Manipulated Into A Faggot’s Life
The following post is part of a series chronicling the life of a beta male named Quinn who was manipulated by his Father-in-law, a fat former frat brother named “Big Tony”. CLICK HERE to read all of these posts in chronological order!
There are a lot of difficult, troubling stories involving abuse, confusion, isolation, and despair in Hierarchy. This is natural, I suppose, given the unsympathetic power plays, selfishness, and delusion involved in such sloppy human interactions. I hate when I see lifetimes of damages caused by bad actors and decisions made without truth, honesty, or perspective.
I received such a story from a guy named Quinn. He’s a married male who was essentially manipulated and “seduced” by his wife’s father, a fat, well-hung former frat guy named Antonio (but everyone called him “Big Tony”).
The story Quinn sent me about this is so well written that I became suspicious of its origins, so I searched for references of it across the internet. However, it appears to be original. In that case, I tip my cap to Quin for crafting the story of his personal experience so well, and I apologize for being suspicious. I just don’t like to publish fiction here.
Here’s what Quinn shared with me (after the jump, because it’s long):
I don’t know where to start with all this.
And I don’t quite know why I’m writing this.
I’m still processing everything that’s happened to me. Still trying to fully understand it, while trying to re-establish the life that I was pretending to have.
And I think that I want to challenge your world view, this idea that men are alphas or faggots. I don’t believe that. But I was force fed the idea for years.
Honestly, I’m a bit lost.
For almost two decades years I have been used as a faggot. Not willingly, not really. Though I did consent to it. I was coerced into it. Gaslit, manipulated and bullied into doing things until the easiest option for me was to simply keep doing it.
I have been in service to one man. He broke me down, trained me, used me. Mostly he just used me for his own pleasure, but he loaned me to friends, used me as social currency at fuck parties.. He controlled my life to an alarming degree. He took away my personality and my agency.
The man who made me his faggot was Antonio. Also known to his friends as Big Tony, or sometimes just Pop.
He was my Father-in-Law. He died a few weeks ago of a heart attack. And now I’m free, but I don’t know what to do. My name, by the way, is Quinn.
I know that I’m a people-pleaser, I’m co-dependent. I suppose I’m socially submissive by nature. He saw those traits in me and he used them to make me his toy. But I’m not a faggot. Actually I’m not even gay.
He was a bully and a narcissist, and he was so good at what he did that over time I not only learned to be a good faggot, but I ended up being proud of how good I was, how well I could please men and give them what they needed. Even though, at the same time, I wanted it to end.
But now that it’s ended I’m a bit lost.
Almost seventeen years. I can’t believe it’s been that long.
It started when I was dating his daughter, Liz, who is now my wife. I was 24. We’d been together for a few months, before I met her parents – though he had, apparently, asked about me.
I first met Big Tony at a family bbq. It was a big deal. They had a big house, big family, lots of friends. He was big, hence the name, I guess. 6’6 and heavy. Fat. He made me think of a butcher, for some reason. And he had a big personality. He was loud, abrasive, very sure of himself. A man’s man. He had a magnetism to him, people liked him, he was the center of everything. But I took an immediate dislike to him.
My first interaction with him set the tone. Liz introduced me to him. He shook my hand. His first couple of comments were sexual. He was with a group of his friends (two of whom he would, months later, share me with). His first comment was that I had soft hands, and he said to his friends that I must jerk off a lot. He immediately turned to Liz and said he was joking. She laughed it off. Then he turned to his friends and introduced me as ‘Liz’s new boyfriend, Quim’. He didn’t correct himself, and nobody picked up on it. I almost thought I’d misheard it. Quim, if you don’t know, is old English slang for pussy. I wasn’t sure he’d said it, but I realized later that it was deliberate. His little game had already started. He followed it with ‘Let’s see how long he lasts.’
We had a conversation, and it was fine. He was pleasant and welcoming in his way. He apologized for the comments, saying he was just fooling around and I hoped I could take a joke. But I felt uncomfortable. I felt judged by him, scrutinized by him.
After that first encounter I did everything I could to avoid him.
At family gatherings I’d try to make sure I was in a different room. Arrive a little late, leave a little early. Not necessarily deliberately, but I had no desire to be around him.
He, on the other hand, wanted to get to know me, and he would seek me out. He would invite me on trips and excursions. But I always had other plans. It sort of became a running joke. He said, more than once ‘I think you’re trying to avoid me.’ And ‘You got something to hide? If you have something to hide, I’m gonna find out!’ Which, I thought at the time, was meant to be playful. Now I see it for the threat that it was.
Eventually, there was no avoiding it. And it was Liz, who by this point was my fiancee, who delivered me to him.
We had arranged to go to New York for a long weekend to visit friends. So when ‘Pop’ invited me on a fishing trip I had another perfect excuse to turn it down. But I’d been tricked. Liz hadn’t arranged a trip to New York. She wanted me to spend time with her father and so she’d made sure that my calendar was clear.
And so it was set. We were to spend four nights together in a cabin in Lake Arrowhead with a couple of his friends.
Great, I said. Finally, we get to hang out. I can’t wait.
The day we left, he insisted that he drive us together. He said that it was to save gas, and so we could talk in the car. I realized later it was to trap me, to make it more or less impossible for me to leave. And on the drive he casually revealed that the two other friends of his who were meant to be joining had been forced to cancel. So it was just the two of us.
Maybe it’s just hindsight, but I think I knew then, on some level what his intentioned were. I remember sitting in the car suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
Settling into the cabin was fine. I say cabin, but there was nothing rustic about it. It was a nice house, multiple bedrooms, and a deck. It was in the woods, but other houses were fairly close by and we were close to a small town, not exactly isolated.
We got groceries. We went on a hike. We looked at the lake. By the time we were back it was starting to get dark. He made dinner, and gave me a speech about how real men can cook. I said I can cook, but he wasn’t rally listening.
Then he suggested we get into the hot tub. It was outside on the deck. The night was crisp and cold. But he said it would feel great to be out there under the stars. So I said sure.
I went to my room, changed into my shorts.
When I came back he was already sitting in it.
He took one look at me and told me to take off my shorts. What? I said. He said again to take them off. He said that it feels better with nothing on.
I hesitated. He said, come on, don’t be a pussy. Got nothing to be ashamed of, have you? I’ve seen dick before. Jesus, boy what’s wrong with you?
So I dropped my shorts and I got in.
Then I realized, he was wearing shorts. He started laughing. Then said, I’m just fucking with you. He pulled them off and threw them on the deck. Then he settled back and said how good it felt, just to be out in nature with no women around and just hang out. Then he suggested that we have a drink, and told me to go get a bottle of bourbon we’d bought, and some glasses. So I did.
I felt his eyes on me. I was very aware of my nakedness and I could feel his eyes on me. But I was proud of my body, and I tried to be confident.
I got back in, and we had a drink.
(He admitted much later, to my deep shame, that he was surprised how easily I was talked into doing things. He assumed this trip would be a first step, he didn’t completely expect me to succumb to everything in one weekend.)
We drank, and we talked. About lots of things. We talked about books and films. Sports. Friends. He talked about art and architecture. He was quite charming and far more interested in culture that I had expected. I questioned my opinion of him.
Despite the alcohol, I remember the conversation, and what happened that night, very clearly. I’ve played it over in my head many times, wondering if I had responded differently or made different decisions if my fate would have been different. Honestly I think my fate was sealed when I took off my shorts. Maybe earlier, maybe just being there.
But anyway, we drank.
He asked a lot about my business. At the time I had a company that had produced a couple of iPhone games. I was proud of it and I was making a lot of money, and had plans for other games. He would, in time, convince me to sell it and work for him. But on that night he seemed genuinely interested.
And then he asked about education and college. And he asked about the fraternity I’d been in. He already knew about it, though I had never mentioned it to him.
Antonio was big on male-only institutions. He was a Freemason, I discovered, as was a member of a coupe of male-only clubs And had been in same fraternity as me.
Ah, he said, I know Sigma Chi.
It basically became the focus of the conversation. The thing he would keep coming back to.
He asked questions about my pledge and initiation. I knew what he was asking. I know the cliches about what happens in fraternities, and I’ve heard stories about other chapters, other frats. But the truth is that none of that kind of thing happened to me. And I told him.
He was surprised. So you’ve never done stuff with a guy? No, I said. Really? No.
His response was genuine surprise: ’But that’s part of the point’. His view was that fraternities function by building trust and deep bonds which, he said, come mainly from intimate experiences and shared secrets. He talked about men being able to do things that transgress social norms, in an environment where there is no judgment. He said that a man’s sense of self is strengthened because the things they do ultimately don’t matter. They don’t change who he is, because he knows who he is. They’re no big deal.
I said I saw his point.
But you really never did anything with a guy? No, I said, I never have.
He let the subject drop. But we kept circling back to it. He’d be talking about something high-brow, like how the quality of light in a region affects the architecture of the civilization there, and then quickly revert back to telling a story about his time in a fraternity.
He told me, for example, that the president of his frat would randomly assign the role of house fag to one of the brothers for a semester. They had to clean, prepare food for seniors. And they were sexually submissive for the seniors. I asked if he’d ever served. He said no, but he’d made use of them, and he’d made damn sure he got to be president.
I have to say Quinn, he said, you missed out.
He laughed about it. We both did. Perhaps it was the drink, but he was so matter of fact about it, that it started to seem less shocking.
But that was the point. He was telling me things, I think to gauge my reaction, but also to start to normalize the whole thing.
And again he asked, but you really haven’t? No.
He though it was very strange that nothing had happened like that, and he was tried to figure out why.
Never in your whole life?
No, never.
Not on a team, not with friends, on a sleep over?
No, I never have.
Was it offered, did you turn it down?
No, it’s just never happened.
I told him that maybe the guys I hung out with weren’t like that.
He responded, with, trust me, most guys are like that.
And then he said. Ah, I know what it is. You’re THAT type.
What? What type??
You’re self-conscious. Uptight. Judgy. You’re a mood kill. Other guys were doing stuff, but they didn’t include you.
That felt like a slap. Fuck no, I said, I’m not judgy. I’m not uptight.
You are a little, Quinn. You don’t mean to be, maybe, but you are. And other guys sensed it and they didn’t want to drop their guard around you. There’s no way there wasn’t some guy stuff going on – they just left you the fuck out of it. Honestly I’m surprised you made the pledge.
I remember being just speechless. But he continued. Quinn, you were gonna wear shorts into the hot tub, you can be kind of a pussy.
I remember just saying again, I’m not uptight. But what he said struck a chord. Maybe I had been left out. Fuck.
And then he asked, would you have done stuff with guys if they’d included you? I said, I dunno, I don’t think so, I’m not gay. He said you’re not listening. That’s not the point.
He asked, what’s the problem with it? I said I’m not into it.
He smirked. Not into it, okay sure. He acted like I was just confirming an idea he had of me. And then he said – you’re not secure in yourself, and you’re worried that guys would think you were gay. You’d treat the whole thing like it was a big fucking deal.
I said I wouldn’t. That I don’t care what people think.
And that, I think, was the point he was trying to get to He wanted to get me to be defensive, and to act like I had something to prove.
Yeah, you care. You care a lot.
I don’t.
Yes, you do.
No. I don’t.
So threw down a challenge. Okay, put your hand on my dick.
I was shocked. What? Why?
He laughed. Fucking knew it.
I stared. Did he fucking mean it?
Just do it, he said. It’s no big deal. It means nothing. If you don’t care what I might think of you, just fucking do it.
And so I did. I put my hand on his dick.
Okay, he said. You’re bolder than I thought. Keep your hand there.
I did.
Keep holding. Don’t freak out.
Why?
He grinned at me. He started to get hard. Keep holding, he said.
I started to balk at the idea. But I force myself to keep my hand on him, to show him I didn’t care.
Just keep your hand on it, he said. See, I told you. Not that big of a deal. We did this shit all the time. Keep holding it.
Eventually, I said, can I let go now.
Freaking out?
No.
Okay, good. Stroke me.
What?? No.
You’r just holding my cock, that’s nothing. Stroke it. I made your fucking dinner, so just stroke my cock. Show me you’re not a fucking pussy.
So I stroked him.
See? he said. No big deal.
Then, as I did it, he told me that in his frat, pledges had been expected to give head. He said he hadn’t been good at it. Then he went quiet.
Then he said that he thought I would have been good at it.
You like to please people, he said. Nothing wrong with that. Don’t you Quinn, you like to please people?
I guess.
He said. I’m going to sit up on the side of the tub. You cool with that?
Uh, sure, yeah.
So he did. He told me to just keep my hand on his cock as he changed position, and for some reason I did it. It wasn’t until he was getting into position that I realized what he meant. His cock, I realized was huge. And he wanted me to suck it.
I think you’ll be good at it, he said. I think you’ll like it.
I was sort of in shock.
I let go. I backed away. Um, no.
What?
No, man. I don’t want to.
And he exploded. What the fuck is wrong with you, buy? Fucking pussy. Have some fucking backbone you fucking coward. He swung his legs around, got out of the tub. PUSSY.!
I was sort of terrified. Jesus, I said. I don’t just don’t want to. Fuck.
And then his demeanor changed. He went from angry, to hurt. Wounded.
That’s not cool Quinn, he said, that’s not cool.! You’re trying to humiliate me. I see, I see what you’re doing. Trying to embarrass the old man. Who would do that? Here I am talking about trust and being open and you were just stringing me along to embarrass me. I’m hurt, Quinn, I’m fucking HURT.
I was taken aback. My mind was still reeling. I had no idea how to react. He seemed genuinely hurt. He was upset. And maybe there was some reality to it. But later, way too much later, I realized he was gaslighting me, It was an act.
But in the moment, I tried to calm him down. I said I was sorry, I wasn’t leading him on. It was just a lot and I’m not into it. I didn’t mean to embarrass him.
But he wanted nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t speak to me. He went to his room.
I was aghast. I didn’t know what to do.
I felt like I need to speak to Liz to ask her advice, but what the fuck would I say?? Your dad’s mad with me because I wouldn’t go down on him?? I couldn’t call anyone anyway. Even if it wasn’t so late, the service there was terrible. And I couldn’t leave. There was only one car. I had to stay and fix things. I had to figure it out.
I knocked on his door. He ignored me.
I went to the kitchen. I was left with my thoughts. How do I fix it? I had to fix it. I couldn’t leave it like that. If he wasn’t speaking with me, it would cause all kinds of weirdness back hope. How would I explain it? And I couldn’t just leave it until morning. Could I? Should I? Was I in the wrong here? Or was this insane? It seemed insane. But he seemed genuinely upset.
Fuck.
I went to bed. I lay awake. I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts racing.
Had I led him on? Had I made him think I would do it? Maybe I just demean myself in some way? Should I actually do it? No. Was it such a bad thing to do? Ew, no. Fuck no. But maybe if I offered to do it, he’d say no, and we’d make up. We’d laugh about it. But what if he said yeah, do it? Could I? Fuck, maybe I should just offer to do it. Hope he says no. And if he says yes, maybe try to talk him out of it? Maybe I jerk him off? I was almost doing that anyway? Fuck. How the fuck did this happen??
I knocked on his door. He told me to go away, he was sleeping. I said I want to talk. We have nothing to talk about. I said, Pop, please.
Ok come in. So I went in. And I had taken my next step to being his toy.
I apologized. I assured him I hadn’t meant to embarrass him. He was quiet, curt. Said, that’s easy to say. I said I wanted to make it up to him. He didn’t reply. So I said, look, I know it matters, so if you still want me to do it, I’ll do it.
Really? he said.
Yeah, if it matters that a much, sure.
You mean it, you’re not fucking with me again?
I wasn’t fucking with you. But yeah. I mean it, if you really want me to. But honestly, it’s not necessary. You can trust me, I promise I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.
He thought for a minute.
Ok, I want you to do it.
Damn.
You sure? I said. I tried to make light of it. I mean, there’s no taking back something like that, ha ha.
No, you should do it. Swear you’re not fucking with me.
I swear, I said, I swear I’m not fucking with you.
Okay, I want you to do it. But say it out loud, say I’m going to suck you cock.
You want me to say it? Why,? I said I’ll do it.
I need to trust you’ll go through with it.
So I said, okay, I’m going to suck your cock.
Ok, good.
Cool.
Okay.
My heart was racing. I was so fucking nervous.
So we awkwardly figured out logistics. He suggested that he should sit on the edge of the bed, essentially ensuring that I had to get onto my knees.
I felt something shift as I got down. Some voice, somewhere telling me that there was no coming back from this. But I felt like I had no choice.
He asked if he should get himself hard, or if I would do it. I couldn’t even engage with the idea, so I said whatever, he said just play with my cock. And so I did. And for the second time, I felt him getting hard in my hand.
And then I had to do it.
I took him in my mouth. Just the head at first. It was surreal. A man, in my mouth. A cock, in my mouth. A man I didn’t like, had wanted to avoid. My girlfriend’s father. I’d been with him in the cabin for one day. And here I was already, on my knees with his cock in my mouth. All because I didn’t want him to be angry with me. It was insane.
He put his hand on my head and eased me down further.
Part of my brain was asking me what the fuck I was doing. Another part was telling me it genuinely was no big deal. Another was telling me to just get it done. I told myself, it’s not that bad, it’s not a big deal, it’s not that bad, it’s not a big deal.
I didn’t really know what I was doing. He gave me some instructions: To open wide to keep my teeth out of the way. To fondle his balls, to stop finding his balls. To rub under the head of his cock with my tongue. He asked me to look up at him at once point which was very strange. But he was mostly quiet.
I did what I thought I had to. Sucking, moving my head up and down. Eyes closed. Getting though it.
He had his phone in his hand. I assumed he was looking at porn, but I don’t remember him saying that. And it didn’t really register. This was 2010, iPhones that recorded video were still fairly new. But that’s what he was doing. I didn’t realize it, but he was filming me sucking his cock.
I kept going. It seemed to take forever. I wondered how long I was expected to do it for. Maybe he’d just tell me we were done and he’d stop. Then I wondered where he was going to cum. It hadn’t occurred that he might actually try to cum in my mouth, and I started to get a sense he was getting close. But then gripped the hair on the back of my head. Not painful, but forceful. He pulled me off his cock and held me in place. He came on my face.
He let go and I pulled away.
I tried to hide that I was shocked. My heart was still racing. My mind was reeling. What have I done??
He said thank you. He suggested we have a drink, but I said I just wanted to get it off my face. He grabbed his underwear, and wiped the cum off for me.
As he did it he said I’d done a great job. And he joked ‘you sure you’ve not it before?’ I tried to make my excuses, said I wanted to got to bed, but he insisted on having the drink. He thanked me again for sucking his cock. He kept saying those words. I really wanted him to stop.
Then he apologized for having over-reacted earlier. He said he knew I was a good guy. And that he knew he could trust me.
Gradually, the tension eased and we had a nice chat. I almost forgot what had just happened. He certainly seemed to act like it had been no big deal.
He talked about what me might do the following day. He told me about plans he had for an extension on his house. Random shit. But a couple of times he referred to the blow job. He said, we feel closer now, right? Because we trust each other. Shared an intimate experience. I said yes. But also, he said, it was no big deal, right? People put labels on things, but it’s no big deal.
A little later he thanked me again, for ‘doing the right’ thing. Manning up and coming to him room to offer to do it. To make good on what I’d promised.
I had never promised to do it. But I didn’t even catch that he put it that way.
As we were finally heading up to bed he asked, you wanted to do it right? I didn’t force you?
I said no, he didn’t force me.
He asked again, so you were okay with it? You wanted to do it.
And I said, yes, sure, I had wanted to do it.
Good, he said.
It was all part of a pattern of his gaslighting. And normalizing it.
And the last thing he said was: your frat really missed out. If you’d been in mine you’d have been on your knees all the time.
(In the weeks and months – and years – when he told others about that night, he would frame it as having been my idea. That I had come to his bedroom and offered to suck his cock. That I’d been wearing nothing but a towel. That I’d looked into his eyes as I’d fondled his balls. That I’d let him cum on my face and used his underwear to wipe off the cum. He never mentioned the argument that led to it. The grooming. What was weird was I started to almost remember it that way too. I had to work against his gaslighting to remember it as it had actually happened.)
That was our first night. We hadn’t even been there 24 hours.
The next day was Saturday. It was easy. We went fishing, which I hated. Hiked again. He mentioned that he had noticed that I work out. He asked about calories, work out routine. I told him what I did. He seemed impressed.
We had a late lunch in some diner. Mostly locals in it. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but the previous night was a dim memory (thought I still felt a little hung over). I think my mind was trying to erase it, the way you forget a weird dream.
But in the middle of the conversation he said, oh by the way, I watched the video this morning, I can send it to you if you want to see it.
I paused. What video?
He was very matter of fact. Last night. Your blow job.
He followed up with don’t worry, nobody’s going to see it. But he acted like I had known he was filming. Like I had allowed it.
You filmed it??
He shrugged it off. I can delete it if you want but I thought you might want to see it. Does it bother you?
Yes, it bothers me. I was trying not to show my anger.
He was very calm about it. Okay, no problem. Watch it with me, then if you want me to I’ll delete it, okay?
I said I didn’t want to watch it.
Really? You’re not curious? Don’t be a pussy. Just watch it.
So we watched it. He got me to move around to sit next to him and he showed me the video. Me sucking him, looking up at him. He scrubbed back to show me a moment where I look up at him, basically into the camera. I was kind of horrified, but I couldn’t look away.
He said, you look like you’re enjoying it haha..You look like you need it.
He stopped the video before the end, before he came on my face. And then, yet again, was suddenly apologetic. I’m sorry, he said, this is making you uncomfortable, I didn’t want that. I just thought it would be fun to watch it. It’s no big deal. He apologized again and again, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to make you uncomfortable. And he kept saying it until I said I’m not, it’s fine. He made me reassure him that there was nothing wrong.
He put the phone away. He said, I just thought you might want to see it. I thought you knew I was videoing it, I thought it was okay. He asked if I still wanted him to delete it and I said I’d prefer it.
You sure? h said. Really?
Whatever. Up to you.
I ‘d given in again.
He said he would delete it. But the phone was already away. And he never did.
But he’d made me watch it with him. He’d normalized it. None of this occurred to me at the time. But he knew what he was doing.
In the evening he suggested the hot tub again. He assured me, don’t worry, I won’t ask for another blow job. Haha.
We got in the hot tub, and he didn’t. Later, we had a drink and watched a movie on DVD. There were some int he cabin.
We went to bed.
I’d got through the day with less weirdness. I relaxed.
But then came Sunday. Sunday was the day he raped me.
We went to a gun range. Not my favorite thing. I realized that he knew quite a few people locally. I mean, he had a license to fish on the lake there, but it seemed like he visited often.
He introduced me to some guys at the range as Quim. One of the guys looked at me and just said ‘Quim??’ I corrected him, like he’d misheard. ’Quinn’ I said. He gave Tony a look and said, ‘For a second I thought he was pussy’. They laughed.
We had lunch. Did a hike. Went back to the cabin. We had dinner. Fish caught the day before.
He suggested getting into the hot tub. I got in naked. Still self-conscious, but it was easier. And he went to get some glasses and a bottle of bourbon.
We drank. We talked. I felt relaxed. Very relaxed. I remember at one point, I think, noticing that I felt strange. But I could easily be mis-remembering.
The memories of that night have come back gradually. Some aren’t fully clear, some haven’t come back at all. There is a huge hole where I remember nothing.
I remember in the hot tub that he had his phone close at hand and asked if I wanted to see the video again. I think I said no. He said sure you do, and I said okay. We watched it through to the end. He told me I looked hot with cum on my face, but that I should probably suck his dick again so that this time I could swallow it.
He said he was joking. I laughed.
We talked a bit about college and he asked me about guys I had roomed with. He got me to name them. He posed a question: if I had been forced to suck cock for one of them, every day for a year, which one would it be. I didn’t want to answer, but he pressed me. Just name one, he said, just name one.
So I said ‘Hunter’. He asked why. I was feeling drowsy and strange but he made me answer. I dunno, I said, he was a cool guy. Tony pressed me to say more. So I said Hunter was taller than me, he got on better with the seniors, girls noticed him.
Interesting. so you envied him?
I guess.
And that’s why you wanted to suck his cock?
I guess.
We got out of the tub. I was hot. Dizzy. He helped me out. I staggered around. I thought I was drunk, but I’d never felt like that before.
He’d roofied me, obviously. Not enough to knock me out, but I felt sleepy, slow, like I was moving through molasses. And I had no critical faculties, I was just doing as I was told.
I don’t think it happened right away. The rest of the night is snatches of memories. Images. I think we watched some TV. And I remember being naked on the couch.
I remember being on my knees again, with his cock in my mouth. And I remember choking as he pushed my head down and forced his cock into my throat.
I have a memory of standing at the kitchen sink, drinking water.
And randomly, I remember being outside, in the woods near the cabin.
And I have a clear image of being on his bed. I could see myself in a mirror, and I could see that he was on top of me. He was fucking me. I remember just thinking about how fat and hairy he was. How it looked like he could crush me. And how strange it felt having him inside me.
I woke up alone late the following morning.
I remembered only fragments of the night before. But nothing of the sex. Just the tub, drinking. It was mostly a blackout.
But I knew something had happened. My body ached, and my asshole felt like I’d been torn apart. I knew something had happened. I didn’t want to think about it. But I lay in bed for an hour, at times numb, and times crying. Telling myself that I was wrong.
He told me to hurry up and shower. We were running late. So I did.
We took a boat out on the lake and fished.
It was hours before I got up the courage to ask him what had happened. Initially he said ‘nothing’. But then he said he was embarrassed. He told me that we’d both been drunk and that I had come onto him.
I was like, what??? I didn’t believe him, but I had no memory back to challenge him with..
He said that I had got drunk and had asked to see the video. And then I offered him a blow job again and he said that he knew he should have refused, but he’d been drunk too. Again, he was apologetic, saying I know I should have refused, but you said you really wanted to, to make up for the first time. He said it was no big deal, that we could forget about it. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.
I was quiet for a while. And then asked, I offered? Really?
He said. I don’t want to embarrass you.
What? Tell me.
You said… you said you wanted to swallow my cum. And you said you wanted me to film it again.
I remember just being very still. Inside I was freaking out, But I just sat there.
Then he asked if I wanted to see it.
NO!!
I wanted to walk away. Storm off. Leave. But we were in a fucking boat, I had no where to go. He said that he thought I’d react like this, which is why he hadn’t said anything. And he said to calm down, that it was nothing. Forget about it.
And then I asked, and was that all? Because I knew. I knew it had gone further.
And then he told me that I’d asked him to fuck me. Not asked. Begged. I was in shock.
He was like, you sounded like you really meant it. It just happened. He said not to worry. He wouldn’t tell anyone. He said he could barely remember it, and I clearly didn’t, so lets just act like it never did.
But then he added, you know, when guys get together things like this can happen. It’s no big deal. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t man anything.
I said nothing like that could happen again, he said of course.
That afternoon I avoided him. I was shaken. I still didn’t really remember anything. And I felt he was lying, but he seemed so genuine I thought maybe I had asked him. It seemed so messed up.
He came to my room and said we should talk. I thought it might clear the air a bit so I said okay.
He said he knew I was embarrassed about it all, and that he understood, but he said he kept getting strange mixed signals from me.
He asked if I was honest about nothing having happened with guys at college. I said of course. And he said then when I was ‘drunk’ I had brought up a guy called Hunter, and asked if I remembered that?
I said no. I had no memory of the conversation about Hunter at all.
So he went on and said that I said that I had brought up his name and said I wanted to suck his dick. And that when we were fuck, I had said Hunter’s name out loud.
I had no memory of mentioning Hunter at all. So I was shocked by that. And part of me believed him.
He put his arm around me.
He said he thought that I had really needed to be fucked, and I that I shouldn’t be ashamed of it. He asked if I wanted to see more video. I said no. He said I should, again, I said no.
He told me that he thought I felt I had missed out. And that maybe while we were in the cabin I should keep sucking him. I said no, I wanted to leave. He told me I was good at it and I should do it more. I tried to get up but he grabbed me and pushed me back down. We struggled. He held me there and stood in front of me, pushing his crotch into my face.
He took out his cock, pushed it in my face. He was a much bigger guy than me, and strong. He kept saying, suck it, just suck it. Holding me. And in the end. I gave in. Partly out of fear, mostly out of exhaustion. It just seemed easier. I sucked him. Him standing in front of me.
He told me I was good.
I was telling myself that once we were out of the cabin and back home it would all stop.
He told me to drop my pants. I started crying. He said he knew I wanted it, I had needed it. I said no. He grabbed my throat and told me to. I took off my pants. He got me on the bed. He pushed himself into me. I begged him to stop. I said it hurt, that I couldn’t do it. He said I’d had no trouble the night before. He said that I’d opened up like a cheap whore. He forced his way into me, and I took him.
He said I was a slut. He called me a faggot. He asked how I liked that big cock inside me. I couldn’t catch my breath to answer at all. He licked my ear, told me I was sexy.
And then he came in me. As quickly as it started, it was over.
I was shaken.
Then he did the apology thing again. Said he was getting mixed signals from me. He asked if I was okay. And again he said. You did want that, right? I didn’t make you. I couldn’t answer.
He told me I was an enigma, I’d been confusing him. I ended up apologizing to him.
He said ‘you started sucking me, I thought you wanted it’ and I said yeah, I had wanted it. He said he felt like I was playing a game, leading him on then resisting. But to tell him that I wanted it. I said yes, I wanted it.
Then he told me to jerk off. He wanted to see me cum. So I tried. I got myself hard. He got on the bed with me, laid beside me. He pushed his fingers into my ass as I jerked and eventually I made myself cum.
He said we only had one more night and the following day. He wondered how many times he could fuck me. And he looked at me and said I can fuck you whenever right?
And I nodded.
The following morning, before heading back, he said he wanted sex again.
He fucked me in the living room. I was fully sober, fully awake to it. There was no lead up. It was completely consenting. I let him do it, and I tried to take his cock without complaining too much.
While he was fucking me he told me that he wanted me to talk like I had been a house fag at college.
Did all the guys at college fuck you? Yes, I said.
Whose cock did you take the most? Hunter, I said.
It was something he’d get me to do from time to time. He filmed it.
A few months later, when I was fully serving as a faggot to Big Tony and two of his friends, he told me that he’d tracked down Hunter and contacted him. They spoke at length, and apparently he sent Hunter videos of me. Hunter confirmed that yes, some of the guys in our frat did do stuff, and it was nice to hear his name in my mouth. They were trying to arrange for Hunter to come and use me, but he was living overseas by then and it didn’t happen.
When we got back, Liz wanted to know how it had been. Great, I said. Really good. Kathryn, Tony’s wife, asked if we boys had played nice with each other. Yeah, I said. She gave me a hug and said she was so glad we’d gotten along.
I felt hollow. And strange.
And of course, it didn’t stop.
Meetings were irregular at first. Arranged around work, or his work, Liz being away.
I was aware of the strange psychological trap I was in. If I said I wanted it to stop, then I was making a big deal of it, I was being a pussy, admitting I was weak. But if I allowed it to happen, then I could tell myself it was no big deal, and that I was complicit, I had agency.
The cognitive dissonance was crazy. But over time, as I got used to it, as I normalized it, it got easier to deal with. It was like being in a cult of one. If I just did as I was told and believed what he said, then I didn’t need to think about it at all.
He started suggesting other changes. He told me to not wear underwear. I complied. He wanted me mostly hairless. I had laser treatment. I was in good shape, but he wanted me to work out harder. I got a personal trainer.
It was around then that he started suggesting that I work for him. I’m not sure if it was because I made more money than he did, or if he wanted to be my boss, or if it was for physical proximity. But he talked me into selling my game company. Which I did. I made a lot of money, and I didn’t need a job, but he wanted me to work for him. He created a position at his real estate firm. Though it was little more than glorified office boy. And eventually I got the sense that he had told people he was helping me out because I couldn’t get a job.
He never used me sexually at work. But he would give me impossible tasks. Demean me in subtle ways in meetings.
My personality started to change.
Liz noticed the changes, but on the whole welcomed them. She took my withdrawal and quietness as a sort of seriousness. She knew I was spending time with her dad and she welcomed it. She thought he was rubbing of on me.
A few months into this changing life, he said he wanted to take me somewhere. He told me not to freak out. He said there was a regular party at a private house in Orange County. All men. He said guys mostly just walked around naked. He said he wanted to take me along, to check it out. The idea terrified me. I had grown up in Orange County. What if there was someone I knew? He assured me there wouldn’t be.
We went. He was a member of this party group. Of course he was. I was slowly realizing how connected he was, and how experienced. He checked me in as a guest. We had the option to stay dressed, but he insisted we go naked. So we checked our clothes. I was just wearing sneakers.
We walked around the party. He knew people. Of course he did.
I started to realize that there was kind of a fantasy playing out. At this party he just introduced me as Quinn (but I call him ‘quim’, because he’s just pussy). Initially he referred to me as ‘his boy’. To another guy he said ‘my son’. It varied. In that party and over the years I would be his son, his step-son, his son’s best friend or his boy. I didn’t challenge it.
He also brought up the fraternity. That was his constant fantasy. He told people that I had been house fag at college and that everyone had made use of my holes. He loved to talk about it and invent details. And I would agree. I played into it. Even at this first party. He was telling someone and he turned to me and asked ‘how many cocks do you think you sucked’ and I was just like ‘oh, I lost count’.
And he fucked me there, at the party with men watching. And afterward, he took me aside and told me that other men wanted to use me, and would I be okay with that so that he could watch. And I said yes. I did it. It’s no big deal, right? Just guys being guys. So at that party I was gang fucked.
Somewhere inside, the old Quinn was asking, dude, what are you DOING???
There were many parties. Many.
They varied in their intensity. Some he would take me and fuck me and let people watch. Some he’d let people use me. At one warehouse party I was in a darkroom, tied in a sling, gagged. He watched men fuck me. And he left. I thought he was somewhere watching, and I just let men fuck me. But he actually left the building.
I thought often about trying to make it stop.
Along the way he introduces me to his friends.
Three of them, all of them I’d met before in the context of being the son-in-law, now I was meeting them as the faggot. I’m not sure how long they had known about it.
One of the guys was Robert. Bobby. Bobby was he guy he had first introduced me to as ‘quim’.
Tony said he’d told the friends all about the night at the cabin, when I had come to his room and offered to blow him.
Was he good? They’d ask Oh yeah, he’s sucked so much cock, right?
Yeah, I’d say, I was house fag at Sigma Chi.
Oh fuck, they’d say. We know all about Sigma Chi. They use your ass too? They’d ask Or course, I’d day.
And then my father in law and his old college friends would use me. Fucking my mouth and my ass.
I’d sometimes get sent to ‘help out’ Bobby. Bobby liked to tie me up.
Once, only once, I was taken to Tony’s Lodge. He was a Freemason. Two of the friends he shared me with were also Masons. He didn’t talk about that stuff with me. It wasn’t the location that he usually had access to, and I don’t know who organized it or why. But he insisted that I make a good impression. I was shown around, briefly, and was told that we could use the swimming pool and the steam room.
In the pool I was aware that I was being watched. Ah, I thought, I’m supposed to show of my body. So I got out a lot, walked around, dove in. Let the men see me.
And then in the steam room, I was the focus of attention for several men and I gave them what they wanted. Tony was happy with what happened there, though he never explained any of the context for it.
I was aware that the situation I was in was messed up.
I saw my only way out as talking to his wife, Kathryn. Early on, before the parties were established I arranged to meet her.
I’d put together enough of what was going on, and I’d reconstructed enough memories from the cabin that I understood I had been manipulated. It was a complex position to be in. So much had happened that it was hard to say I hadn’t become complicit. I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t really know what I was going to say to her, or how much I was going to tell, but I wanted her to intervene. To stop him spending so much time with me. I wanted, I think, to create the idea that there was inappropriateness without spelling out what was happening.
But she already knew. And she was okay with it. More than okay.
She knew why I was there, and she was ready. She told me, Pop has needs that I can’t satisfy. She said, I knew the first time I met you that you’re the type of man who could. And isn’t it better that its someone in the family? Better than him looking for boys elsewhere. She said she was grateful to me for looking after his needs.
I was shocked. He made me his fucking sex toy. But you like it, obviously, she said. It’s okay, it’s complicated, and I understand. she said. He raped me, I said. Did he? Didn;t you go to his bedroom and offer yourself?
She knew all about the cabin.
She told me that neither of them had thought it would happen on my first trip with him. Tony had known I would need a push. But you were on your knees serving him on the first night!
And then she confided ‘I’ve seen the videos. You obviously enjoy it.’
I was speechless. I felt trapped.
She assured me that Liz had no idea. I don’t think she’d understand, she said. She’s not very worldly.
And so it continued.
He started to refer to me more regularly as his fag. And he showed me books, and videos, and your website – in it’s previous incarnation. I never accepted it. I’ve always wondered how many ‘fags’ have just been conditioned to see themselves that way. How many are trapped by circumstance.
My guess is I am not much of an outlier.
And then. And then. And then.
It continued.
Until he died. Quite suddenly, a heart attack.
And suddenly I’m free.
I didn’t meet with either of the friends the first week, and they didn’t question it. I’ve not heard from them. With him gone, there is nobody to control me, and part of me wonders if he was also to some degree controlling them.
But it was such a big part of my life, that I can’t help but feel the loss. I need to rediscover myself. Reinvent myself.
And I want nobody to know what happened to me.
And I want everyone to know what happened to me.
Here’s what happened to Quinn: he was raped, not in the same physical way I was, but raped mentally and emotionally. That doesn’t diminish the impact in any way. In fact, what Big Tony did to Quinn might’ve been even worse, because he was able to manipulate cooperation out of Quinn. That makes Quinn feel complicit in his own emasculation.
I don’t envy Quinn task ahead as he peels back the layers of manipulation clouding his head. It’s going to be rough, and there will likely be a lot of moments of confusion, self-doubt, fear, and second-guessing … but finding the truth is always a valuable pursuit!
I wish you well, Quinn!
