera before he answers.” She fumbled with the thing and held it to his face. “Oh my god,” she said to him. And with such tenderness. “You're crying.”

“I can't move,” I said aloud. Because it was almost true. “Describe it for me.”

“Let it go, baby.” Natalie held the boy's face and coaxed the water from his eyes.

Zeke said some things about his father and then asked for a hug. Later, he claimed that no one truly knew him. “I think out of anyone I've ever met, you three have peered most deeply into my soul.” The crying started up again. “I just realized I have a soul.”

Eventually the pizza came and we took turns feeding the boy. Everyone shed their clothes in an act of solidarity. But we couldn't untie Zeke. Not yet.

“Are we going through with it?” I asked.

“I think it would be best. For Zeke. For us. To give up our orientations and our selves. All to a higher power.” Natalie looked to the ceiling as if a portal had opened to another plane of existence.

“Okay,” I said and untied Zeke's left hand. The girls helped me reposition him and secure his hand once more.

He laid on his back, ready to mount. Except for one problem. Zeke's penis sat there, deflated and off to one side.

“I don't know what to do with it,” I muttered.

“It's like a magic lamp,” said Stokely. “You hold the thing and rub it.”

Zeke closed his eyes and whispered, “This is an abomination.”

Natalie shushed him and moved on to the bed. She rubbed his chest and began to chant, “Om.” Stokely joined in to make it louder.

Because the act had turned to ritual, I felt less weird in general. It was still gross to feel his cock grow in my palm. “Here it goes,” I said to no one in particular. The penis slid between my labia, and Zeke and I both grimaced.

“Ewww,” he said from below me.

“Shut up,” I commanded back.

His body did nothing. So I made all the motions. I guess it was nice to have something warm inside me. However, nothing else about it seemed appealing. “For the cause,” I repeated in my head. I'd forgotten what it actually meant.

Stokely took a break from her chants to let us know the camera was running out of battery. “We don't have much time. Someone needs to help.”

Natalie sped up her vocal rhythm and grasped Zeke's penis at the base. She began to stroke it inside me. Faster and faster. Eventually it burst.

I rolled off, slightly disgusted. But I felt the energy. Everyone in the room exhaled.

“The act is done,” said Natalie. “You've been raped with love.”

It was hard to tell if what she said was true. I couldn't think straight. Only one thing felt certain. I was falling asleep.

I awoke to the sound of a door somewhere within the house. It opened, closed, and gave way to a man's voice. “Zeke?” it said aloud.

My head felt fuzzy and I wanted nothing more than to drift back to sleep. But suddenly, the man was in the room and staring down at us.

“Zeke,” he said once more. The guy looked like a father. Old and kind of yuppie-like.

“Dad,” said the boy, still tied to his bed. “Ugh... This isn't what it looks like.”

“It looks fucking weird,” said the father. “But... I never thought I'd get to say this. I'm proud of you. I always thought you were a faggot.”

“What?” Zeke sounded confused. The rest of us remained silent.

“Listen,” said the father. “I'm going back outside. I'll take your mother out to breakfast. You get cleaned up and make sure these girls are gone by the time we get back.” He looked at us. “Got that, ladies?”

Everyone nodded and the father left the room.

I spent the weekend by myself and skipped the the first two weeks back at school. There was no way to talk about what happened. So I tried to just forget.

Eventually the girls got in touch with me and we watched the tape sober. I felt so stupid that I called Zeke and apologized. He agreed to meet up so that we could burn the evidence together.

“You know, you helped save my relationship with my father. I mean, it's based on a lie. But at least he talks to me.”

“I guess I'm glad to help.” Because I didn't know what else to say.

“I'm going to follow in his footsteps,” said Zeke, “and study economics.”

“You sound confused,” I told him.

“Well, what about you? What's your plan once you graduate?”

“I'm going to college too. Studying some kind of science. People say that's the only way to make money these days. Something to do with science.”

“Is that what we've become?” asked Zeke. “Interested in money?”

“It's how the world works. We can pretend it doesn't, but...”

“Yeah, I know. We fought a bit to change it, though, didn't we?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Listen, it's hard to bring this up but I don't know when I'll see you again. I, um, need to get an abortion.”

“Oh.” Zeke looked at the ground. “I'll be getting some graduation money. I can pay for it.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “I guess you're not really a father in my eyes.”

“And you're not a breeder.”

“No,” I admitted. “I'm not.” We passed some time not talking and I broke the silence. “I like most of the things you had to say these past few years. The problem was that you're kind of stuck up. And an asshole.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Fair.”

“I'm sorry for raping you,” I told him.

Zeke laughed. “You're not so bad. Guess I'll see you at the abortion clinic.” And he walked away forever.


  1. I love it. Would you play as Zeke?

  2. This was actually super good. I was ready to quit mid through but I'm glad I didn't, thought it was funny you adding the father walking in to the plot.
    Very good Danny

  3. Oh my god!

    So loooooong. But I WILL finish it!

  4. wow, didn't know you can write. cis/trans, the chemistry i learnt came to mind

    back to the story: the time frame for the last bit didn't make much of a sense

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