I've hated faggots all my life. Even when I was a kid in grade school, before I even knew exactly what a queer was, I could tell who they were. They were the sissies. the ones who sucked at sports and any other normal "guy" stuff. Most of em were quiet and whiney, and they usually had that nasally-sounding kinda voice.
It used to crack me up when I heard adults say that bullies were cowards and that they picked on smaller kids mainly because they were jealous. Shit! I used to bully fags all the time and it sure as hell wasn't cuz I was jealous of em. I hated their guts, and I loved to torment them cuz they deserved it. Plus it was fun. Well. maybe not exactly "fun" but certainly entertaining.
Back in the sixth grade, there was this little fag named Scott. Most of the time, I didn't even notice him or think about him. He was a nobody, really. But sometimes he just bugged me. We had a male teacher named Mr. Matson, and he used to be extra nice to Scott. He was a strict teacher, especially for sixth grade, but Scott was like his pet or something. Mr. Matson had a big paddle which he kept on a hook up by the chalkboard. He used to give out demerits and kept track of them on a poster board. When you got up to ten demerits you got a paddling in front of the whole class.
I got my share of board meetings that year, just like most of the other guys in the class. Hardly any of the girls ever got their butts spanked, and when they did, it was not even hard. Scott was the one kid in the class who went almost the entire year without a single demerit. I always thought it would be funny to see him get his ass beat in front of the whole class. He'd be so humiliated that he'd cry like a fuckin baby.
Mr. Matson had this gold paper weight which he kept on his desk. It was an apple. Really it was kinda stupid, but it was something he'd had there the entire year. I knew it would really piss him off if it came up missing, so I slipped it in my backpack one day on my way out of class. Nobody saw me.
That night Mr. Matson apparently noticed that the paper weight was missing, and the following morning he made an announcement. He told the class that the apple had been stolen. I sat in my chair, stone-faced, suppressing an urge to grin. He went on to say that if the paper weight were not returned by the end of the day, the whole class would forfeit our end-of-the year picnic. Instead we would be each writing an essay about the importance of honesty and respect for the personal property of others.
I didn't really care about the stupid picnic, other than it was a chance to get out of class for a day. I really didn't wanna have to write an essay, though, especially not due to some stupid paper weight that I didn't even want anyway. So I decided that I'd just return it when no one was looking.
But then when we were at recess that afternoon, I had a brilliant idea. I ran up to the school entrance and told the hall monitor that I had to use the bathroom. Then I ran down to my locker and got the paperweight out of my backpack. It was kinda chilly that day so I was wearing a jacket and was easily able to conceal the paperweight in an inside pocket. Then I headed back outside to find Scottie. Of course, he was by himself, sitting on a bench on the far side of the playground. He was reading a book. I strutted confidently across the lot, and sat down next to him. He glanced over at me, somewhat startled, and nodded, too afraid to even say anything I think.
"Hey fag, whatcha readin?" I asked. I knew that he'd be insulted by the name-calling but it wasn't like he could do anything about it, especially when we were alone. He just glared at me for a second and then quickly looked away.
"I asked you a question, faggot," I said. "What's the matter, you deaf or somethin?"
He continued to look down at his book and then barely mumbled a response, "Derek, please leave me alone, or I'm gonna tell Mr. Matson."
"Ya know, I don't really think you're gonna tell Mr. Matson shit about me. In fact, I know you ain't. Ya know why? Cuz if you say one fuckin word to him about me, I'll beat the shit outta ya. You can't hide from me forever, fag, and I can fuckin guarantee ya that if you fuck with me, you're gonna be sorry."
"Derek, please. just leave me alone. I never did anything to you."
"Fuck you!" I said with a laugh. "You've been on my fuckin nerves since the day I met you." I slid over a little closer to him and leaned in. I then stretched my arms out against the top of the bench so that my right arm was resting behind his head. As I looked out towards the playground to make sure nobody was watching, quickly I slapped the side of Scottie's head, nailing him hard in the ear. The "thwap" sound that my slap made was pretty loud, but it must have been about ten times louder to the fag. He quickly dropped his book and reached up to grab his head.
"Oww!" he cried, as he quickly scurried to jump up out of his seat. I casually grabbed hold of the back of his collar and pulled him back down.
"Shut up!" I said, and again I swatted his ear, this time a little harder. Tears were already welling up in his big brown eyes. He looked over at me fearfully, too frightened to even speak. "Listen up, bitch." I said. "There's something that we gotta talk about. And don't start bawlin either. You're such a pansy."
Scott just sat there, now trembling. "Ya know that paperweight that Mr. Matson lost?" Scott looked at me all wide-eyed and nodded. "Well. I know that you're the one who took it," I said.
"No I didn't!" Scott shouted, again trying to jump up out of his seat. I pulled him back down again and this time swatted his ear harder then ever, three times in succession. He jerked his arm upwards and cupped his palm over his ear, now beginning to cry openly.
"Shut the fuck up!" I said. "And if you don't stop cryin, I'll give you somethin to really cry about!" I glared at him as he sat there in an obvious state of terror. "You DID steal the paperweight, fag. I know you did, cuz I saw you. And you're gonna take it back to him and confess so the rest of us don't have to do that stupid fuckin essay."
"But Derek," Scott whined, "Honest, I didn't steal it, and I don't have it!"
It was then that I reached inside my jacket with my left hand and pulled out the apple, sliding it over to him and dropping it in his lap. "Oh really?" I said. "Well what's this then?"
"Derek!" Scottie whined, "You stole it!"
"Shut up, bitch!" I said, this time, flicking his ear hard with my middle finger. I knew it had to hurt after I'd just swatted it several time. "You ever drink out of a toilet, fag?" I asked casually.
"No!" Scottie cried. "Please. please, Derek!"
"Ever have the back of your underwear pulled up to the middle of your back?"
He shook his head.
"Ever get kidney-punched about fifty times in a row?"
He stared at me, trembling.
"Ever have to eat a pile of dogshit? Huh? I can't fuckin hear you faggot!"
"No! No Derek. none of those things."
"Well you better confess to stealin the apple, or you're gonna find out first hand what all of em are like. and then some. Understand?"
"Derek, I'll be in so much trouble if I tell him I stole it."
"I know," I laughed. "That's the idea. Better you than me."
"Okay. okay. just leave me alone. I'll do it."
I knew this was too easy. The faggot was gonna nark on me. He wouldn't agree that quickly. But time was running out, cuz the recess bell was about to ring. All I could do was wait and see what happened. If he told on me, I already knew Mr. Matson would believe him, but at least then I'd have the fun of getting even with Scottie later. If he confessed, then I'd have even more fun watchin him be humiliated.
Well it was that day that I learned just how easy it is to manipulate fags. To my surprise, Scottie did march back into that classroom and confess to stealing the apple. He got an immediate ten demerits and ten hard swats of the paddle in front of the whole class. He also got detention on the day of the end-of-year picnic, and he had to write an essay.
I, on the other hand, got to experience the pleasure of watching it all happen. Not only was it funny, but it was a trip to realize I had that kind of power. I loved the fact that the fag had to obey me whether he liked it or not. Even though he had the option of telling on me, he knew that his fate would've been worse if he disobeyed.
My dick was hard as I sat there watching him get paddled. It wasn't from being turned on by him, but from the power I had over him. It was this sixth-grade experience that paved the way for two very entertaining and carefree junior-high years to come. And high school, of course, was even better.