From “Mary” to Manwhore: Could This Dangerous Street Drug Turn You Gay?

Posted on by Stephenson Billings

Man musk and reefer: The Gay Agenda’s latest cocktail of devastating desire.

To Adam, the house party is really blazing. Just the thing he needs after his breakup with Eve.

He’s never been to the gritty part of town. The music is loud, the boys are shirtless. There’s plenty of vodka cranberry to go around.

Later, someone will offer a puff of the “Mary.” In case you’re not “hip” to the scene, that’s secret slang for reefer, vapes, the pot. Or hardcore marijuana to squares like you and me.

“Let’s go to the bedroom before anyone sees…” a hairy young man by the name of Manuel suggests.

“Why not? Everyone else is doing it,” will be his reply.

Adam doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s just been cast as a star player in the real life Gay Agenda.

Under the influence of mistress Mary, Adam finds his moral “hang ups” slipping away. And that’s when the raw carnal urges come marching in.

Manuel seems much more friendly on that sour-smelling futon. Legs touch, shirts unbutton. A hot tear of sweat drips down his muscled back and between his furry cheeks. Satan’s shameful passions penetrate his naked soul.

And then again. And again.

Most “Mary” addicts will end up in cuffs one way or another.

Most “Mary” addicts will end up in cuffs one way or another.

If Adam could see Manuel’s police record, he’d realize he’s a pot addict. If he could see his new friend’s porn search history, he’d realize he’s a manwhore. A member of that frisky fraternity of leather clad sodomy specialists now terrorizing America’s most vulnerable cities.

Manuel knows his part well. After a few nights of zinfandel and lubricant, he will “lose” Adam’s phone number. He’s been through it before. And he’ll go through it all again. When it comes to gay “dating,” it’s always time to move on.

Adam’s taken the sucker bait. He’s ready for the next step.

The next step is the homosexual dive bar. There, the scene is really blasting with man musk and Mary. The regulars will call him “fresh meat.” His jockstraps will cause minor riots. He’ll dance for free cocktails and so much more.

But that damp pit of hemped-up desire is an unforgiving place.

Once he’s been passed around the manwhore gang a few too many times, Adam will go from being the breaking headline to yesterday’s news. There’s no fountain of youth at the bottom of a dive bar beer glass.


Not amount of soap can wash off Satan’s sticky stain.

Now is the time Adam could really kick the homosexual habit. If only parents or pastors or even Eve were there to intervene. But no, the Gay Agenda has isolated him from community and common sense. He’s drowning in the gang’s tacky fluids. Back alleys and public parks, dungeons and dark rooms. He’s seen it all.

Chasing down that high of the very first time, Adam will develop his own appetite for the bar’s meat platter. He’ll grow a mustache and start lingering in the toilets. Redemption be damned!

And here this familiar story takes yet another familiar turn.

Look! It’s old pal Manuel who’s come strutting in to a bathroom stall. The protagonist of this sordid tale takes the bait, pushing that hairy chested Hispanic heartthrob against the slimy tile wall.

Unzipping his leather vest, Adam will realize he’s moved on to the next, next thing. Yesterday’s news is now the follow up story. The prey has become the predator. Check off another recruit for the team. He’s a manwhore now.

For Mel Marshall