To Be Unbound

I'm sitting in this old diner waiting for my friend, Michael. He works for the city and I wanted to quiz him as to when the city plans on finishing my alley way. It's been near three weeks since they started it.

There he is.

I see Michael walking towards me as he throws his gangly arm to wave. He's a somewhat attractive guy. He has a chiseled face, blue eyes and is quite tall, but so painfully thin. Michael is married and completely heterosexual, however, there have been times I've wondered what the tall, thin, white county controller had between his legs. I figured he was either packing a whopper or had a small micro-penis. I don't know why, but that is how my twisted mind works.

Michael sits down and we exchange some pleasantries. Our waiter approaches. We know what we want and so, we place our order. Once the waiter leaves, I ask Michael about the alley.

"So, are you guys going to finish the alley?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replies with a smile, "Probably in two weeks. I can check if you like."

"Oh cool," I say, "I just wanted to make sure it was going to get down soon."

Then Michael asks about the burglary.

"What night did that happen, again?"

"Oddly enough," I reply, "The same night the city paved the alley."

"You know," Michael leans in, "The city contracts companies to do the work… It's not actually us."

"Ok," I question, "So what does that have to do with the burglary."

"The companies we employ have some very sketchy types working for them," he explains, "There have been complaints of theft and burglaries in the past when neighborhoods have been paved."

"Really?"

I started to think, "They are coming back to finish the paving, which means the burglar could possibly be back, which means they may try it again." I had better keep these thoughts to myself.

Yes… I have a plan.

"Michael, if you wouldn't mind, could you text me the date and time when they are scheduled to finish the road?"

"Sure."

"I'd just like to inform my neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins," I laugh, "She's the one who badgers people until they have answers."

About an hour has passed and Michael says he has to get back to work. We shake hands and he leaves. I stay to finish my coffee and to think about the information I had been given… And the information yet to come. I pull out my iphone and open up the notes app. I then begin to make a list.

After a good 45 minutes passes, I have a thought out plan and a comprehensive list of what I will require to pull this off. I push the coffee cup to the center of the table and stand up. As I reach for my phone, I hear the text tone go off.

"Hey man. If you need a loan for rent, let me know. Also, they are finishing the alley next Monday at 2:30AM."

I reply back with one word, "Thanks."

I look at the clock. It reads, "1:48AM." I stand at my bedroom window on the second floor, staring at the alley way below, as I wait for the contractors to arrive. I'm nervous and my heart is racing. The adrenal rush is so intense that I notice I am getting a semi-erection. My thoughts start to wonder off to more sensual notions.

Stop.

I have to stay focused.

2:17AM

I can hear the trucks off in the distance as they slowly creep out from the dark. Headlights shine against the warehouse walls directly across from me. I reach down to the floor and pick up the aluminum baseball bat I had purchased the day before.

It is time.

I move down the stairs with stealth and speed. I sneak up to the front door and peer through the eye-hole. Then, I look to my front window… It is opened about 5 inches and my wallet is in plain site on the coffee table. I turn my head and look back to the eye-hole. They are still working.

An hour and a half passes and the contractors have gone. I sit in the eerie quiet and wait impatiently. I start to think that maybe this plan of mine was all in vain. I mean, if my burglar was one of the contractors would he or she be stupid enough to try and rob my house a second time? Another 20 minutes pass and I find I am a bit drowsy. I decide I will give it another 15 minutes and then I'm shutting the window and locking it. Then I am going to go to-

WAIT!

I hear a noise. Then the sound of a knife ripping through the screen I had just replaced, cut through the silence. My heart begins to pound in my ribcage. I feel a lump rise to my throat and I try to swallow quietly. I begin to replay the plan in my head, but am interrupted by the sound of the window raising.

Oh shit! This is really happening.

My eyes are completely focused on the window as I inch my way up the door till I'm standing on my feet. I raise the baseball bat and feel my breaths shortening. The adrenal is coursing much more intently than earlier and I take my left hand and rub my palm against my crotch. No semi here! I think it's becoming an "innie" instead of an "outtie".

Suddenly, I see two hands reach in from the window and then take a hold of the ceramic pot with the tall cactus in it. The burglar removes the pot from the window sill and places it on the bench outside. I wonder if this fucker is going to steal my plants too.

There is quiet for a moment and then I see the two hands reappear as they reach in to grip the window sill. I tighten my grip on the bat and feel my entire body quaking with fear. I remind myself of the plan once again.

Once the burglar is halfway in, whack him in the back with the bat.

I straighten up and press my back against the front door. The bat is raised and I am ready to strike at any moment. Then I see the head of the intruder pop in through the window. He looks about the room never noticing me standing there, not more than three feet away. He pulls himself into my house. As his hands hit the floor and his small, wiry frame slips halfway in, I drop the bat with great might, striking his right, back side. The intruders cries out in pain as his body falls in to my living room. He rolls onto his back and for the first time, I get a good look at him.

Yes, him.

I'm not going to lie. When I first really studied his face, it was illuminated by the street light shining in from the window and I was rather surprised at how attractive he was. His sandy blond hair was short like a crew-cut and he had thick light brown eye brows which were furled in pain. I could see a glimmer of green peering out from between the slits of his squinted eyes. Sparse, thin blond and brown hairs framed his gaped mouth and I noticed he was missing a front tooth. His smooth, pale-white skin showed a small pimple near the side of his left nostril and I knew the young man couldn't have been much older the 21 or 22.

"You fucking faggot," the burglar grunts, "I'm going to kick your faggot ass!"

Oh shit.

He just might.

I think I better hit him again.

I raise my bat and then let it strike the young man in the stomach. Then I realize that I did not even use much force. Don't get me wrong, it knocked the wind right out of him, but why did I go so easy on him? Then this little shit opens his mouth again.

"Fucking queer mother-fucker! I'm going to fuck you up, now."

Then this idiot starts to get up. I take the baseball bat and poke him in the chest with all my might, knocking him backwards. His back hits the ground and I raise the bat in the air and say,

"How'd you like me to knock the rest of your teeth out of your fucking head?"

For a brief moment, his face drops. I can see I struck a nerve as he adverts his eyes to the floor. In that spilt second, I almost feel bad. Then he looks up to me and says,

"That's okay, faggot. Because then I'm a make you suck that bat like a cock until you choke to death on it."

How does this guy know I am even gay? Is my house that well decorated? Did my collection of John Waters' films and art documentaries, the ones he stole, give it away? Nope. It was probably the gay porn he found on the flash drive that was fixed to the back of my flat screen. Either way, he was not just a burglar, but a homophobic asshole too.

Hmm? Now I am pissed off.

WHACK!

I hit him in the stomach with again. This time, I really let him have it and he grabs his gut and begins to start to gasp for air. I see drool running out the corner of his mouth and getting caught in the corner of his moustache.

"You want to call me a faggot, huh?"

I look to the chair beside me and grab the duct tape that I left there earlier… Just in case. I hold onto it and realize that my hands are shaking uncontrollably. I raise the bat again and gently hit the young man in the stomach a third time. Again, he gasps for breath, but this time, I fear he may lose consciousness.

I drop the bat and kneel next to the intruder. I roll him over so he is face down. I grab his arms with haste and force them above his head. Then I take the duct tap and rip off a two foot piece. I weave the tape between his head and his biceps, locking his arms behind his head. I pull about three feet more of tape from the roll and wrap it about his upper arms binding them tightly together. Next I duct tape his wrists together. I stand up and admire my handiwork.

As the burglar starts to gain his breath back, he begins to writhe about trying to break free from the duct tape. He starts mumbling off homosexual slurs and bizarre threats. I think to myself, he was much more attractive when he didn't talk so much. Yup! I grab the tape again and tear off a eight inch piece and slap it on his mouth.

Ahhhh. Much better.

The young man rolls himself onto his back. His eyes are wide and fear is washing over his face. I can't help but be surprised at my reaction to his vulnerability. Yes, my dick is getting harder and harder by the second. I scan the young man's form with my eyes. He can't be much taller than 5'6". His faded black t-shirt is bunched up around his ribcage and I see the red welts from the baseball bat on his lean, flat abdomen. My stare gets locked on the line of brown, curly hairs which widens as it disappears into the waistband of his tattered jeans. My gaze is interrupted by the young man as he wiggles about and grunts at me. I'm sure he is just calling me a faggot again.

I see his eyes are fixed on my crotch and I look down. There it is. The outline of my hard cock. Wow. I can really see it too and obviously, so can the young man. I look to the burglar's face and I smile. His brows furl again only this time with confusion. I reach down and roll him onto his stomach. He fights back by thrashing about and more grunting. After a few moments, I grab the bat.

"You either roll over or I am going to bash your head in," I scold, "You hear me?"

I kneel beside him down again. He stiffens up and makes it difficult to roll him over. I take the baseball bat and poke him in the stomach with it and the force of his breath loosened the duct tape from his mouth.

"Don't you fuck me, faggot," he breathes out.

"Oh, you could be so lucky."

"When I get loose," he adds, "I'm going to take that bat and shove it up your faggot ass."

"You never know… I might like."

Then I reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet. I open it up and retrieve the three one-dollar bills and coupon for a pack of cigarettes from inside it. I throw them at his face. Then I look at his driver's license.

Erik Dunn

I look at the birth year and start to do the math. It appears Erik is just nineteen years old. I throw the ID at him.

"Shit," I say, "You're just a baby."

"A baby," he replies, "I'm a man, faggot!"

"Really? Seems to me you are just a corn-fed, inbred, white-trash baby boy…" and then I go for the juggler, "Who is still waiting for all his teeth to come in."

"Faggot, you don't know who you are messing with," Erik snarls.

"You know, there many more modern slurs you could use… Like bone stripper, fruit-loop fairy, butt pirate, pole smoker, etc… Maybe hop into the 21st century and try out a new word before you wear that one out."

"I'll wear you out," he threatens, "I know this big, black, retarded nigger with a big black retarded dick that would love to rape your rich, bitch faggot ass."

Suddenly, I am reminded of an unfortunate event that took place about two weeks prior. A young gay man was attacked by three men and one of them, a large black man, raped him. The other two assailants were white and the victim said one was very short and the other tall and slender. I decide to confront him.

"So you are one of the guys who beat up that gay kid a couple weeks ago and you had your mentally handicapped friend rape him?"

"He's not my friend, faggot," Erik insists, "He's some homeless retard."

A pause.

"Heard your fellow faggot needed 20 stitches when the dumb nigger pushed his big, black-"

I interrupt Erik by backhanding him across the face.

"You use the term nigger, retard or faggot again and- So help me god- I swear, I will beat you like you have never been beaten before."

"What? You going to beat me off," the burglar chides.

I grab the duct tape and pull back a strip and grab Erik's legs and bind them together at the ankles. I unwrap more tape and continue binding him up to his knees. Then I pull back one last strip and wrap it across his mouth and around his head. He won't be talking anymore, but I will.

"So you like to beat, rob and rape gay men, huh?"

"And you're worried I was going to beat you off, rather than beat your ass, right?"

I stop for a moment.

Beating him to a bloody pulp would be normal for him. Something expected. Maybe this asshole needs a different approach