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Maverick
Part one, in the dorm parking lot leaving his old life behind
Mav was going to college; this was the greatest achievement of the young jock's life. His mom had named him Maverick hoping that he would grow up to be an unorthodox player in the world, instead he, because of his dad's strict controlling influence he had grown up to be rather naive, an unbranded calf, a yearling whose innocence would lead to his proper place in life.
Mav's mom had died the summer before junior high just after his 11th birthday and his dad, supportive, sometimes harsh, quick using the belt, yet curiously distant raised him taming his independent streak that his late mom had hoped to cultivate. Now at 18 Maverick felt the loss of his mom's confidence in him as he secretly feared something about himself that was too deep for Mav to face, something he could never share with his dad. Mav missed his mom. He noticed that after her death his dad rarely mentioned her, once, when he was drunk, he referred to her as a "whore who broke my heart," but when Mav asked him repeatedly why, he continued to dismiss it as grief and booze, nothing more. Mav suspected there was a secret that his dad discovered about his mom after she died, what was it? What he could not know today, as he set off for college, that his mom's wish for him, to be an unorthodox player was about to come true, but not in the way mom could have imagined it, not as a blessing, but as her son's nightmare.
Mav had worked hard through junior high and senior high school to become an incredible young man, kind, yet full of power and passion. To say that he had a charmed life would be to understate the generosity that life had shared with him, handsome, smart, a good young man. To all he seemed confident, secure, a model of straight boy scout moral virtue, ethical honor, and physical strength. Having received a double scholarship, one for swimming, the other for biology he was off to college. He felt proud of himself, yet vaguely awkward, uneasy, always somewhere far inside him, uneasy.
There was no obvious apprehension in the strapping blond-haired teen as he drove to college. And yet a deeply hidden, silently gnawing shadow irritated him inside.
He had arrived on his college campus. The muscular tall broad smiling young man, surveying the empty college campus as he parked his car in front of his new dorm sensed a whispering uneasiness making him feel uncomfortable, an unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar feeling to him. He felt like a dog who was about to shake all the water from his fur, but Mav could not shake this unknown knowing feeling off him.
Mav did not know how to deal with his shadow feeling. He recognized somewhere inside him a lurking specter, a thought just beyond what he would allow himself to experience. "There is still a monster in my closet," he mused, "too bad mom is not here to comfort me like when I was a kid and had horrible nightmares of being taken away," Mav thought. As a child covered in sweat, gasping for air, eyes wide in terror he would scream out, and his mom would come to soothe him. He missed her protection and care. These nightmares had returned right after she died, but when he cried out and his dad came into his room, it was not comforting that Mav received, but the quick pull down of his pajama's bottoms and a sound belting till he stopped crying out. He quickly learned not to cry out anymore, not to seek comfort from his dad. Mav repressed his nightmare. He could not know that today, his nightmare would become real, discovering how absent any comfort was.
Growing up the only thorn on this beautiful young rose was his sports rival Sam who now he happily left behind. Sam and Mav had competed since first grade in both academics and sports. Sam was a disturbing element in Mav's life. Although both scholarship winners, both winners of the same number of trophies, both prom kings of their respective rival schools, both sought after by every hot girl in the entire town, Mav could not understand why Sam was a thorn in his side, why he made him feel slightly uncomfortable, uneasy, queasy, a feeling as strange as seasickness.
Sam instinctively understood, since first grade, that prodding Mav made the repressed shadow in Mav's nightmare palpate; Sam loved that he gave Mav goosebumps. Compounding Mav's unsettling goosebumps was Sam's father Dr. Mark, Mav's dad's best friend, and the town's sports medicine doctor. Dr. Mark always encouraged his son's intrusive challenge to Mav's wellbeing sometimes to the obvious point of inviting Mav's dad to join in making Mav confused to the point of feeling odd. Sam and his dad were like a intimidating ghost that made all their rivalries personal, and when Mav turned to his dad for comfort, often he found at best a cool response, "don't be such a pussy," a hint of, you're not man enough which frighten Mav into silence. Was he, he sometimes thought, not man enough, but just a pussy?
A Texas dust storm was moving in, brooding, casting distorting shadows before the bright sun. Mav snickered to himself, dismissing his memory of Sam and his dad yelling out into the winnowing dry hot sandy wind, "fuck off you two." Mav shuttered wondering why Sam and his dad was his first thought as he stood before his packed car, why did he think of them as he started his new college life? He shrugged knowing that he would never have to see Sam or Sam's dad again. He felt so relieved. He could not help the relief he felt. "Yes!" he yelled out to the grating red windy void. Feeling the endless expanse of the Permian basin more as freedom than what it was, endless waste, naive Mav smiled into the void, the very emptiness that was unknowingly closing in on him.
Maverick felt free for the first time in his life. And yet, as the crimson dirt dust storm moved into the college campus covering it in fine red dirty powder Mav felt his new freedom somehow spoiled. "Fuck!" he yelled out into the irritating wind. "Fuck!" He spat out wind-driven dusty rasping spit compounding his uneasiness, making it lingered. "Dam them to hell," Mav spit again, his words irritated with fine graduates of sand. "Fuck them both!"
Silently wind-whipped Mav stood alone in the deserted campus dorm parking lot. It was two weeks before the college would open. Scholarship students had to arrive one week early for orientation while athletic scholarship students had to be there two weeks before school opened to begin medical examinations with the campus sports doctor as well as coach's training testing before practice for the upcoming season. The college campus looked deserted almost menacing, the wind constantly whispering a warning. The melancholic orphaned wind echoed in Mav's ears. High crayon tan mesas stood far off, a singular road lead out of town, a winding road away from all of this, his new life, somehow, for some reason beckoning him to drive away. He felt a chill goes up his spine. Suddenly he was severed from everything familiar. He was beginning a new life, a new identity. His teenage years were ending. Frozen for a moment he remembered that Sam's dad had told him just that on graduation day, "life as you have known it has ended Mav boy." He remembered his dad laughing in a macabre tone, slapping his back a bit too hard, agreeably adding, "I sure as hell hope so boy." Why did they always call him boy?
Mav hatted, and if he was honest, feared Sam's dad, Dr. Mark. Being the town's sports medicine doctor, he had for years check out Mav, evaluated him, treated him, coldly, methodically, as if Mav were not a patient, but an object. Mav always felt humiliated after the unavoidable meetings with Sam's formidable doctor dad. He felt revulsion for this man who always called him "boy," and always lingered too long examining his pecks, his genitals, and his tight melon-shaped ass while he sang the praises of his son Sam's prowess, achievements and manliness mocking Mav. Why did he always need a long, thorough prostate finger exam each time he was with this doctor?
Although he begged his dad to send him to another doctor, his dad refused telling Mav he was imagining abuse when there was just distant professionalism. "Man-up boy," his dad would command. Why were dad and Sam's dad best friends? Mom never liked this man. Did dad not understand, although Mav often spoke of his uncomfortable about Sam and his dad, how uneasy they made him feel? He once called an appointment with Dr. Mark "abuse," making his dad angry, gaining him a shocking hard slap in the face, then a stern lecture about how serious a charge that was and the consequences of making such a false statement. Mav's dad made him feel small and stupid that day, he never forgot that day. He suffered in silence after that. The inexplicable friendship between dad and Sam's dad always intensified the tension between Mav and Sam turning, high school rivalry into mortal combat, comradeship into enemies, transforming uncomfortableness into weirdness. Why did his dad like Sam and his dad so much? Who knows? Who cares though Mav, this was his new life away from his past. Screw them!
Looking at these two rivals Mav and Sam anyone could see the differences, yet no one would be less than impressed. Mav is a Nordic blond-haired, white 18-year-old, 6' muscled-lean blond hair dusted almost hairless appearing, golden blond sun-bronzed smooth swimmer bodied, 180 lbs. with a thick 7" uncut cut cock he was proud of. He was the star of both his swimming and high school baseball team He lived a normal life and was sexually active in high school with any girl he wanted. He was now in a committed relationship with his current girlfriend Abbie for the last 2 months, thinking she might be the one he would marry. Abbie was now a senior at his former high school. Although his life was good Mav always wondered why he felt so shy. He was not shy, so why did he often feel the bashful outsider? He keeps this fearful timidity buried deep inside his consciousness. He used it to be compassionate to others, never the bully, but the defender of the bullied. Still, lurking inside him there was always an uneasy thought about himself that he was less than powerful, a suspicion he hid from, dodged, avoided. "Don't be a pussy," echoed his dad's biting words.
Sam is a Latino dark-skinned hunk with jet black hair, a defined body that is graced with a beautiful overall embellishment of brown-black hair. He was the same age as Mav, 18, but stood over him at 6'4" and outweighed him at 200 lbs. of wrestling-football muscle with a huge well-proportioned very cut thick 9" cock. He was the star of both his wrestling and high school football team. Sam was a bully. He enjoyed his power to dominate. Sam had no compassion. As for relationships, Sam never had a steady girlfriend, he focused on fucking not loving, not interested in sharing himself, but acquiring other for himself to use. He sometimes thought he was incapable of establishing a caring relationship. He liked to be in total control, choosing not to relate, but to order. Sam was not shy. He had no doubts. Yet, like Mav, Sam too held a deeply buried secret, his was not a hidden timid fear, his was carefully managed sadism. Sam, like his doctor dad, sought out and enjoyed the exhilaration of domination, and although, with the help of his dad he managed his sadism during high school, Sam knew he, as a sadist would be able once in college to be fully himself. Starting today he could revel in his adult sadistic bulling power. Often, he would joke to his closest bro's that he was a sociopath. Of course, they laughed, most being slightly afraid of him, but they did believe that Sam might just be a sociopath.
If one were a keen observer of Mav and Sam during junior and senior high school the impression would be of two opposites, who on the surface look similar, both stars, yet one, Mav was a positive pole, kind and laid back and respectful of others, a fair player, while Sam, the negative pole believed winning was everything no matter how he won. Sam, the negative charge, raucous, capricious, irreverent, always using his disarming charm, and his dad's social influence allowing him to "get out" of any situation that he was manipulating and this always annoyed Mav. The world saw them as necessary good boy rivals, but they saw each other as opposites that attracted not to bind together, but to destroy one or the other. One would have to look at these two superstars intimately to observe their repulsive attraction to each other that almost no one, except their dads, recognized as a despotic, a distorted dystopic relationship.
While Mav's dad kept a tight disciplinary reign on him, always criticizing him, Dr. Mark was determined that only his son be the one shining star of the two boys and encouraged his son's behavior permissively, always praising him. Since Sam's dad was the doctor of sports medicine treating both rival high school teams, he knew or at least suspected the flaws, fears, orientation of each team member. Doctor Mark knew what no one could merely observe, the dark teenage forces that were at play in each team member he treated. Sam and his dad shared these intimate secrets so Sam could bully selected students with pinpoint alacrity. Father and son knew that Mav was truly the innocent in all machinations of power and submission, but they also understood his shy side, his shadow repressed deep inside his muscular jock body. Dr. Mark often shared with Mav's dad his concerns about the authentic masculinity of his son right in front of Mav while Sam smirked. Mav's dad seemed to always believe Dr. Mark's comments, yet never discussed them with his son. Hiding his suspicions about his son had a purpose that would become obvious in Mav's new life, an existence of unimaginable hideousness.
Mav made it a point not to see Sam or Dr. Mark all that long summer after graduation. He even, against his dad's wishes, travel to Austin to see another sports doctor getting his medical clearance for college entrance. Now he knew for sure the difference between impartial professionalism and the distorted personal dalliance of Sam's doctor dad. Oddly, Sam's dad never came to visit Mav's dad that summer, and Mav hoped never to see father or son again. Mav was led to believe by his dad that Sam would be off to college clear across Texas from where he would be going to college. Mav believed he was now free of both. Mav's dad purposely never told his son that Sam chose to go to the same college, or that Sam's dad had accepted a posting at Mav's college as the chief sports medicine doctor. Mav had no clue as to what was about to come upon him at college.
Mav's assumptions about his new college life could never touch on the reality of what his life would be, a progressively downwards spiral from super-star to a boy, then to a slave, ultimately to his natural position, as Sam, Dr. Mark, and Mav's dad, which was the most tragic surprise of all, object.
Unknowingly Mav took comfort in thinking of all the friends and coaches that had his back as he prepared to unpack his car today, especially his dad, he was sure of him. How could he know, especially about his dad, his friends, his coaches, that perversely all of them had no more interest in Mav's back than did the concealed assassins ready to plunge their duplicitous daggers into the back of mighty Caesar? Mav was a lamb ready for the slaughter, a long, extraordinarily brutal, systematic butchering of his innocence showing him who he truly was, a fag slave. This is our story.
Mav's new life, his authentic faggot life begins on this day, in this empty parking lot, where the dusty grainy basin wind whined a hollowing warning for Mav to run away. That warning goes unheeded. Mav felt dread, he shivered, he felt mortal danger, "run." the wind whispered, yet he chose not to understand his need to get in his car and drive away. Was this his unconscious choice to enter the breaking and training that was about to take place? Was this his tacit consent? Unspoken, unchallenged, refusing to run away from the shadow he had always feared as it closed in on him. Standing there facing the packed car he knew, running away, saving himself, this was too late forever.
Suddenly, there was a heavy hand that painfully slapped, then forcefully griped his muscular shoulder hideously immobilizing him. There would be a bruise. Pensively Mav pivoted, dreadfully turned away from all he was and hoped to be, spun around like a detached, weak faded leaf tossed in the winnowing wind, leaving his former life behind. Abruptly Mav jarringly touched nose to nose, blue pensive eyes meeting menacing brown eyes, rudely he abutted his new reality, face to face with sadistic Sam, and worst, behind him, stood his smirking lecherous dad. Both were smiling.
At once, silence. Instantly, as Mav's placid blue eyes connected with Sam's turbulent brown eyes, confused tears welled up inside Mav's eye sockets, betraying his disappearing courage. His tears oozed unwelcomed down his wind burned cheeks precipitously irritated by the sandy winds, cheeks made redder by his innate shame, a shame inborn, a shameful natural fear of Sam and his dad. He was powerless to resist. He could not "man up," as his father would have told him, maybe he was "just a pussy," just as his dad suggested.
Immobilized in tearful frustration a powerlessness opened inside Mav soul, a torturous uninterrupted brooding suffering began to swallow up his body and mind.
"Hello fag boy," Sam's dad mocked.
"Surprise faggot!" Sam jeered. "Guess who is your new college roomie dumb shit?"
Mav stood, slightly bent over, pulled downwards by Sam's ever-tightening grip on his shoulder. His flesh burned with embarrassment. Dumbstruck, the ever-present desert wind slowly mocked him as it ground down hard nature into tiny grains of twisting burning sand. This natural force foreshowed the grinding down of Mav's humanity, pulverizing not only his physical security, but his sanity. Mav's very life was in jeopardy. Sam was like grinding wind, a natural force who would crush him down to dust.
Why did he not pull Sam's grip off his now aching shoulder? Why did he not stand up straight? How had his power become powerless?
Instinctively Mav understood the answer to these questions. Mav understood that he would be the beautiful dust that Sam and his dad slowly, purposefully ground him into stripping from him not only his dignity but freedom itself. Mav could not comprehend why he knew this, and why it felt genuine to him. Mav felt passionate hatred for himself, for this revelation of him before Sam, of his acceptance of powerlessness. In Sam's eyes Mav could see that he was a fag, not a man, not even a boy, or a person, but an object. His mind, body and soul, like a deranged snare drummer beat out over and over again the same fag question, "Am I? How could I be?"
Mav's mind shut down, he wanted his mom, he cried moaning involuntarily, "mama, please help, mama," before the nightmare magnitude of Sam and his dad understanding of his hidden self. He rebelled at the thought of accepting their obscene knowledge, their power over him. His repressed primal fear erupted like Mount Vesuvius immolating him in a inferno hotter than hell itself, destroying the previous 17 years of his knowing who and what he was annihilating the landscape of his straight, normal, super-star, married expected future. He knew intuitively this was not about him or Sam being Gay, even that normal was vaporizing in the obscene him as object that he saw in reflected in Sam's eyes, this was not even about sex or domination, this was about complete ownership of his Ego. A pyroclastic flow of fear burnt off his image, his character, his essential personality, each was seared away, rendered into dust as he desperately attempted to hold onto what was left of his uneasy sanity. Was he a Fag? Was he a faggot? Mav rebelled, trembled because if this was so, is he was a Fag then Sam was no more than justified in destroying him, it was his right as a man to treat a Fag this way. Was he a Fag? Was this his new life? The question pressurized him as if he were 2000 feet under water, pressure crushing body, mind, and soul into liquid surrender.
Burning with shame, rage, fear, and sudden bizarre exhaustion, it seemed to Mav there was instantly not enough oxygen in which to take a breath. His fingers, slender delicate limbs trembled in a hysterical earthquake of emotions measuring a 10.5 on the Richter scale.
His heart beating violently pummeled him practically splitting open his strong brawny swimmer's chest. His pecs, well-defined under his now sweat soaked tight pale blue t-shirt, teased the promise of deep pink quarter size areolas set on now heaving breasts that gyrated up and down Mav's perky pink nipple tips. His pecs and nipples moved like an obscene pole dancer tit's shaming him.
Down through his V-shaped gym tailored torso Mav's six-pack abs involuntarily contorted, twisting shots of painful spams like firing bullets of spasmatic pain sprinted down into his lengthy solid swimmer legs. Mav's legs clashed together like two implacable opposing tectonic plates grating against the other causing trembling beautifully formed knees to oscillate, knocking together in seismic jerking panic.
His panic continued down his legs stealing Mav's remaining self-control, his potent size twelve wide swimmer's feet with well proposition toes, toes so well trained they could grasp the end of a diving board and hold Mav's body rock-hard before guiding him into a magnificent dive into the pool, now oscillated nonsensically, twirling in a macabre machination within his well-worn Texas cowboy boots.
More shocking was that Mav's 7" cock shank in protective apprehension, his long foreskin wrapping around it, his man-cock now no bigger than a boy.
The final devastating realization Mav's felt was his bubble butt feeling wet, involuntarily moistly contracting; his asshole began a spasmatic twitching, a hungry rhythmic invitation to be invaded, to be fucked, as if it had been waiting from his birth to be used as a natural pussy. This was Mav's deepest anxious shame, the final disgrace any straight boy could imagine. He was a pussy.
Gasping for air, making hideously loud-mouthed swallowing gulps Mav entire body flopped around like a dying fish being held upright like on a trawling hook by Sam's excruciatingly tight grasp of Mav's shoulder. Mav understood that there would never be enough oxygen ever again for his body to stand alone or upright. He would never be safe again. In the unwitting knowing of his soul's dark night, Mav knew his fate. Slowly remaining fragments of control ebbed from him. Going limp a few droplets shot out staining the buttons of his new skintight 501's, pinpoint wetness betraying his loss of control, then inexorably in a final surrender of control, unable to be more than what they claimed he was, a pathetic faggot in need of a true man to own him, Mav's mind turns off, with a blank stare into oblivion, now exhausted of caring for himself, his dignity, his rights, a torrential flow wet his entire crotch area. Spreading, the hot liquid of irrepressible piss wet his body-hugging Levi 501 blue jeans. Wet odorous piss cascaded down Mav's almost invisible blond-haired covered legs pooling at the bottom of his black Texas cowboy boot. His grey boot socks became mushy, soggy wet covers on once self-directed feet. Involuntarily standing in abased embarrassment, held fast by his rival Sam, this was his baptism, not reborn as a star college student and jock, but christened into his unique humiliation, this was his launch moment, not into adult freedom, but enslaved captivity. As his piss-soaked toes made a deeply embarrassing demoralizing squishing sound, Mav knew he was no longer his, but Sam's.
"He pissed his pants! Jesus, the faggot wet himself like a fuckin' little boy! Holy shit! The prom king, trophy-winning, scholarship honor student, Mr. perfect eagle scout himself just wet his jeans like the little pathetic fag boy he is. Let me get a photo to show your girl Abbie so she can see what a man you are," yelled Sam.
Mav could not speak. His saliva turned to wet gravely sand tasting like liquid fire. He could not hear for shame. His eardrums pounded with the deafness of dishonor. His eyes blurred in humiliation; tealess heavy bags formed under disgust-filled half-closed eyelids thick with revulsion. He could not move although his entire body continued involuntarily vibrating, gesticulating as if he were dangling from a noose struggling to not suffocate.
As Sam's cell phone snapped photo after photo Sam's dad Dr. Mark spat, "I knew he was a born faggot, worthless. And I knew he knew it. At least now he can face it. We are doing you a favor fag shit." To his son Sam he laughed, "I think we need to put the fag boy in a diaper or maybe some plastic undies from now on seeing that he cannot hold his piss." Dr. Mark had so many dreams of what he would do with Mav's body he could barely restrain himself from tearing off his cloths right here in the parking lot, but he took a breath and regained his composure as there would be time enough and secure place sufficient to do all he dreamt of with Mav.
"Training you is going to be so much fun," Sam cried in ecstasy, the complete fury of his cruelty awakening for the first time finally free to feel its full force safely. No one would come to Mav's rescue.
Sam let go of Mav's shoulder. Mav wavered back and forth like a bowling pin unsure to fall or remain upright. Triumphantly, as Mav pivoted and swayed Sam and his dad danced around Mav yelling, "Say thank you fag," punching and poking Mav, Sam even kicked him several times in his solid bubble butt viciously leaving bruises wherever he connected with Mav's solid split ass flesh. "Look dad," Sam cooed, "his jeans are so tight you can see the hard line of his ass crack making his two ass checks part in the middle." And father and son doubled over in hysterics. "Tell us you deserve this boy," Dr. Mark ordered in a stern voice. Croaking out in a burnt dried up whisper Mav repeated, "I do, I do deserve this Sir."
Both father and son genuinely laugh at Mav. They begin to play with him, Sam poking him in his sides. Dr. Mark's finger stab into Mav's bulging balls. Sam made a jab to Mav's gut. His dad's powerful knuckle pushed into the pathetic fag's peck, left then right, then repeating his attack in a savory fury. Sam seeing the joy in his father's abuse of Mav's pecks made a quick pull on the fags protruding nipple, first the right, then the left, then father and son both pulled viciously, one hand from Sam, the other from his dad, counting, "one, two, three, pull," extending Mav's tortured nips till he bent over in astonishment. They took cruel joy in extend Mav's nipples out, then pressing them in crushing them flat, then pulling each out again, continually mocking Mav with vicious indecencies--fag, cunt, hole, pussy, pansy, boy, slave, bitch, idiot, moron, shit for brains. Unable to withstand the noxious mocking laughter from Dr. Mark and Sam, more demeaning, more hurtful than their jabs, kicks, pulling, and punches Mav's soul burnt away within a paroxysm of shame. Could Mav's spirit ever recover from this breaking, this revelation of his unbelievable truth; he was a fag? Amused, uncontrollably laughter ebbed, and flowed interspersed with humiliating words belched from Sam and his dad growing increasingly louder. All Mav heard was the roar of destruction.
Suddenly their voices went silent. Time seemed to hang in stillness, as if a millennium passed in seconds, the barren sound of desert wind replaces repulsive denunciations, the hot sandblasting wind whipped Mav's face replacing the hurt Sam and his dad just inflicted. Dr. Mark and Sam stood back soundlessly observing Mav, looking in disgust at this heaving, gasping, moaning fag boy, a remnant of the high school superstar.
Mav found this silent terribly unnerving, disturbing as he stood in piss-stained, tear-soaked confusion. Dr. Mark's words echoed as a long suspected, but until now unrecognized truth. Faggot, he was a faggot. His former life seemed all dried up. He felt the loss of his nurturing self-image. His body felt empty, his muscles weak, his mind worthless. Paralyzed he witnesses his straight life die inside him, die not as a truth taken away, but as a fiction exposed as the lie it was. That nightmare from his childhood, the demon in his closet, that something uneasy inside of him, it was not alien, it was his shadow. Standing under the hot afternoon sun, sweat soaked Mav's unwanted true identity rose from his most repressed sense of himself, he mumbled, "yes, thank you Sir. Yes Sir, I know this is true. I am a fag."
Father and son smiled at each other agreeably.
"Let's go see our new dorm room, roomie," Sam said in a twisted taunting voice. Tactilely Mav's newly awakened faggot-self nodded wordlessly communicated to his new owners and master's his fag agreement.
Acknowledging Mav's agreement Dr. Mark said, "Good boy, good fag." then added, "once you calm down, we will explain who you will be and what your new life will be. Tomorrow when your dad arrives, he will tell you the rest." The first stage of their work was done and father and son high-fived each other while their words echoed in Mav's mind, "when your dad gets here, what do they mean, when my dad gets here, he will tell me the rest, my dad will tell me what the rest of my fag life will be?"
Bewildered. Nothing made sense anymore. Mav, smothered in a hot gas of incomprehensible shame, his self-image burnt away by an emotional pyroclastic flow of degradation, his innocents hollowed out making him a shell of his old self. He had still clung to the slender hope that he was innocent, that when his dad arrived, tomorrow, his dad would restore his incinerated innocence. He could not stop the echoing question, "what does my dad have to do with this?" Even this question was a debasement sufficient to sear flesh off the bone, to disembowel this lovely boy, to crush this good eagle scout teen, to detach any goodness, success, rights, hopes from his mind. How could he still be innocent he wondered? Mav the former high school star was only just beginning to surrender his innocence. He could not imagine how each stage of his debasement, from man to boy, from boy to slave, from slave to object would be a long incremental process of innocence stripping. All he felt, all he understood right now was that he was suffocating.
Suddenly, without air, without comfort, lost to reason, abandoned by love, depleted of memories, truth forsaken Mav collapsed, falling in a heap out cold, plummeting unconsciously imprisoned in his piss-soaked jeans sinking onto the burning tacky liquefaction of the sun roasted, sandy wind-driven hot melted tarmac. There on the parking lot asphalt he was reduced to no more than a part of the sticky-soft burning liquid asphalt that paved his new dorm parking lot. Mav became dirt to be walked over.
Unconsciousness was his only comfort. He did not feel any pain as his naked arms touched hot asphalt. If he had he would have instinctively accepted that pain as his only reality check on his unworthy fag self. Mav lay motionless on the sticky soft payment. He was becoming pitch for burning in the oblivion of hell's oven.
Sam and Dr. Mark wondered, looking with disgust and amazement at the unconscious fag, what was he dreaming of, was it his former star self? Or was he having a nightmare of his tumble into the worthless depth of the faggot?
Mav the former accomplished proud athlete. Mav the former impressive honor student. Mav the former perfectly straight teen. Mav the former loving boyfriend. Mav the former beloved son. Mav the good, moral, honest eagle boy scout. Mav the former person lay asleep pissed soaked on the ground, a perfect intractable present definition of Mav the fag.
When he awakens from today's fall from heaven Mav will begin his fag life in hell.
Should there be a part 2? If anyone would like me to continue, please let me know. The title of chapter 2 is the dorm room and the arrival of fag life