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.  

Summary:  A popular TV host fulfils his lustful desires.

Author’s Notes:  I did! I did! I finally got accepted here. Yay! Well, peeps, I'm quite aware that I may be an oddball here. Unlike my cohorts, I write BDMS stories involving male victims.  And here's a story I submitted but who knows where it ended up at...

~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.

© 2000 Aphrodite  

Closing Notes: Don’t know who Justin Timberlake is…check out Justin's video, “Like I Love”, at Launch.com and watch for his album to drop November 5th.