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From: "Loch Raveena" <lraveena@hotmail.com>
Subject: New: 'The Rooster'(m/beating/death)
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"The rooster has come home to roost," read the 2-star National Guard 
general. "The US military for years trained and supported death squads 
in El Salvador and Colombia - and now shadowy groups have emerged here 
at home - killing us!" The general put the newspaper down and lit up a 
cigar. Damn right, the general thought, and you're next! 

The general, in his younger years when he was just a major in the real 
army, was among those special forces who were sent in to Central America 
to help eliminate the communists who had infested the little minds of 
little peasants and poor people. Communism was like a disease and it had 
to be weeded out. Commie bastards were crawling all over the place down 
there, but he and his comrades had done the job. They were 
fully-functioning democracies now! How 'bout that? Why wasn't this 
'student leader,' who was being quoted in the newspaper, say anything 
about that?! He's a communist, that's why, and the disease had spread 
throughout the great US of A. His men were called on to defend American 
interests in Central America, and now they were needed right here at 
home. 

The operation was black, of course. The press knew how to stay in line, 
and those among them who grew sympathetic of the red faggots were 
quietly and quickly made to 'disappear.' The general cackled, then 
coughed, then sucked on his cigar. "Sergeant!" he barked, and 
immediately Sgt. Williams appeared in the doorway to the general's 
office. Sgt. Williams was a good 'ole boy, raised in Missouri and knew 
what it meant to tend the land, raise cattle, and hump a whore. The 
general liked him despite his penchant for serious ass-kissing. A 
general needed his ass kissed, anyway. 

"Yes, sir?" Williams asked. "Get this fucker in here asap! I can't stand 
to read about this anti-American 'graduate' student, this
'intellectual wonder' as the paper calls him! Get this Giuseppe Firenze 
in here," the general commanded. "Yes, sir" said the sergeant who 
promptly left the general's office. The general could hear the young 
sergeant barking commands and giving orders like a little general. It 
pleased the general to have such dedicated young men in his secret unit. 

The general looked down at the paper again, his face growing red with 
anger. People just don't know, he thought. The red menace was back and 
stronger than ever. College campuses once again were becoming havens for 
'young intellectuals,' a code word for communists. Giuseppe - what kind 
of name was that! A friggin' immigrant! Of course! That was the cause of 
it all, wasn't it? Mexicans moving in and taking over - and everyone 
knows that Mexicans are communists. Not even human. Traitors.
Murderers. And this guy, this Giuseppe - what was that, Italian? 
Probably. Wops were no better than Mexicans. Wops sided with Hitler, 
then when the Allies began to win the war, the cowards switched sides! 
Once a betrayer, always a betrayer - even if they did switch to our 
side. 

It was only about an hour later when Sgt. Williams reported that 
Giuseppe was in custody along with his girlfriend and other friends. How 
fast, how efficient his unit ran! The general was pleased. But, 
girlfriend? Yeah, right, thought the general. Everyone knew that 
communists were really homosexuals. She was probably just a cover. 

"Bring in that traitor," the general commanded. Williams disappeared 
then reappeared leading the 'young intellectual' into the room. The 
general was surprised by the young man's age - he was older than the 
average college student. He was about 26, with long jet black hair that 
was in his eyes and his face, all stringy and twisted into dreadlocks 
like a Jamaican rastafarian. His face was youthful, his eyes dark, his 
skin slightly dark in that Mediterranean complexion. He was very skinny, 
but athletic - like a swimmer…or a surfer. Yes, that's what this 'cool 
look' was probably all about. He was a pot-smoking, crack sniffing, 
faggot surfer. He was a faggot all the way!, the general thought. 

The general smiled at the lad, and nicely asked him to have a seat. The 
general saw that Giuseppe was handcuffed and told Williams that 
handcuffs would not be needed. His eyes told Williams that this skinny 
little punk could easily be handled without cuffs. 

The young man's dark eyes were fearful, but defiant. He pushed his 
little chest out, the general noted with amusement. The 'boy' sat down 
with ease, his shoulders slumping. "We're sorry for having to bring you 
and your friends down here," the general explained in a soft and 
understanding voice, "but we're going to need some information." The 
general went on to explain that they were concerned about the recent 
disappearances of college students and professors, artists, and other 
intellectuals. The general assured him that he could protect them if 
only he told them what their plans were, what activities took place 
where - so that they could be protected. The young lad said he knew of 
no plans or activities, but he thanked the general for his concern
and for his offer of help. Coy little devil, the general thought. 

"How old are you, son?" the general asked. "28" Giuseppe replied. 28? 
Wow, the guy looked like he was 26, or even 23, but not 28. It was 
probably the long hair, the oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans that the 
man was wearing that made him look so much younger. But 28 was young, 
the general thought, remembering that he had reached his peak in 
physical fitness around age 31 - when he could run 12 miles without even 
breaking a sweat! "What are you studying?" the general asked. 
"Anthropology," the young man replied. "I'm a graduate student." "Oh? 
Master's program?" "Ph.D." the boy answered. "Really! How nice." 

The general stood up from behind his desk and moved to the front, 
sitting on it. Bending over until his nose was almost touching
Giuseppe's, he whispered, "You're going to tell me everything I want to 
know and you're going to tell me right now, you fucking mogul!" The 
general glared into Giuseppe's dark eyes, and he noted the black 
eyebrows and how they involuntarily twitched as the general's words hung 
in the room like the smoke from his cigar. 

"I don't know anything." Giuseppe, said. Sgt Williams silently moved 
into the room behind Giuseppe, along with Private Bundy, another 
dependable young man who grew up in Texas and was a Damn Fine American. 
Big, burly, and always hungry for a fight. Bundy was a brawler. The 
Guard needed more brawlers like him. The general sighed, sucked his 
cigar, then whispered "you will, my boy, you will." 

Sgt Williams grabbed the dark 'young intellectual' from behind, putting 
him a deadlock and immediately cutting off his breath. He
was yanked backwards out of his seat, the chair spilling over onto its 
back, the legs facing the general's desk. The boy struggled for breath, 
his arms reaching up and struggling to remove Williams' arms. Williams 
kept the pressure on him and placed his knee into the small of the 
skinny man's back, arching his body. 

The stretching and arching of the skinny man's body raised his t-shirt 
exposing his tiny protruding knot of a navel, exciting the general. Of 
course, thought the general, the lad had an outtie belly button like all 
faggots and had no hair on his body! The brawler private stepped forward 
then and landed a meaty punch right in the boy's stomach and his legs 
buckled immediately, Sgt. Williams letting the boy slip out of his grip 
and onto the floor where gasped for breath but couldn't find any. 

Bundy the brawler stepped forward again, lifting the little commie off 
the ground by his shirt and reached back to bash his face with a 
powerful Texan right, but the kid surprisingly landed a head butt on the 
private's jaw. The general was surprised to see a wild look take hold in 
the young man's dark eyes, and watched in satisfaction as the 
Mediterranean youth showed speed and agility with three quick jabs to 
the private's nose and then a lightning-quick right that flashed before 
the private's eyes. A loud 'snap!' echoed in the room as the beefy 
private stumbled backwards against the wall, blood pouring from between 
his fingers as his hands tried to cover his broken nose. Sgt Williams 
immediately tried to subdue the dark haired young man from behind, but 
the youth's quick kick to his shins left him gasping and the boy then 
darted for the door. 

The commotion in the general's office brought soldiers scrambling into 
the doorway and the dark haired man they had brought in earlier ran 
right into them. They quickly subdued him and threw him to the ground, 
the soldiers kicking him over and over in the stomach and ribs. 
"Enough!" yelled the beefy private. "He's mine." The soldiers stepped 
back as the young brawler with the now-broken nose stepped forward. The 
general was smiling from ear to ear. How the boy fought! What a complete 
surprise! The skinny young man broke the Texan's nose! Too bad the lad 
was a communist! 

The Texan private looked to the general for approval and he got it with 
a nod and sparkling eyes. The old man was loving this, Bundy thought - 
and so was he. The boy on the ground before him turned out to be a 
worthy opponent. Too many are not willing to fight - but this kid, this 
skinny kid, he had balls. He felt the pain in his nose. Of course, the 
skinny little fuck was gonna pay for it now, though. 

The dark haired young man was about to jump up with newfound speed and 
agility after so successfully feigning injury, but the Texan was wise to 
him now. His steel toed boot caught him in the belly as he was 
gracefully rising off the floor, but there was no faking the 'whumph!' 
that sent air rushing out of the boy's lungs. The boy fell forward hard, 
groping his little stomach, his mouth wide open trying to suck in air. 
The Texan landed another steel-toed kick into the boys side, knocking 
him over onto his back, his black t-shirt crumbling up over his skinny 
middle section. The private's eyes noted the boy's soft little belly 
with the protruding navel that he was sure ladies would kill for. Bundy 
then leaped into the air and brought his full 215 pounds onto the young 
man's curved and soft little stomach. The dark haired guy's body bounced 
into the air, then back down onto his back.
The boy's eyes were opened wide and staring up at the ceiling - the 
private could see them struggling to focus, and it was a sign of 
victory! He kicked the boy in the side and a sickening 'crack!' filled 
their ears. The young man was no longer resisting, his stomach - now 
turning a light blue - was rising and falling rapidly and with 
irregularity. 

The general stepped forward then, placing a hand onto the private's 
shoulder. "Good, Tex, good boy." Tex stepped back, smiling, savoring his 
victory. All the soldiers slapped him on the back, saying "tiger" and 
"wow, did you hear his ribs break, man?!" 

The general, bent over the young man like a rooster and looked down into 
his dark eyes. "Are you ready to answer my questions, boy?" he asked. 
The dark eyes were focusing and unfocusing - the boy was semi-conscious 
the general realized. "Damn, Tex, I think you might've killed him." 

The soldiers looked at the proud skinny young dark haired man lying at 
the general's feet. His shirt was crumpled up to his skinny but firm 
chest now, and the general noted the slender muscles and excellent tone. 
The kid's clothes did not accentuate his athletic physique, causing them 
to underestimate the boy's physical abilities. This was important to 
remember, the general thought. The young man's dark eyes remained 
fixated on the ceiling, trying to focus but failing to hold it. The 
boy's breathing grew harsher and more erratic. Both of his hands cradled 
his little belly, now a darker shade of blue and beginning to bulge 
slightly, his knot of a navel protruding out a little further. 

The general stepped back aghast as the boy's belly suddenly bulged, his 
navel protruding ominously from his blue stomach. The navel continued to 
extend outward, growing outwards with a sickly wet sound until the stem 
showed. It looked like a twig sticking out of his stomach, growing. The 
stomach retreated, as did the navel, but the navel protruded further now 
than before. It was almost obscene. Everyone's eyes remained transfixed 
on the boy's bluish stomach which was still rising and falling rapidly 
and erratically. "I killed him," said the Texan with satisfaction. "Did 
you see his belly button? Wow!" 

The skinny young man's body suddenly arched, his navel protruding even 
further, his head turning towards the soldiers, his mouth opening wide 
as thick dark blood erupted from his wide open mouth, spilling down his 
cheek. He began to gurgle, his dark eyes continuing to focus and unfocus 
as they now fixated on the soldiers' shiny boots. 

The boy's body jerked then, his hands slipping from his belly and to his 
sides, the fingers twitching. The boy's body began to twitch violently 
as he slipped into convulsions, the dark eyes wide open and unblinking. 
The boy's twitching became less frequent, finally stopping. 

The soldiers stood mesmerized by the young man's dead body. His tiny 
stomach was slightly swollen and blue, his knot of a navel protruding 
obscenely from his belly with its stem showing - it was extremely 
sensual and sexually stimulating, even though the soldiers were all 
straight men. The boy's dark eyes were wide open and staring at the 
soldier's boots, blood and spittle leaking out of the youth's 
partially-opened mouth. His legs were bent at angles and his baggy jeans 
had slipped down just a little below the tan line showing the curves of 
his hips. 

"Bring in the next one," the general commanded. The soldiers all filed 
out except for Williams and Tex. Another young dark headed youth was 
lead in, his eyes immediately going to the dark staring eyes of the 
dreadlocked dead boy, then to his little bulging stomach with the 
incredibly protruding belly button. A tingle of excitement pressed 
against his sex. He could not take his eyes off of Giuseppe's beautiful 
corpse, those dark staring eyes, the protruding belly button, the way he 
laid there. As the general began to question him, he only hoped that he 
could look like Giuseppe did before the day was over. 


lraveena@hotmail.com



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