Something Has To Be Done About Archie

Archie Feldon was probably the gayest man in the entirety of his small town in Wyoming. Somehow all the bullying and adversity he dealt with growing up only made him bolder and more proud of who he was. He was a thorn in the rabidly conservative town council's side, always trying to organize events trying to spread his horrendous homosexual agenda. The first time he meant to organize a "Twink Pride" event on the town green, the Council didn't pay any attention, thinking there was no way he'd find enough other gay people to do anything significant. Sure enough, though, hundreds of queer folks emerged from woodwork to protest the town's discriminatory dress code laws. 

Archie Feldon was probably the gayest man in the entirety of his small town in Wyoming. Somehow all the bullying and adversity he dealt with growing up only made him bolder and more proud of who he was. He was a thorn in the rabidly conservative town council's side, always trying to organize events trying to spread his horrendous homosexual agenda. The first time he meant to organize a "Twink Pride" event on the town green, the Council didn't pay any attention, thinking there was no way he'd find enough other gay people to do anything significant. Sure enough though, hundreds of queer folks emerged from wood work to protest the towns discriminatory dress code laws. 

Soon Archie was coming to every council meeting and organizing left right and center. Something had to be done about him. He was risking the delicate but godly lifestyle they Council and their ancestors had been maintain since the towns funding a century ago. In a closed executive session meeting, one of the members was asked to reach out to one of their dark web counter parts to take care of their Archibald Feldon problem.

One night as Archie was walking home from a fundraiser, a windowless black van sped around the corner, and the door opened and several masked men grabbed him and pulled him in.

When Archie woke up, it was like the whole thing was a dream. At first his American flag and blue lives matter flags felt unfamiliar, but soon the sight of him caused him to fill with patrotic pride. A soft moan emerged from beside him, and he saw the long hair of his latest sexual conquest, some chick he pulled at the bar last night (did he really go out drinking? How much had he had to drink if he didn't even remember going out in the first place.) He smirked. Even black out drunk he managed to score a babe yet again. He yawn stretch his thick muscular arm and thought "Damn, these pythons are looking fucking huge. He sneaked a look at the Mirror he kept in the corner just to watch himself when he was banging chicks and Flexed a bit, feeling his cock stir at the sight of himsel and how fucking alpha he was looking. He got out of bed and grabbed the gun that laid casually on his side table (why did Archie picture it as a dildo for a second) stepped out onto the porch to look at the beautiful morning. He cocked his gun and took aim at the targets he had set up in his back yards. He wasn't going to shoot, didn't wanna wake his lady friend up. But he wanted to get some practice aiming never the less. He figured he was going to need good aim for something soon. He couldn't for the life of him think of what.

Somewhere deep in the back of his brain the real Archie was screaming silently, horrified of the new reality he had woken up in. His already passionate rebellious burned with rage, which emanated even into his new mind set. He had to harnest his newfound toughness to some how. He just had to try. 

(To be continued?? this might become a larger story, I dunno.)