Homophobe - Tumblr Posts
So I got to Rickroll a homophobe today.
College life is the best.
If being a homophobe also means you wish me and others like me be permanent second class citizens then we can't agree to disagree. I really don't care if someone is a homophobe, but I have a problem with homophobes making their homophobia into laws, which most homophobes unfortunately do.
I admit to being a homophobe...
…but I think that we deserve respect just as much as homosexuals. I don’t agree with what you do, but I won’t scream at you and be ugly… I just don’t want to think about it. In the same manner, you shouldn’t hate on me for not agreeing with what you do. We should just agree to disagree and get over it.
Ricky had absolutely no idea why he'd stripped completely and totally naked when his roommate Ian had told him to. Normally, he would have told the fruitcake he reluctantly shared an apartment with to fuck off with his faggy fantasies unless he wanted to be eating a knuckle sandwich for his next meal.
Something had changed, though. Ever since Ian had shown him that strange video -- what had that even been, anyway? what were all those odd colours, shapes, and sounds? -- there was something about Ian's voice that made it impossible for Ricky to do anything other than exactly whatever the scrawny little poof told him to.
Just stripping down in front of him was humiliating enough on its own. Ian -- dressed like he had somewhere important to be -- had regarded Ricky with an almost clinical gaze as the beefy bodybuilder had peeled off each article of clothing, making him feel significantly more vulnerable and exposed than he did when undressing in the locker room or getting naked with a sexual partner.
But that was far from the end of what Ian was going to order his homophobic roommate to do for him. Before the bare-ass beefcake had even had a second to process what he'd just done, Ian handed Ricky a bottle and issued a simple command: "oil up."
"Heh, okay, come on, bro, you've had your fun," Ricky said nervously, trying to act like this was not freaking him out as much as it was. Despite his profound desire to escape this situation, he was nevertheless doing exactly as he was told, starting by rubbing the baby oil all over his meaty pectorals as Ian looked on hungrily.
"Don't stop there," Ian said, ignoring Ricky's words, openly objectifying him by paying attention only to his body. "Make sure to get plenty on your abs and biceps, too."
"Right... cool, but... uh, this is probably enough of this shit now, right?" Ricky asked with the same nervousness in his voice as -- despite himself -- he applied more baby oil to his well-muscled flesh.
"Dick too," Ian said plainly, gesturing to the nether regions where he wanted Ricky to continue oiling himself up.
"Fuck, come on, Ian," Ricky pleaded as he applied the slick substance to his crotch. "I know I was a jerk, but don't you think whatever you're doing has gone far enough now?"
"Arms above your head," Ian stated, again ignoring Ricky's words in favour of his body alone. As the burly bodybuilder lifted his arms, Ian circled around him, evaluating him like a piece of meat for purchase instead of a person he shared an apartment with.
When the slender, smaller man had finished his walk around the Greek god currently displaying himself like a cheap whore for sale, he finally looked Ricky in the face. The beefy meathead's hope for a response to his plaintiff pleas for mercy were dashed when Ian's next command came: "No more talking, got it?"
While not an order that came with a physical action like the others had, Ricky felt his body obeying, his tongue choosing a position to rest in and his jaw clenching shut ever-so-slightly.
"And to answer your question," Ian began, studying Ricky's oiled-up physique as he spoke. "I've barely gotten started."
Ricky swallowed hard as a vindictive expression came over Ian's face.
"You think I don't know the shit you get up to?" he said, contempt in his voice. "Date-raping all those girls you bring home?!" Ian spat. "Acting like a goddamn neo-Nazi at all those fucking far right rallies?!" he continued. His eyes narrowed and his voice went ice cold as he concluded: "Beating the shit out of my best friend and his boyfriend for holding hands in public?"
Ricky felt his stomach drop. Ian knew. Ian knew all of it. And, thanks to whatever impossible trick he had used to put Ricky into his current state, Ian was going to make sure that this malicious macho man learned an important lesson: karma's a bitch.
Ricky jumped when a knock came suddenly at the door to their apartment.
Ian glanced at his wristwatch, a sly grin forming on his face. "Looks like some of my guests must be early," he said simply.
Ricky, unable to speak, pleaded with his eyes, knowing he deserved no mercy but still praying that he might receive it.
"Not to worry, though. It won't take me long to set things up for the party..." Ian said, reaching down to start pulling items out of a sack that had been sitting at his feet. Calmly and methodically, he set the first few items down on the table in front of him: a leather flogger, shark-tooth nipple clamps, a full-sized wooden frat paddle, and a spiked chastity cage.
Ricky didn't know what mortified him more: the torture devices Ian had just spread out on the table, or the fact that the bag that these BDSM nightmares had come from still appeared to be three-quarters full.
A knock came at the door once more, this time louder and more insistent.
"Well, don't just stand there," Ian said to the white-as-a-sheet Ricky as he began to dig in the sack once more. "Be a good boy and let our guests in."
Dreading what would come next (answering the door -- naked, oiled up, and on full display -- to a couple of fags who loved his muscles and hated his guts) and what would come after (a night -- or more -- of sadistic sexual torment from every last homo Ian knew), Ricky still had to do as he was commanded.
As he turned the handle to let the first of Ian's guests inside, he heard his new master call out with words that told him things were only going to get worse from here on out: "Come on in, guys! The party's just getting started..."
As Gerald unceremoniously groped one of Carson's perky butt cheeks -- under the guise of innocently "applying sunscreen," of course -- he could tell that his roommate was hating every last second of this very public humiliation.
Thinking back on how they'd gotten here, Gerald's smile only grew at Carson's reaction.
Carson was, to put it mildly, an arrogant asshole. From the moment Student Services had randomly assigned them to the same room, Gerald had had to put up with a guy who was much wealthier than he was (Gerald was there on a "financial need" scholarship, while Carson was a "legacy admission"), was hotter than he was (not that Gerald was unattractive, but he just couldn't compete with a total 10 like Carson), and also insisted on letting everyone know just how rich and good-looking he was.
To make matters worse, Carson's views on everything were deeply conservative -- and he didn't keep that to himself for a second. Gerald quickly decided he wasn't going to reveal his sexuality to his roommate for that reason, given the openly homophobic statements that he'd made without prompting on their first day together in residence. While Gerald could, thankfully, "pass" as straight -- and Carson was too self-involved to notice any of the "tells" Gerald gave -- he resented having to hide who he was (having thought he'd left those days of being in the closet long behind him).
However, as it turned out, Gerald had something on his side that would quickly give him the upper hand over the cocky prick he shared a room with. It was his interest in hypnotism that had inspired Gerald to major in psychology and, after a few lessons on the nature of "knowledge" and "belief" in the brain, he felt comfortable trying out his skills on Carson.
Not the brightest bulb in the box, Carson had easily accepted the "relaxation playlist" Gerald provided him with without a second thought. By the end of the week, a hypersonic message of Gerald's voice had been drilled into the beautiful bastard's head: "You'll believe anything I say."
On Saturday morning, Carson rose groggily from bed, having drunk far too much the previous night. He wore only a loose pair of boxer shorts -- typical nighttime attire.
Upon seeing him, Gerald quickly decided to test out how well the "relaxation playlist" had worked over the previous week. "Hey, big guy, ready for the beach?"
Carson gave his roommate a quizzical look, still a bit drowsy. "Beach...?" he asked uncertainly, scratching his head.
"Yeah, we go to the beach every weekend," Gerald replied, watching Carson's reaction closely.
"Oh... right... Yeah, you're right..." Carson said, confused and uncertain as he spoke. He glanced back towards his dresser and added, "Just, uh, let me get my trunks, bro..."
Gerald was pleased with how this was going so far, but "going to the beach on the weekends" was an easy belief to instil. Why would Carson question it, especially since he was still drowsy from sleep and, in fairness, had gone to the beach with Gerald at least once before?
The psych major decided to test out a stronger "belief" on Carson. "You don't have any swim trunks," he said calmly. "It's a clothing optional beach."
Carson narrowed his eyes, like he was struggling to understand the very words his roommate was speaking. He looked to his dresser, back to Gerald, and then back again before finally saying, "Oh, right..."
"You know, big guy," Gerald continued, emboldened by his apparent success so far, "you don't even wear anything on the trip there."
"I... I don't?" Carson asked, again narrowing his eyes in confusion.
"Nah," Gerald said, taking a step closer and putting a thumb in Carson's waistband. "It's just a short drive there, you know?"
Carson instinctively recoiled from Gerald's intimate touch, roughly pushing his hand away. The psych major had a moment of panic. Maybe the hypnotic command hadn't worked?
"I can take my own shorts off, bro," Carson said bitingly, apparently appalled only by Gerald's touch and not by his words. Although he still seemed a bit confused, Carson wasted no time in lowering his boxers to the ground and stepping out of them.
He stood awkwardly for a minute, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. This wasn't like a locker room where he and a buddy might be talking naked in the shower. No, he was bare-ass and on display while Gerald was still just dressed normally.
"You better let me carry your stuff," Gerald said, pocketing the car keys (among other things) and walking to the door. "Since, you know, you don't have anywhere to put it."
Carson was obviously feeling apprehensive about following his roommate past the threshold to their dorm room. Gerald's statement had definitely underscored how very vulnerable he was in this state -- no clothes, no keys, no wallet, no phone. He looked around the room, almost like he was trying to find an answer to why this all felt so unnatural despite his belief that he did this all the time.
Growing concerned that the thick-headed rich boy was going to figure out what was going on -- at least enough to spoil his fun -- Gerald volunteered another "belief" for Carson: "You're always in such a hurry to get there, you know?"
Blinking as though a bright light had just been shone in his eyes, Carson's attention shot back to Gerald.
"Yeah, shit, what am I doing wasting time?" he said, marching up beside his roommate. "Let's catch some rays!" he continued, now walking ahead.
Carson may have been convinced this was normal -- him walking bare-ass down the halls of their residence building -- but Gerald noticed right away that his instinctive reactions were still there. The arrogant jock had his hands cupped in front of his crotch, trying to preserve some sense of modesty. He even seemed to blush when they walked by their first fellow student.
"Sup," Carson said, trying to act casual.
"Sup," the other guy replied, eyeing up Carson's nudity skeptically, but saying nothing about it.
Much as Gerald had hoped, that guy's reaction was shared by everyone else they walked past. Yes, it was unusual for Carson to be parading around in his birthday suit, but this was college! Who knows what Carson got up to last night or what inane dare his buddies put him up to today? And Carson was selling it, hardly letting his embarrassment show (although Gerald could see the signs of blushes and cold sweats when looked for them).
When the two reached the parking lot, Gerald kept hold of the keys, unlocking the car and hopping in the passenger seat. Why give the keys back to Carson when all that was needed for the car to start was just having the fob inside the vehicle?
Watching the bare-ass Carson climb into the driver's seat beside him, Gerald felt like he could get used to having a chauffeur -- especially one who wore such an appealing "uniform."
"You always let me pick what we listen to," Gerald said as Carson started to pull the car onto road. The cocky jock eyed his roommate suspiciously, but did nothing to stop him as he hooked his phone up to the vehicle's media system.
As Kylie Minogue sang "Padam Padam" through the speakers, Carson gave Gerald the side eye and spat out, "Yo, why are we listening to this gay shit?"
Feeling empowered, Gerald said simply, "Because I'm gay."
Carson took his eyes fully off the road, looking directly over at the man sitting next to him. "Whoa, are you fucking serious?!"
Gerald thought about changing Carson's mind on this one. It would be easy, based on everything he'd accomplished so far. Just a few words saying "You've always been fine my sexuality" or "You've always supported gay rights" or anything like that would probably do it.
But there was something about keeping Carson's personality exactly as it was that appealed to Gerald much more than changing it. After all, where's the fun in hypnotism if not in making someone do things they know they don't really want to do?
"You don't want to talk about this right now," Gerald said, looking out and seeing the lake. "We're almost there."
"What... but you said you're a fa..." Carson said, confused, almost like he was forgetting what he'd been saying a moment ago. "Right, yeah, okay..." he mumbled. "We'll talk about that later, yeah..."
As they pulled into the parking lot, Gerald could tell Carson was growing apprehensive again. The beach wasn't crowded, but there were at least a couple dozen other college students there.
"You, uh... you sure this is a clothing optional beach?" Carson asked as they pulled the car up to the side of the road, no doubt seeing that everyone there was either fully dressed or in a regular swimsuit.
"Well, the clothing optional section is a couple miles down that way," Gerald said, gesturing to the distance as he opened his door to get out. "But we always walk along this part of the beach to get there."
"Ri... right..." Carson replied hesitantly, self-consciously covering his crotch again as he hopped out the driver's side.
All eyes were on the totally naked stud standing in their midst as soon as the two roommates stepped foot on the beach. Thankfully, since they were all college-aged folks as well, they seemed to think the same things those on campus had: this guy either lost his pants in a night of blackout drinking or was getting up to some kind of frat boy shenanigans right now.
Still, in this very public place, the reactions were more apparent, with a lot of the people looking over and gasping or laughing at the bare-ass jock strutting his stuff. Noticing that several of them had pulled out their phones to take a picture, Gerald volunteered another "belief" for Carson: "You never cover your crotch like that."
The well-built bastard let his hands fall to his side, blushing profusely as he became even more exposed in this very public place. He seemed to be trying to find a way to question this -- that couldn't be true, could it? -- when Gerald casually peeled off his shirt and handed Carson the sunscreen.
"You always get my back," he said simply, turning so that his face wouldn't be in the pictures.
"Oh... right, yeah..." Carson said confusedly, squirting some sunscreen onto his hands and awkwardly working it into Gerald's back. With any luck, the photos that came out of this would be even more humiliating than just ones featuring Carson in the nude would be -- instead, they'd featured Carson apparently massaging sunblock onto another man's back, giving everything a "gay vibe" the butt-naked homophobe would be horrified to see.
"And I always get your back too," Gerald added, promptly taking the bottle from Carson and squeezing some sunscreen into his hands.
"Oh... yeah, right, okay..." Carson said with the same confusion, blushing as he turned around and brought his totally-exposed cock and balls back into view of everyone else on the beached. He bristled at Gerald's touch like he had in their room, but didn't pull away this time (apparently "believing" this is what always happened). Gerald gave his roommate's well-muscled back a quick once over before proceeding to openly grope and fondle his bare butt in front of everyone.
"Really gotta get it on good," Gerald said as he publicly manhandled Carson's perky posterior.
"Uhh... yeah, umm, shouldn't we get going down to the clothing optional beach, bro?" Carson asked, obviously extremely uncomfortable with what was happening to him, nervously eyeing the people taking pictures of this public degradation.
"You call me 'Sir'," Gerald said, squeezing Carson's butt, not making any effort to disguise it as the application of sunscreen anymore.
"What?" Carson said, more fear than confusion in his voice.
"You always call me 'Sir' in front of other people," Gerald stated again, treating Carson's butt cheeks like a toy to play with as he spoke. "Because you want them to know I'm your superior."
Carson snapped at that, pulling away from Gerald. He whipped around, his full manly might and strength on display as he glared at his roommate like an animal about to attack.
"'Superior'?! What the FUCK are you talking about, Sir?!" Carson snapped, apparently not noticing how his new title for Gerald had slipped in there.
For all the virility and power Carson was displaying, Gerald couldn't help but smirk. The big guy looked ridiculous, standing there totally bare-ass in public and trying to act all big and manly.
"Well, I mean, think about it," Gerald said, picking his shirt up and putting it back on causally. "You always insist on being totally naked for me, even though I normally stayed fully dressed," Gerald added, gesturing to both of their bodies (and causing a blush to form once more on Carson's face). "You always want to drive me everywhere," he continued, gesturing to Carson's luxury vehicle. "And you always call me 'Sir' when you think someone else might hear you."
"That... well... yeah, that's all true, but... but..." Carson said, going pale now as his world seemed to come crashing down around him. His mind was racing trying to make sense of so much conflicting information.
"You know you've got more money," Gerald said, laying out the facts. "You know you're hotter than I am," he continued. "But you've always believed I'm your superior."
"I... I..." Carson stuttered, the internal conflict too great for him to even form words. He had obviously always thought no one was better than him. With such a deeply held belief in conflict with the new "belief" he'd given the arrogant asshole standing in front of him, Gerald didn't know if this one would stick.
"You know what?" Gerald said, digging something out of his pocket. "Why don't you take some time to think that one over?"
Carson hesitated, clearly uncertain about what to do or say. Thankfully, Gerald had something in mind to keep things moving along as the "belief" that he was Carson's superior wormed its way deeper into the big guy's brain.
Handing Carson's own wallet to him, Gerald continued, "You love buying things for me." He gestured to the concession stand at the edge of the beach, adding, "So, how about you go buy me an ice cream?"
Carson looked at his wallet as though he was seeing it for the first time. He studied the item in his hand, clearly trying to make sense of what he was running through his head. Finally, he looked up and met Gerald's gaze.
"What flavour, Sir?"
When Adam woke up with an irresistible urge to shave off his beard, he thought the whole thing was kind of silly. He smirked playfully as he lathered up his skin, telling himself that he'd clearly grown bored of the manly hair covering his face and that he was eager for a change.
However, as Adam washed away the last of the shaving cream from his now-completely-smooth jawline, his smile faltered. It seemed that, as soon as he'd completed his first task, another very insistent thought popped into his head: he had to shave the rest of his body too.
His amused grin now replaced by a confused grimace and a knotted brow, Adam got to work lathering the rest of his body up. Despite wholeheartedly believing that he'd never want to shave himself smooth, he assiduously removed every follicle from his chest, abs, and underarms.
With shock and horror, he even found himself covering his entire crotch with shaving cream, removing every trace of manly hair from his pubes, the base of his cock, and the folds of his nut sac.
Washing off what was left on his body, he couldn't even bring himself to look in the mirror to see the results of what he'd done. What the fuck could have possessed him to shave himself completely smooth like some fucking faggot?
When he stepped out of the bathroom -- still dazed and confused -- his eyes went to an email notification on his phone.
Opening it, he saw that it was an e-ticket for a familiar event: "Dr. Mesmer's Night of Mind Control Madness."
Receiving a ticket for tonight's show immediately struck Adam as odd, since he'd gone to the previous evening's performance. Tickets had been cheap and, to be honest, he'd just bought a couple as an excuse to take out the chick he'd been trying to bang for the past few days.
He thought back on the previous night's performance, realizing that he couldn't quite remember what happened after the show had started... He'd said something out loud after the first few "tricks" were pretty lame, hadn't he? In fact, he remembered outright heckling the hypnotist at one point... right before he was called up on stage?
But what had happened after that? It was all a blank.
Looking at the e-ticket on his device, Adam was made uncomfortable by the memory of the previous night (and the lack thereof). But he was made even more uncomfortable by what felt like an irresistible urge to attend tonight's performance, as well.
To his surprise, as he scrolled down, he saw that the event details were a little different than they'd been before. This one clearly read "18+, ADULTS ONLY" and described the event as containing "mature content."
Adam felt his stomach tie in knots as another irrepressible urge popped into his head: he had to -- HAD TO -- volunteer to go up on stage again tonight.
Closing the email, Adam saw that something else unexpected had arrived in his inbox: a message telling him that his order from a company called "X-Treme Chastity Emporium" had apparently arrived at the front desk of his building.
Things were falling into place in Adam's mind. Hypnosis, it seemed, was much more real than he'd originally believed. "Dr. Mesmer" had apparently arranged for Adam to show up -- and volunteer -- at his "adults only" show tonight already looking like an eager, submissive fag under his normal clothes: shaven everywhere below the neck, with his cock locked in an "extreme" chastity cage before the show even started.
If this was all just "prep," Adam dreaded what horrors he might be subjected to in front of everyone on stage tonight. But, for now, those thoughts would have to wait. It was urgent, Adam knew, to go get his cage, lock it in place, and destroy the key as soon as possible...