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Message-ID: <35643asstr$1015722612@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Mighty Aphrodite <nsaphrodite@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Lust {Aphrodite} (MM  rape celeb)
Date: Sat,  9 Mar 2002 20:10:12 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



Lust

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction. Celebrities portrayed in
this story are not gay. Due to the content of this piece, only
mature audience of legal age should be able to read this.

Rating:  NC-17 with very graphic scenes. Read with caution.

 

 

Lust

 

Lust, as Webster defines it, is a strong sexual desire without
idealized or spiritualized feelings.

Lust is inarguably the most dangerous feeling a person can
harbor. Lust, a very humanly emotion, can turn inhumane, turning
average men to savage beasts. That was exactly how I was feeling.
It was late at night. Perhaps 3:00am. I had no idea. I had just
capitalized on an opportunity that came knocking on my door. Just
a little after midnight, I heard a knocking on the door. I opened
the door and was delightfully greeted by a charming blonde. Nick
Carter would inevitably become one of my greatest conquests.

Having a job as the popular Total Request Live Host had its
perks, among them, the easy access to young stars. To this date,
I had been blessed with the opportunities to fulfill my sexual
desires with such names as Jeff Timmons, Drew Lachey, Brian
Littrell, Kevin Richardson, AJ MacLean, Usher Raymond, Leonardo
Dicarprio and now Nick Carter. As I etched Nick's name on my
little black book I often passed as my bible studies book,
desires of ravishing his body suddenly washed over me. Although
both boys were very alike, Nick came no way near Justin. Both
boys were the "babies" of their respective groups. Both boys were
blonde with blue eyes. Both boys stood at six foot. Whereas Nick
was a bit fleshy, Justin was blessed with the body of a
modern-day adonis. Having Nick in the bedroom sound asleep was
convenient as I popped in the video. I must have watched "Tearin'
Up My Heart" for the one millionth time. Still, it never got old.
I had the volume turned down. I could care less about his talent
or lack thereof. Honestly, I found his voice annoying. I could
never listen to him sing without cringing in pain. I hated his
voice that much. If I had to choose a boyband to hail as the most
talented, it would be 98 degrees and even 98 degrees were of
mediocre level. I was more fond of the likes of Korn and Smash
Mouth. Of all boyband members, I could honestly say for a fact
that I admire JC Chasez's voice. His voice is that of an angel.
But my heart was set on the boy with the face of an angel. Justin
Timberlake.

I first heard of 'N Sync during my first real year of being the
popular MTV host sometime in March. Within weeks, "I Want You
Back" soared to the top ten of the popular show. I remembered
seeing the dewey eyed youth for the first time and instantly
found myself drowning in his deep blue eyes. Having been brought
into the world as a good Catholic God-fearing young man, I've
been successfully thus far in repressing my intense infatuation
for this young star, but I was finding myself less able to
control my urges as the day of our first meeting neared.

He was lying suggestively in a large bed in only his wifebeater.
If you looked closely enough you could see his nipples underneath
the thin undergarment. Oh, how I would love to just tease his
pin-pricked nipples...just to bite them with my strong teeth. I
imagined chaining him to the bed post- it had been a fantasy of
mine for sometime. Before long, my manhood was begging for
relief. I unzipped my pants. Using my bare hands, I stroked my
dick until I ejaculated in my hands.

The following morning, I discovered my feet soaked in my own cum.
I dragged my feet through the thick semen to my room. Nick was
coming out of slumber when I entered my room. I gathered his
clothes from the floor and tossed them to him. Without saying a
single word, I left for the bathroom to take a quick shower. I
had exactly two hours to prepare myself for this interview.

"Where are you going?" Nick asked as I made my way out the door.

"Going to work." I answered.

"You're not going to have them on your show, are you?" He
inquired.

"Of course, I am." I answered him.

He always asked too many questions. I could see his nostrils
flaring in the corner of my eyes.

"What's wrong? I read somewhere that you guys were friends."

"That's all bullshit. We hate them with a passion." Nick paused
for a brief moment and then continued, "Is that why they've been
at No. 1 for seven weeks now?"

"Nick, how many times do I have to tell you that I have no
control over the videos. Fans vote for them and I play them
according to their votes." I explained and then walked away for
the door.

Again, he stopped me in my tracks.

"Then I'm leaving you." Nick threatened.

I laughed out loud. He wasn't serious, was he? I returned to face
him.

"Nick, you and I both know that this was never to last. I have
too much fun. And you, my dear, have too much pride to stay with
one person when you know you can have so many more."

I told him and then left once and for all. Unlike the veteran MTV
VJ's, I was not greeted with a stretch limo waiting to take me to
the studios. I walked out of my apartment complex and had to walk
for several blocks to enter the subway that would take me to my
workplace. Upon my arrival, young teenage girls swarmed me. They
had loitered around the studio since 5 am this morning I was
told. When I managed to slip through the crowd, I was greeted
with a memo from my boss. I was ordered to do additional
research. Apparently, just knowing their hair color, eye color,
and favorite color was not enough. With only an hour left, I
barricaded myself in my office, researching further. From my
quick research, I was able to uncover enough tidbits to prolong
the interview to an hour long TV segment. Nothing too
spectacular. Two of them met on the Mickey Mouse Club set. Two
met while working at Universal Studios. They decided to form a
singing group one day and got together. Of course, they needed a
bass voice to complete their so-called "harmonizing" ensemble.
Lance Bass, yes, that's his name alright, fitted the criteria
perfectly. The most surprising tidbit I found was that Justin was
merely 15-years-old in the "Tearin' Up My Heart" video. Just
15-years-old and he looked that delicious. I could only imagine
how he would look now.

When the show finally ended at 4:30 pm eastern time- yes, the
show is live, they made their grand appearance. Right away, he
caught my eyes. Wearing yellow shades and a vibrant red sweater,
his charisma not only caught my attention, but that of many
others in the room as well. I couldn't help it, but want to hold
him, touch him. And that I did after hugging the other four, I
let my arms reached around his waist and gently picked him up off
the ground, grabbing his ass a bit. I put him down to let him
readjust himself after JC directed a cold stare at me.  That guy
always bugged me. 

After a few minutes of interview, they performed to their hit
smash, 'Tearin' Up My Heart'. They were surprisingly good live. I
thought they would come out and lip-synch. I was wrong. You could
tell they were a harmonizing vocal group when they sang the
cheesy 'God Must Have Spent A Little More Time on You'. I know
who God must have spent a little more time on and apparently from
the signs outside the studio, I wasn't the only with the same
thought. That was encounter one if you didn't count the time they
stopped by the studio to entertain the VJ contestants in April.
After the show ended, I was called in by the Big Brother. He
informed me that my work was great with the minor exception that
I was too close to Justin and appeared too eager to have him on
the show. He reminded me that Justin was still 17, a minor, and
that if I ever attempt anything, I would be solely responsible
for my own actions. He further added that one time last year, his
mother sued a well-known hotel in Germany because someone had
managed to sneak inside his room and walked in on him in the
shower. She had a reputation for taking things to the extreme and
she would have no mercy upon me if she felt her son was in
danger. He finally ended the conversation by telling me that my
assignment to go to Orlando to interview the fivesome had been
terminated and that Jon Norris would take my place. Like he was
any better.

Throughout the next year and a half, every time I saw him, I
wanted more to have him. He was so tempting, always smiling,
always fooling around in the studio. It was as if he was teasing
me. Taunting to me. Daring me to take the next step in his
pursuit. So when the next opportunity at Big Bear arrived, I took
advantage of it.

"You are so beautiful." I proclaimed in front of hundreds of
adoring fans.

He smiled back and brushed it off as a joke. I was sick of this
cat and mouse game. What many didn't see behind the camera was
the constant flirting between Justin and I. The touching. The
rubbing against each other's bodies. What message was he sending
me anyway? My winter ended with a sour note. I returned home to
New York the evening they took the winner to dinner. I couldn't
take it anymore. I couldn't be in the same vicinity as he was
without feeling stupid by the way he made me feel. He belittled
me. Turning on the computer, I decided to vent at some random
chat room. Of course, the room was not so random when I purposely
selected the chat room for 'N Sync. It was late in the morning so
of course, the teenyboppers were now sound asleep in the comfort
of their beds when I met two men in the chat room. Both with the
same obsession over the same Adonis. One man named Paul was a
lawyer at some firm in Orlando. He first saw him when the group
was first signed to Trans-Con. He and his firm were trying to
sell themselves to this group, but of course, they rejected them
and moved on to a more popular firm. The other man was a
photographer for several years until the cops had busted him for
the possession of child pornographic pictures- among them a
picture of Justin at 14 with his group mates posing in some
lagoon type of setting. He was not wearing a shirt, but still had
on his jeans until good old John decided to strip him of that,
too. Now, he was enjoying his life as a school janitor at some
elementary school in Cleveland, OH.

Paul had gotten his hands on a new drug with the chemical name of
Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate or better known as Scoop, G, Everclear,
salty water, Liquid E, or Liquid X. When mixed with sweet drinks,
it is tasteless and odorless- the perfect antidote to get Justin
Timberlake in bed. I asked if he would be okay after taking the
substance and they assured me that nothing would happen to him
except for some nausea and vomiting. Nothing more. As the chat
progressed, we had developed a plan to finally lay our lust for
the young superstar to rest. We all agreed that once we fulfill
our sexual desires, we would be able to resume our normal daily
lives once again.

September 9th, 1999, the night of the MTV Video Music Awards,
Paul and John both flew into New York that same night. They
booked rooms at the nearest hotel to the Metropolitan Opera
House. After the show finale, all the celebrities were invited to
an exclusive MTV party at the Lotus, where they would intermingle
among each other and exclude losers like myself from their niche.
Justin had slipped into the night with his mother, not attending
the better half of the night's party. Some said that Britney was
with him as well. How I envied her. What was so special about
her? Nothing. However, to my fortunate surprise, he arrived ten
minutes before midnight to join his groupmates. He looked very
haunted as he entered. Something weighed heavily on his mind. He
met up with his bandmates and within minutes he was himself,
again. I could see him from the second level of the club as he
chatted with his groupmates, as he laughed at another one of
Chris's stupid joke. He and JC exchanged smiles before departing
ways. Some thing in their eyes told me that they were more than
just best friends. After the group had disbanded, Justin was seen
walking to his corner of the club. Shortly, thereafter, a mob of
fans- mostly females, converged upon him. I quickly leapt across
the floor to break the mob. They soon left him alone, enabling me
to see him. He was a bit shaken up. Fear still evident in his
eyes. I signaled the bartender to order him some drinks, but he
insisted on a Pepsi-cola.

"I promise mom not to drink tonight." He said.

Perfect.

I watched as the bartender filled up a glass to the rim. The cola
fizzed as I dropped two tablets worth of drugs into the soda
before handing it to him. The constant ringing of my cell phone
against my thigh was driving me insane. I told them that I would
have Justin by the end of the night. Still they would not leave
me alone. The music of Moby's 'Porcelain' drowned the ringing
sound of my cell phone. Justin was talking. Not to me, to
himself. I wasn't listening. I didn't care to know what he had to
say. He was mumbling something about leaving. Leaving Trans-con,
I think. He was in near tears as he eluded to the fact that he
might have to reveal some secret of his. I didn't know what he
was saying. My focus was on the glass that soon became empty.

Within a few minutes, the drug had taken effect. He wasn't
feeling good. He felt nauseated. He asked me to help him to the
bathroom. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, before I
slipped my arm around his waist. I held him off the ground as I
led him to the bathroom quietly. He collapsed onto the floor,
crawling to the nearest toilet to vomit. I rubbed his back a
little, glided my hand over his glistening face. I couldn't help
it. I ran the water in the sink and dipped a towel in the water.
I took the wet towel and began to wipe away the sweat off his
face. He was not feeling too well. I knew what caused this sudden
illness.

"Carson."

"Yes, Justin." I uttered, absent mindedly, running my hands
through his curls.

"Help me out of here."

"Yes."

I scooped him up in my arms. That was the only way to get him out
of here. Through the back doors, I took him without a hitch.
Immediately, a limo arrived at our feet. I deposited him in the
back, taking a seat by him. He collapsed onto the seat. He
shifted around on the back seat, breathing very heavily, moaning
a bit.  Poor thing. He was so sick. The limo ride eventually
ended in front of a cheap motel several miles away from Times
Square. I remembered this motel because I once lived in it for
several months when I first arrived in New York. The motel had
quite a reputation for attracting losers like myself and was for
lack of better words- a whore house. Men would bring their whores
to this motel. It was cheap and no one cared around here. Paul
and John personally hand-picked this motel. Justin would be our
whore tonight. We walked past the same desk clerk that I had seen
years ago. She was filing her nails as usual. She only stopped to
hand us the key to our room. She didn't even notice the
unconscious boy hanging onto my arm.

While Paul and John readied themselves for tonight's event, I was
given the task of getting Justin prompt for his part in tonight.
I lay him down on the bed. I walked around the bed, relishing the
moment we had alone. I sat down beside him, tousling his wavy
curls. I gently ran my hand along the side of his face. So
smooth. They say you lost the baby soft skin when you become a
man. Justin still had his. He was still a boy. I rubbed his full
lips with my thumb before leaning over to steal one kiss. Just
one. His eyes began to flutter open. He was trying to wake up
from his sleep. 

Just go to sleep. It would be so much better for you. 

I slid my hand underneath his shirt, underneath his wifebeater to
feel his heart. The beating was irregular as was his breathing.
His body twitched a little, otherwise he remained quite still. I
slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Tore his wifebeater with my bare
teeth. I unbuckled his belt and yanked it off of him. As I worked
on removing his khakis, he sat up surprisingly.

"Carson, what's going on?" He asked, rubbing the sleep from his
eyes. "What are you doing?"  His voice child-like. 

His lips were trembling as I silenced him with another sealed
kiss. I held him close to my chest while my hand found its way
past the waistband of his boxers to find its prey. He pushed me
off when he felt my hand violating him. He pushed me to the floor
and scrambled for the door. I quickly got up from the floor and
slammed the door shut before he could escape.

"Please, Carson." He begged.

However, I took no pity on him. I slapped him across the face. I
grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to the bed despite his weak
resistance. He started to pound on my chest fiercely with his
clenched fists. And I pushed him back onto the floor. He
continued to cry, recoiling away from me as if he was afraid of
me. I approached him and tilting his head backward, I shoved down
another two tablets down his throat. Five minutes later, I
scooped up his body. I tossed him onto the bed before getting on
top of him. I removed his khakis successfully leaving him in only
his boxers. But not for long. I sat up in a straddling position
as I stripped away my clothes. His eyelids drooped over his eyes.
I knew he could see what was happening. I lay on top of him,
kissing him on the neck as I reached inside his boxers to grab
hold of his dick. I gave his dick a tight squeeze. He whimpered
at my invasive grip. That was for flirting with me. I dug my
fingernails into his balls and pinched them hard. That was for
teasing me. I twisted his penis until I couldn't anymore. That
was for taunting me.

"No." I kept hearing him whisper.

I returned to my kneeling position over him. My hands found the
tip of his waistband. I tugged on them across his abdomen,
feeling the tight flesh underneath my fingertips.  Slowly, I
pulled them down until I couldn't anymore due to his weight. I
ripped off his boxers. There lying on the bed in all his glory
was Justin Timberlake, the object of my lustful desires. I could
see his right hand slowly making its way over to his crotch. I
slapped away his hand and pressed my body on top of his, making
sure I rubbed my hard cock against his. My fingers rubbed the
velvety tip of his phallus. I could feel it burning under my
touch. He was whimpering.  I spread his legs apart until his legs
were hanging off the bed in opposite sides. Just lifting him up a
little, I shoved my dick into his asshole. He shot up in
agonizing pain. Veins threatened to pop in his neck. He grabbed
onto the sheets for support as I withdrew from inside him and
slammed back inside.

"Please, stop."

I heard him vaguely in the corner of mind. However, I was lost in
the moment. After several minutes, I finally exploded inside him.
Yet, I found myself still not completely satisfied. I turned him
around and slammed my dick inside him, again. He thrashed around
on the bed as I pulled in and out of him with increasing force. I
pulled onto his hair, bringing his face to me. I looked into his
tear-shot eyes and finally released him when I cummed, again. I
pulled my limp dick out of him and noticed blood dripping off my
cock.  Blood that was not mine.  His body instantly recoiled into
an infantile position on the bed. He was shaking a bit. Tears
continued to fall.

Paul stepped out of the bathroom with a duffle bag in his hands.
At the sounds of metals against metals, Justin crawled away from
Paul, but was stopped short as he pulled him back to the middle
of the king-size bed. He grabbed his wrists and using a rope, he
tied his hands to the bed post, lifting his body a little. Just
enough leverage.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Have you ever heard of bondage, Carson?" Was all he said.

He retrieved some "toys" from his bag. Before I could intervene,
it began. I didn't know it at first, but soon realized what
Paul's intentions were. A large clamp was used to inflict the
torture that made me sick to my stomach. As if fucking the boy
wasn't enough, he had to torture him. I watched as Justin
thrashed all around the bed, screaming out of the top of his
lungs for mercy.

"God. Would somebody help me?!"

The more Justin screamed, the tighter the clamp on his privates.
I feared if Paul applied any more force, he would rob Justin of
his manhood. A large dildo was roughly shoved into his thrashing
body, tearing him open.  Somehow despite the pain, he slowly
became more erect. Even more pain. A sick cycle of pain and
pleasure.  I sat beside him, whispering in his ears.

"It's okay. It's okay." I was lying.

But he believed me. His eyes began to close wearily as
unconsciousness took over. His body limped over. The struggle was
over as Paul removed the dildo and the clamp. I could see blood
on the clamp. Justin's blood. Paul dumped some oil in his hands
and began to massage Justin's injured member. Pulling the phallus
away from his body, Paul grazed the length of it with his
fingers. Pulling the foreskin away, he kissed at the tip,
savoring the taste of the boy on his tongue.  His hands moved
from Justin's crotch to his thighs along his legs up north to his
abs to his chest. Justin's body glistened in the dim lit room.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" Paul asked, placing gentle kisses all
over his body. "I like destroying beautiful things."

He flipped Justin over on his stomach, twisting his arms in the
process.  As I had done a little less than an hour ago, Paul
rammed his pole into Justin's flaming ass. Justin winced in pain.
He clenched his fists. That was all he could do since he was
still bound to the bed. For the next hour, Paul would ride
Justin, thrusting in and out of him, whipping his body with a
leather whip. Justin would scream and I would watch. 

Finally, John made his grand appearance. And grand he was. John
was 6'5"and twice as heavy as Justin was. He didn't wait for Paul
to pull out of Justin. No. He took care of that. He pushed Paul
off of Justin- yanked Justin's bound hands away from the bed
post. Red marks were left behind on Justin's wrists from the
rope. He grabbed Justin by the hair and tossed his ravished body
onto the floor. Justin crawled towards me. He held onto my legs.
He begged me to end this nightmare. He begged me to take him
away. I couldn't. 

John grabbed his hair, tilted his head backward towards him. He
callously planted a kiss on Justin's swollen lips while his other
hand crawled along Justin's body, grabbing his privates and
crushing them in his clenched fist. I watched as Justin struggled
helplessly in this man's grip. I watched as this man slammed his
limp body against the wall. I watched as Paul joined him, pinning
Justin's arms against the wall over his head. I could no longer
watch as they took turns fucking him. I could no longer take
this. I ran into the bathroom, vomiting. I heard Justin cried and
cried and soon I began to cry myself. I could hear Paul's vulgar
words directed towards Justin. I could hear John slamming into
him. The intensity of his thrusts knocked down the lamp off the
night stand.  I could hear Justin begging them to stop. I could
hear Paul laughing, telling him that they would fuck him 'til
dawn. I could hear Paul telling him that they were going to tear
him in half and rip off his balls. I sat on the floor for what
seemed like hours, haunted by Justin's desperate cries for help.
He was crying for me. He was crying for me to help him.

Then it happened.

Silence.

I should be relieved, but I wasn't. Justin no longer cried.
Perhaps, he had gotten used to having his body ravished savagely.
Perhaps, he had fallen asleep. Perhaps... I ran outside of the
bathroom and found both men buried on top of Justin. I couldn't
even see Justin. I ran to him. As they continued to sexually
abuse his lifeless body, I realized he had stopped breathing. Oh,
God! He had stopped breathing.

"Stop it! Stop it!" I shouted.

Suddenly, I had this surge of energy inside of me. I pushed both
men off of Justin. I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"He stopped breathing! He has stopped breathing!"

"Don't fuck with me, Carson!" Paul said, wiping his lips of cum-
presumably Justin's.

"Then take a look for yourself." I said.

Paul pushed me aside and crouched down before Justin. He placed
his fingers underneath his nose. Indeed, he had stopped
breathing.

"Shit! Shit!"

Oh, God! It's true. Justin had stopped breathing. Paul paced
around the room for a few seconds contemplating our next step. He
stopped in front of Justin. He placed a sheet over his ravished
body. This was the first time in the past several hours, Justin
was clothed. He wrapped the white sheet around his body. Blood
quickly stained the white sheets. I shut my eyes. What have we
done? We have raped Justin Timberlake- brutally raped him. Raped!
Raped! There was blood. So much blood. Any one of us could have
been too rough on the boy. Any one of us could have ripped him
open. It was decided by Paul that we should dispose of the body.
He would be found eventually, and knowing his popularity among
psychotic fans, it could be anyone who raped this boy. Paul said
that there was even a group of sadistic psychopaths who had plans
to torture and rape him. If no one talked, we would all get off.
That was the plan as I carried Justin in my arms. Surprisingly,
his face was left untouched. He was still beautiful. He looked as
if he was sleeping. Like he was dreaming of another world far
away, far away.

"Why?"

I heard him as I lay his covered nude body in the passenger seat.
He was still alive. I had made mistakes in the past, but not now.
I looked outside and into the lit room. I could see their
shadows. Paul and John were cleaning up the mess. It was my
chance. I had to save Justin. He could still be saved. I rushed
to the driver's seat and I was gone. I couldn't tell how many red
lights I ran that night. Or how fast I drove. Sometimes I wished
I would just plow into some pole. I had committed a sin and I had
to be punished for it. Then Justin would die, too, with me. But
that was selfish. I arrived at the hospital several minutes
later. Instead of taking him up myself, I opted honking my horn
several times. I finally saw a man coming out of the dark. I
quickly rushed behind the building. I couldn't leave. I couldn't
leave until I knew this man would take him inside. And he did.

For the next day and a half, I sat among his loved ones. Justin
had suffered from respiratory depression. He was now in a
comatose state. I could see the swollen, red shot eyes of his
four closest friends. His parents- all four of them and their
parents had all gathered in the waiting room. We all watched from
afar. I, by myself. I was afraid I might blurt out what had
happened to him if I spoke with anyone. I watched in sadness.
There he was. Instead of bouncing around on stage with his
bandmates, he was lyng on the hospital bed for fighting for his
life. Sure, I finally resolved my infatuation, but now...

---Carson 09/11/99

 

 

I returned to my apartment and he was there. He wore the same
clothes he had worn for the MTV special. Apparently, he came
right away after taping the special. I felt special. He came
bearing a container of soup he had picked up from a local
restaurant across the street. I know because I could see the name
of the restaurant on the face of the bag he was holding.

"Dave said you were sick." He muttered, almost inaudibly. "I've
brought you some soup."

I walked towards him and he instantly recoiled to his sanctuary
behind the desk. I took the bag from him and began to slurp the
soup. It was delicious. I could still taste his sweet sweat
lingering on the rim of the styrofoam bowl. Once, I devoured the
soup, I opened the door, ushering him to leave, and then returned
to my bed. I turned on the TV, ignoring his existence completely.
He was nothing, but a number to me. His head hung low as he made
his way past my bed towards the door. He turned the knob and
almost immediately the door opened ajar. He stopped in his
tracks. He took another step forward before slamming the door
shut. He was now inside my apartment, again. I continued to
ignore him until he boldly blocked the TV screen. I quickly
turned off the TV. He had something important to say apparently.
I figured I could spare 5 minutes to hear him. I still was not
intending on listening to him anyways.

"Yes." I said, signaling to him that it was okay to speak his
mind.

He left his post in front of the TV and approached me. He leaned
against the closet. His hips lifted just slightly. I was already
starting to get hard just looking at him. If he did not leave
soon, I would not be hold responsible for my actions. He ran his
fingers through his curly locks. He paced back and forth in front
the closet before stopping in front of me. He looked me square in
the eyes. He had my undivided attention. He stripped away his
jacket. It was so tempting. Why was he doing this? Why was he
teasing me so much? Did he not remember the last time? The jacket
fell to the floor and he approached me. He pulled up his shirt
sleeve, showing me the scars on his wrists.

"JC said I shouldn't come here, but my psychiatrist thinks I
should talk to you. I want to show you what you have done to me.
Twenty-one times, Carson. Within the last six months, I tried to
kill myself twenty-one times. You can't see them all. You can
only see about ten scars, but I can assure you that there are
twenty-one scars."

"So." I said, brushing him off.

Still, he did not leave. Instead he collapsed at the foot of my
bed. Pulling his knees to his chest, he began to sob quietly to
himself. He was so pathetic, drowning in his own tears. I hated
so much when he cried. He made the rest of us men look weak, but
then again, I had to remember that he was just a boy.

"What's the big deal, Justin?" I asked him. "You should be
flattered that all these grown men fantasize about you. You
should be flattered that women would pay just to see you undress.
You should be flattered that your face is plastered on the cover
of every fuckin' teen magazine. You should be flattered that
you're one of the most wanted celebrity in the world."

"Flattered? Flattered?" He shook his head. "I should be flattered
that I can't walk down the street without fearing that I might be
dragged to some dark alley, raped and beaten. I should be
flattered that no one takes me serious. I should be flattered
that I am portrayed as a fuckin' whore on the pages of tabloids.
No! I am a 19-year-old teenager and I can't live my life without
being scrutinized."

I shook my head as I returned to my bed.

"What is it, Justin?" I asked. "Sure you didn't come here just to
whine like a big baby."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why, Carson?" He asked, again and again. "Why did you..."

"Fuck you." I completed his sentence.

"No. Why did you rape me?" He asked. "And why did you let them
rape me." He was in tears, again. "Do you know how much you hurt
me? I begged you to stop. I begged them to stop. But no one
stopped. No one stopped to hear me beg. I lay on that hospital
bed for a week. Two days in a coma. Five days in bed because I
couldn't get up or walk without pain."

"Justin."

I was starting to feel remorseful, again.

"Britney and I broke up." He changed the subject completely,
wiping away the tears from his eyes. "That night. The night." He
still had a hard time saying those words. He was raped. "I broke
up with Britney after the show. I told her that we could no
longer be together. I told her that it was the end for us."

"Get to your point, Justin."

"Because I wanted to be with someone else." He said, walking
away. He opened the door of my apartment, ready to leave when he
stopped. "You."

They say there are seven deadly sins. Some will argue and say
that wrath is more deadly. Or greed. Or pride. But I beg to
differ. Lust, is inarguably the deadliest sin of all. I was once
a normal man, but lust for a young boy changed me forever. Now I
could no longer look at myself in the mirror. What I see in the
mirror right now is not Carson Daly. I see a monster. And now I
was punished for my deadly sins of lust. I can not think of any
worse punishment inflicted upon me than when Justin said, 'you'-
not even when I saw him enter my bathroom. He told me to get down
on my knees and begged for my life. Perhaps, he'd spare me. I did
as he ordered. Kneeling down before him, I begged him to please
let me live. He wanted to see me beg for mercy like I made Justin
begged for mercy. He wanted to see the fear in my eyes- to see
the fear drowning in Justin's eyes as Paul, John, and I savagely
raped him repeatedly. He walked out of the bathroom. From behind
the door, he fired one shot. I felt the shot entered me. It was
so comforting. I felt it ripped through my chest, tearing at the
muscles that composed of my chest. The pain was excruciatingly
pleasant. I felt the bullet burned my flesh. The pain did not
come close to the pain I felt when I heard Justin told me I was
the reason why he left her. I smiled as I collapsed onto the
floor of my bathroom. I was on the floor drowning in my blood
just as Justin was drowning in his own blood when we ripped him
open to satisfy our lustful hunger. And I smiled.  Lust. 

 

(C) 2000 Aphrodite 

~In the mind of a very depraved author: When I first discovered
slash, the first thing that I kept hearing about was Carson Daly
and his peculiar fondness of Justin Timberlake. I kept hearing
more and more of this relationship. In fact, one fan in
particular was present during the "MTV's Snowed In" with *Nsync
and she noticed that there was obvious touching of the not so
friendly nature. 



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