Don't get me wrong. I don't hate queers, at least not like most people hate them.
But, on the other hand, I certainly don't like them. I mean, they're disgusting, aren't they? And repulsive, too. What they do with each other isn't natural. It just isn't right.
About a year ago, right after I turned fifteen, I was at this party in Society Hill where there was a lot of booze and butter and shit. I went there with my friend A. J. who was not quite two years older than me. He claimed he knew the people and that he was invited but basically we just crashed. It was mostly old people in their twenties and thirties. I didn't know anybody except A. J. and he disappeared not long after we got there.
I got real drunk and this guy started talking to me. He kept topping off my drink and I think he slipped something into it because all of a sudden I started to feel real loose. I didn't realize that he was a queer until he tried to kiss me. It freaked me out. I wanted to get away from him so I said I had to pee but he followed me into the john and started making out with me. I tried to get away but he pinned me against the sink and got on his knees and sucked my cock. I remember thinking that what he was doing was disgusting but my cock got hard anyway. I couldn't help it. I was too fucked up to stop him.
Afterward, he gave me some money and told me to keep my mouth shut. The whole thing didn't take five minutes.
I puked and passed out and later A. J. found me and dragged me home. I never told him about the queer. I never told anybody. I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind like it never happened but I couldn't. I wondered why I didn't kick the faggot in the head or something. I'm big for my age. I'm almost six feet tall and I weigh a hundred seventy pounds and I work out and I'm on the wrestling team. I could have taken him easy if I hadn't been so fucked up. I imagined him on his knees begging me not to hurt him.
About a month after the party, A. J. took me to a small bar that was hidden in an alley near Thirteenth and Locust Streets, which is right in the middle of Queer Town. Despite me being fifteen and A. J. being just turned seventeen, we didn't have any trouble getting served and we didn't have to spend any money because the faggots kept buying us drinks. I got used to having a hand on my knee. I didn't like it but I put up with it because of the free drinks and because I liked conning the queers and leading them on. I liked how pathetic they were not knowing that I wasn't like them and not knowing that they didn't have a chance in hell with me.
After a while I had to pee so I went to the john. The room was all done up with red flocked wallpaper and a pink marble counter with four sinks and gold fixtures. There were also four enclosed toilet stalls and four urinals.
An old guy came out of the far stall while I was peeing. He stopped at the sink nearest to me and looked over like he was trying to see how big my cock was. He checked himself in the mirror and washed his hands. I heard a noise and when I looked up A. J. came out of the same stall. The queer, who was probably close to fifty, left and A. J. took his place at the sink. He combed his hair and smiled at me. Then he took three twenty dollar bills from his shirt pocket and showed them to me. He didn't act upset. He was proud of himself. Later he introduced me to another old guy who he said would pay to suck me. He said the guy was turned on by the fact that I wasn't queer and that I wouldn't do him and that he could only do me. I was way too drunk to argue. The queer took me into a toilet stall. He tried to kiss me but I wouldn't let him. He got on his knees and I pulled my cock out and he sucked me for a while but I couldn't get hard. He got pissed and asked me for his money back but I told him to fuck off and shoved him hard against the wall. Back in the bar, A. J. and I started to get hostile looks and we had to leave. A. J. said that what I did wasn't cool but I didn't care. I had the faggot's money and pushing him around felt good.
I went out on a date with a girl named Tanis who was about a year older than me. We made out on her parent's couch because they weren't home and weren't coming back until late. I didn't have to take her out or buy her dinner or even be seen with her because she was a nympho and a slut. She made me wear a Trojan but she went down on me first. I didn't have any trouble getting a hard-on so we both knew that I definitely wasn't queer. Afterward, she wanted me to stay and hang out and maybe I could have been nicer to her but I left because I had proved my point.
I started going downtown after school with A. J. He knew his way around. Mostly we hung out around Twelfth and Locust either outside the coffee shop next to the queer bookstore or around the corner on the steps to the Twelfth Street Gym. We stayed away from the bus station at Eleventh and Filbert; because A. J. said it was always lousy with undercover cops. We didn't pay any attention to the local street queers and trannies because we were looking for closet fags, nine to five perverts who cruised the area on their way home to the little wifey and kids. They always circled the block like vultures but they never got out of their cars.
I remember the first time I got picked up. A. J. was wearing tight black jeans and a black muscle shirt and I was wearing a red tee shirt with a pack of Marlboros rolled up in the sleeve. The guy was driving a white Prius. On his fourth or fifth time around the block he got up the nerve to stop. He pulled into the loading zone and rolled down his passenger side window. He motioned to us and I thought he wanted A. J. because most of them do but he shook his head and pointed to me. I went to his window and leaned in. He was probably forty, clean shaven, balding and skinny. His suit coat was folded carefully next to the baby seat in the back and his tie was loosened. He looked timid and nervous. He asked directions to Independence Hall which was a kind-of code question because the historic district was only six blocks away and there were signs everywhere. I looked over at A. J. and he nodded so I opened the door and got in. The faggot smiled at me and pulled into traffic and made a left on Spruce Street and headed toward the river. He put his hand on my knee and a block later slid it up to my thigh. By the time we got to Logan Square he was groping my cock and balls.
I was as nervous as he was. His hand in my crotch creeped me out but I started to get hard anyway. He kept talking and asking questions. He asked my name and I made something up. He thought I was in college and asked me about school. He drove into the huge parking lot under the expressway behind the AMC movie complex on Delaware Avenue. He went to a deserted area and parked.
I started to panic. I told him I wasn't queer and that I'd never done this before but he felt my hardening cock and smiled. He took out his wallet, thumbed a few bills and stuffed them in the pocket of my tee shirt. I saw that there was a lot more money left in the wallet. He shoved his seat back and pushed his pants down and I realized that he wanted me to do him and not the other way around. My stomach churned in disgust.
I freaked. I turned and smashed my right fist into the side of his face and his head snapped against the window. He was dazed and there was blood coming out of his mouth and my hand felt like it was broken but it wasn't.
I was frightened. I called him a pervert and a queer. I raised my fist to hit him again and he covered his face with his hands and whimpered and begged me not to hurt him. I grabbed his wallet from where it had fallen on the seat between us and scooped out the remaining money. I hit him again just for the hell of it. I felt good. I felt really, really good. I calmly got out of his car and caught a cab in front of the theater.
The thing with the queer in the parking lot got me worried. I was paranoid about getting arrested until A. J. pointed out that the guy would never press charges because he would have to explain what he was doing parked under Interstate 95 with a fifteen year old boy. After a while I realized what a sweet thing we had going with the closet fags. I started going to Queer Town on my own every Thursday after school. I started wearing fingerless weight lifting gloves so I wouldn't hurt my hands. I loved smashing the pervs in the face and making them beg and whimper. I thought that beating up queers wasn't bad because they weren't normal. Sometimes I felt I was doing them good and teaching them a lesson by making them realize how sick they were. Maybe I was like a fucking social worker or a shrink doing them therapy. Aversion therapy like what they did to me when I was little to teach me not to piss my bed at night. Once when I was sitting on the steps at Planned Parenthood at the corner of Twelfth and Locust one of my old customers drove by. I just smiled at him and waved. He was powerless and we both knew it.
A. J. introduced me to a tranny. He said it called herself Lo or Lolo. She was about my age and really beautiful. She could fool anybody. She worked over toward Broad Street. She said that most of her customers were straight which didn't make sense to me except that when I looked at her I got hard and wanted to kiss her which got me confused. But then I figured that trannies weren't like other queers. They were basically girls who accidentally got born with cocks. A lot of money went for hormone shots to make her grow tits and electrolysis to get rid of body hair. She said she wanted to get implants and maybe a pussy but that those things cost a lot of money and she needed a sugar daddy.
She was the best blow job I ever had but when she bent over and pulled up her skirt and asked me to fuck her ass all I could see was his little cock and balls hanging down and I froze. But she sensed what was happening and she reached between her legs and covered her cock and balls with her hand and looked back over her shoulder at me and told me to only look at her face. She was obviously used to the problem. It worked and I didn't have any problem after that and I shot my load.
I even got to thinking of her as a girlfriend but sometimes that made me feel disgusted and one time when we were making out and I accidentally felt his little hard cock and I freaked out and hit him and called him a faggot whore. She cried a lot and the side of her face where I smashed her got all swelled up. She said that it was all her fault and begged me to forgive her which I did.
Sometimes I felt like there was this discussion going on inside my head between two different people and one of them was me but the other one wasn't and I couldn't tell which one was which. One thing I did know was that the sight of a cock made me sick with disgust. I made another date with Tanis to prove that I wasn't queer from fucking Lolo. I even took her to the movies first.
Last week, A. J. and me were sitting on the low wall of the parking lot across from Dirty Frank's bar at Thirteenth and Pine trying to get picked up. A car full of skinheads drove by and gave us the finger and then circled the block. There were four of them. The third time they circled the block they blew their horn and stopped and threw half-empty beer bottles at us and called us faggots. One of the bottles hit A. J. in the side of his head and another one landed at my feet and broke. I picked up a loose brick from behind the wall and lobbed it at the car. It hit their rear window and smashed it. Even though it was four of them and two of us, I started to chase after them and they hit the gas and then ran the light at Twelfth Street. I was mad. I didn't like being called a homo.
Two days ago, Lolo got beat up and raped by one of her johns. I wanted to knock the shit out of whoever it was but she wouldn't tell me any details. She said it was her own fault, that the guy didn't know she was a tranny and that she didn't tell him because she thought he only wanted a blow job.
Right now she is in the bathroom. She has just gotten out of the shower and she is naked. I watch through the partially open door. She doesn't know that I'm looking. She towels her hair. She isn't wearing any makeup. Except for her small breasts, she doesn't look feminine. Not even a little bit. She is a he. His waist and hips are those of a boy or a small, hairless man. He dries himself between his legs. His cock is very small, like a child's. He looks up into the mirror and sees me. He tries to smile but he is self-conscious and he pushes the door closed.
Almost an hour later he comes out of the bathroom. He has put on make-up. He is now Lolo. He is now a she and bare legged and barefoot and wearing a short, flared white skirt and a cropped tank top and her hair is in a ponytail. Her eyes are wide and bright with long, dark lashes. Her lips are full and red. She smiles at me. She is beautiful.
She sits on my lap and nibbles my neck. My cock gets hard and I know she can feel it. I put my hand under her skirt and her little cock is hard too. It starts to freak me out and I get tense and my fist clenches but she kisses me and I relax. She asks me what I would like to do. Her voice is low and suggestive. I look away. I'm still confused and I don't know what to say. She uses her hand to turn my face back toward hers. She kisses me again and I kiss her back. She smiles. She is so beautiful. I can't help myself. She gently pushes me down and I start to suck.
RELATED: Photography by R.C. Hörsch
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Alternately an artist, filmmaker, composer, writer, porn performer, drug smuggler, some-time political activist, art forger, counterfeiter, pot grower, air show pilot, army deserter, international fugitive, sociopath, ex-convict and all-out villain, R. C. Hörsch 's life has been as colorful and obsessive as his art. Contact the author: Web: http://www.eroto.com