For The Love Of Hate: The Riccio-Hale Story

A group of charismatic opinionated leaders gathered for the National Konvention for Koncerned Kaucasians (N-KKK) . Unbeknownst to the rest of the members, emotions were brewing between two participants.

The eyes of Bill Riccio, a member of Birmingham's KKK among other groups, kept wandering the room hoping to catch the eyes of another. Bill wished that Matthew Hale, the leader of the Creativity Movement, would speak. It would be an excuse to stare at those luscious lips and gaze into those heavenly eyes.

What Bill didn't know was that the same emotions were welling up in Matt's body. Their eyes searched the room, always with the intent of eventually reaching each other. Then Matt spoke, giving a particularly heinous anti-gay speech as Bill's heart fluttered, his male anatomy extending with anticipation. Matt was done; Bill forced himself to look away.

Then the moment happened. Their eyes met. Their probably blue eyes locked and their lives would never be the same.


After the conference ended, Bill timed it so that he would accidentally bump into Matt. His nerves made his bosom jiggle. Bill's shoulder scraped Matt's back. Matt turned and was shocked; there before his eyes was the epitome of beauty, Bill Riccio.

Bill tried to say something, anything, but his throat had gone dry, "Um.. I loved your speech about [anti-black slur]."
"Oh, thanks. You really stuck it to those [several anti-Jew slurs in a row]. I loved the way you showed how they [anti-Jew rhetoric] and use that money to help those [anti-black slurs] and promote a [anti-gay slur] lifestyle," Matt complimented.
Bill was overcome with glee. He attempted to compose himself. "Coming from you, that means a lot."
"Well it's the truth," Matt replied, "Do you... I don't know... want to get together sometime? You know, to talk about the movement, I mean."
Bill could hardly contain himself. "Of course. I want to! Uh, to talk about the movement."


Life is hard and lonely for today's vicious racist. It seems that no one understands their struggle. This was a feeling that Matt and Bill knew all too well. They could sense the empathy of each other's eyes. They scheduled to meet three weeks after the N-KKK. Bill thought about the forthcoming meeting everyday. Matt was confused at first. He knew homosexuality was wrong. But this truth seemed less certain now. He couldn't fight this urge. He had to let his inhibitions go. Waking up to thoughts of Bill, Matt slowly moved his hand southward and began imagining that it was Bill's hand instead. If only.


The day of the meeting arrived. Matt washed his body vigorously in his hotel room, hoping with good reason. Bill couldn't wait to meet his mentor. He noticed that his penis had seemed to wake up from a deep slumber over the previous three weeks. Bill wasn't sure what the sudden awakening was about. But he knew he wanted to see the man who had sparked his love of hating different groups of people, Matthew Hale.

"Hey Bill. Great place you got here. Really conducive for cultivating a pure white culture."
"Thanks Matt. New haircut? Very Hitler-like." Both men's hearts raced. Blood ran to places that they wouldn't have expected one short month before. Bill was looking forward to discussing white power, but pleasant, yet unwelcome images of Matt in all his naked glory kept creeping into his head. Matt wasn't sure how to profess his attraction for Bill. He understood the consequences of his feelings for Bill, but he was a slave to his heart.

They sat across from each other at a table and attempted to get down to business. "So the [anti-Muslim slur] is attempting to infiltrate this white country," Matt remarked, praying that his ankle would touch Bill's under the table. Bill tried to concentrate, but Matt's pure vanilla face looked so delicious. "Yeah, the [anti-gay slur, even though he was referring to Muslims] are the new [anti-black slur]. Now they own stores like the [anti-Chinese slur, but I think he meant an anti-Korean slur. I'm just saying, you don't know the context, I do]." Their legs accidentally touched and both were in ecstasy. Bill still fought his urges.

Before they knew what happened, they were holding hands, conversing about having sex with pure white women. Matt scooted his chair next to Bill on his left. Bill was conflicted. His heart jumped out of his chest and into Matt's body, but his head knew this was wrong. He felt awkward. Vulnerable to Matt's advances. Matt reached over with his left and placed his hand on Bill's thigh. Matt stroked it with his index finger while whispering that the Holocaust never happened [yet they worship Hitler for killing so many Jews, I don't get that], periodically blowing into Bill's ear. Bill began playing with the back of Matt's left hand. Matt's right hand began rubbing Bill's back, occasionally slipping below. Bill felt the battle between his throbbing stick of white pride and his anti-gay heritage. He wished he didn't want it. Or he wished he could simply let go and allow Matt to lick his body like a horse with a sugar cube.

Matt moved his hand up Bill's thigh, and slowly reached glory. After a few seconds of delight, Bill stood up, his erection clearly apparent. "I can't do this Matt. I'm sorry. I'm not a [anti-gay slur] like those [anti-Jew slur]. It's not right."

Matt stood up slowly, compassionately. He placed his hands on Bill's shoulders and hugged him. They then stared into each other's eyes. "Bill, you know we can't fight it. You have to do what's in your white heart. Listen to your Aryan heart my brother." Then Matt moved closer to Bill. Their lips touched ever so slightly. And Matt moved away. Before he could get far, Bill grabbed him and their tongues swirled around each other. They exchanged white saliva for over a minute, moving their hands up and down each other’s bodies, exploring like a puppy in a new surrounding.

First Matt took off his shirt and then he freed Bill of his. And well, you get the picture. They had sex.