You

Carrie was in an empty warehouse with two men. The smaller one was unmistakably you.

"Junior?" Carrie cried, resisting her bonds. "Why?"

"I'm sorry, Carrie," you said, next to Bruce, still hooded, his large frame giving you comfort. "I didn't want it to be you. But ... my dad always wanted me to have a wife, to fuck pussy. And he confused me, tried to convince me to be straight. I lost my 20s, my prime, trying to fuck pussy like yours. And ... and ... it just made me hate it. Even hate you a little." You picked up the crowbar.

"I'm sorry, Carrie," you said, your eyes wet.