Date: Sat, 14 Jul 2007 20:05:07 +0000
From: Timothy Stillman <menovember@hotmail.com>
Subject: g/m college I GOT FUCKED BY JIMMY BRIGHT!!!!!!

I GOT FUCKED BY JIMMY BRIGHT!!!!
    By
Timothy Stillman

Jimmy Bright was the brightest star of all. I had to get it right this time.
I had to let myself be fucked as hard as possible, because Jimmy Bright was
the bright and morning star. Jimmy loved fucking me in the ass and creaming
in there. Jimmy was the smartest boy at University. Jimmy had the looks and
he had the eyes that poured into your soul. Jimmy was the fuckin' universe
and getting fucked by the star of the fuckin' universe was the best kind of
honor there was. Jimmy was hard and long and he loved to just grind it in
all the asses, and though he didn't know whose ass he was grinding it in, it
was still a special treat to get fucked by Jimmy Bright, cause everybody
just about lined their bung holes up to be fucked by Jimmy Bright. But you
had to do it right. To win Jimmy Bright.

Jimmy was cool and hot and somewhere in between was the way his dick ticked
up into tonight's lucky recipient's asshole and I wanted Jimmy to know my
name, which was Barry, by the by, I do have a name after all, and Jimmy was
pounding the bed up and down as he stabbed, lacerated, impaled, endeavoured
to get all the way up the insides of me, and Jimmy would not know my name or
believe I had one, and he grunted, and Jimmy grunting was this most
beautiful music this side of heaven--but Jimmy could be tricky--

He would ask: what classical music do you like? What are your favorite
movies? What is your biggest deal turn on? And the tricky part was you had
to guess--cause he kept changing the answers--and sometimes--sometimes just to
get Jimmy's big flamer in your hole, you had to know what he was thinking
before he said what it was--and I tried, I really honest to Christ tried--but
Jimmy was easily hurt and accused his potentials for the Saturday night
magical hour of sheer eternal bliss occasioned by none in the world ever
other than Jimmy Bright--and you had to apologize to Jimmy Bright for things
he said I did and said, though he was wrong, you had never done these things
to him, or said them, and he didn't even know anybody's name, save his own,
and you had to get down on the ground and kiss his feet and then maybe then
maybe then he would let you let him to hurt the hell out of you-

Which always occasioned groans from those who had to wait till next Saturday
same Jimmy time same Jimmy station for one of the lucky contestants to get
their holes corned, but now it was my night, my Jimmy Bright night, on my
bed in my dorm, myself on my knees, my elbows on the bed and my head down,
my hair falling in my face, my body sweaty, with its own sweat and that of
Jimmy's to.

, I would not bathe for at least two days because I wanted the smell and
sweat and pain of Jimmy to stay with me--but he was not the only confusion of
the lot--there was Larry Lint and there was Farkey Turman and there was
Saddlesway Bride and some others lower down on the rungs of college
studlings--it was just Jimmy Bright had taken the ante up to its forever
potential-he was fond of saying JUST WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? And you had to
politely tell him for the eighth millionth time, and he would say WHO ARE
YOU TO WASTE A MINUTE OF MY TIME?

And you would have to bow in his presence and beg humbly. And Jimmy Bright
was fond of other people doing his schoolwork for him and being a gracious
good-hearted man, he would say, I have been waiting patiently all weekend,
well, except for boozing and fucking around, for you to write my term paper,
where is it?

And you better have it in triplicate, typed neatly, every word spelled
correctly, cause if you did this enough, and if his grades were high enough
thanks to everybody else who spent their time doing his work instead of
their own, and thus failing classes, then he might let you be the one he
fucked, and it was worth it.

Because of his big hairy nuts slapping tight against your ass hole as your
own balls and dick screaming with agony they slapped themselves silly back
and forth, and you knew Jimmy Bright would not say a word when he left, for
he was a STAR and you were the STAR FUCKER, and you already are thinking of
things to say that won't make him mad. Hello makes him mad sometimes. Ah
hi^Åthat gets his proverbial goat as well--and mean girls on the net think
they have it made in the fuck you category--they never met up with Jimmy
Bright who was now ready to shoot his wad straight into me.

He held my sides and my butt with both hands gripping hard. He came and came
and shot. He screamed in that beautiful cadence of lilting bear gut shot
tones that could make me, his once a year, if lucky, butt buddy, just weep
with constant joy.

For who could possible best Jimmy Bright? Jimmy Bright was always right. He
knew everything there was to know and if he corrected you and told you to
hold your left ear closed the whole live long day, you would do just that,
and you would not even say to yourself in silence, is a happy sprung butt
hole worth this butt hole making a fool out of you? Where is some
self-pride? Well, the thing of it is, is this: take a lonely childhood, take
a mentally unbalanced mother, take being alone so much you wanted to scream
your guts out to the next county, take the sadness you are constructed of,
and when you get to be one of Jimmy Bright's little patsies, then you go all
the way and you remember every second of this sexual hour and you store it
up because maybe this will be the last time he gets round to you--

Of course he does you, that would be me, Barry, I forget I am not the person
I am talking about, a habit of mine, as a favor from his big lovely
overflowing with the milk of human kindness kind of heart, and then he slaps
me on the butt and I collapse like a weak chair and he rips out of me and
bounds off the bed, Mr. Tough Guy, and you want something to happen to him,
you want someone to grind him up, you want someone in a Mack truck to run
over him, you want something more subtle, you want him to see himself as he
really is, you want him to be ignored or screamed at or verbally slammed
because he just simply should not exist, and you want to say something here
tonight, right now, me, Barry, not, me, the mouse, and he is finished
dressing, as he tells me to tie his shoes.

  As I sit on the bed on my tender ass and lean over to do what he asks, as
he says, "sorriest little willie I ever saw on anyone. You sure you're a
real man?" As I finish tying his shoe laces. As I look up at him, so full of
fury and anger am I, I have just been degraded more than one can be degraded
and live, it seems to me at least, so I look up at him and I say the thing I
should say, and I don't care, this is my reward?, this ass fucking thing
standing there so pretty and brave and brilliant looking--come back in ten
years, Jimmy Bright, let's see how you stand the test of time, you s.o.b.,
and the thought scares me as I lean away from him, did I say it aloud?, can
he read my mind?, our minds?, we fear so, I think. He turns round without a
word and heads for the door.

"Wai--itt" I croak.

He stops. Dead still. Back turned. Like Michael Myers in "Halloween" when
the girls walking down the sidewalk cat call him in a car he drives by, and
he stops the car dead.. Just long enough to scare the girls to death and
wipe their fuckin' smiles off those fuckin' faces.  Then drives on.

He stops, Jimmy Bright. He does not turn around. No one but no one speaks
out to Jimmy Bright unless Jimmy Bright gives his glorious permission. He
waits. I am going to say it. I am going to, without fear of the consequences
of this fucking machine--I mean that: he can do nothing, there is nothing to
him, save his looks, other than his brutal ability to fuck. And now I speak
for everyone.

My heart is going a million miles an hour. My head is swimming. I am
sweating now even more than when he, Jimmy Bright, the one and only god
being from the skies was fucking me-and my voice trips and falls all over
the place, but as he overly does it with looking at his watch, which
tomorrow he might say I stole from him and I had to buy a new one for him;
he would give me an hour, no matter what class; what test I might miss--he's
done it to others--we talk about him in hidden whispers in the woods far from
the campus and fear and tremble that he might be there and hear .or that one
or the other of us might betray the others for getting up a head or two in
the to-be-fucked line--but we have to talk, we have to risk--

As I risk now--so I say, "Jim--ah cough--Mr. Bright, ah sir, ah---"

"Get the fuck on with it, worm. I give you five seconds." He starts timing
by his watch.

"Ah ah er ah" don't blow it now, you can do it, be proud of yourself, "Ah
Mr. Bright, ah, thank you sir."

That'll fix his clock by god. Bravo. Well done.


"You went over the time limit. Fuck yourself from here on out. I'm through
with you taking advantage of my feelings, hurting me, abusing me, thinking
of me as a sex object, taking up my time, being a smart ass and rude and
crude and you better get me an A on History next week or your ass is
grass.."

Then he storms out of the room and slams the door. As I lie on my bed and
cry. One, he doesn't know who I am. I'm not the one who's doing his history
paper. So he might forgive my very existence and fuck me again sometime
because he doesn't remember me already. And two, I know who is doing his
history paper, so I will be sure to warn him.

And I cry for happiness.

I have just BEEN FUCKED BY JIMMY BRIGHT--and who am I? Just some asshole
along the way that got some cum delivered in it is all. Along with lots of
other assholes. Well, it's being something anyway. Most people aren't
anything at all, they think. Hey, it's our fault after all. We made him the
way he is, he says. And of course, we have to agree.