Hot Gay Erotica, page 15
I decide to give him some shit. What the fuck else were we gonna do? “What, Blue, you got some other colors you gotta paint yourself before you die?”
“I want to be there when it’s pink day,” says Brick, grabbing his crotch and leering. We all laugh.
“No, man, it’s just, ah, fuck it. I’m gonna see if I can grab some of those fucking dead bastards’ weapons. Cover me, okay?” We all laugh some more. Cover is the least possible thing in the world right now, right after chocolate ice cream and a personal visitation from the Tooth Fairy.
Springer is in charge, when we bother to acknowledge rank at all. Generally intense battle conditions prompt us to pay a tiny bit more attention to such Army crap. He tells Blue to sit his ass back down and remain in position. “And explain yourself, you dumbshit. What the fuck you gotta do?”
Blue shakes his head. We all wait. Blue isn’t a guy who can stand the sound of silence. Unless he’s actively sneaking up on somebody at that very second, he’s running his mouth. He’s fucking funny, so we don’t give a shit.
He cracks. “Fine. I have a list, you know? Shit I want to do before I die or turn thirty, which ever comes first. Like every dumb fuck in the world.”
I say, “What the hell could you have on it? You already jump out of airplanes and fuck hookers.”
“Ha, ha, Ferret, you little weasely ass-fucker. None of your fucking business.”
We wait some more.
“I want to see the world, all right? Some parts of it that aren’t currently at war, you know? Some places where the U.S. of A. doesn’t think of having little covert ops all the fucking time. And I want to fuck my girl outside, which somehow I never managed.”
“It would help if you had a fucking girl,” heckles Brick.
“Who says I don’t, the way you shake your pretty ass at me all the time,” shoots back Blue. This is degenerating.
Springer takes control again. “All right, you sorry fucks, if you think what Blue wants is so boring, you do better.”
Brick says, “I would, but I’m speaking to an officer in the United States military, and if I admit to planning the execution of a crime, you are beholden to report it immediately.”
“Oh yeah?” asks Springer. “You planning something illegal?”
“Nah. Not planning. Just if I were to have a list, and I was putting on it stuff I really wanted to do if I managed to drag my sorry ass out of this pit of hell today, I wouldn’t be coloring inside the lines is all,” says Brick.
“Yeah. Me neither,” says Blue.
“What’s all that crap about walks on the beach and the fucking fiancée then, Blue?” I ask.
“That’s the shit I wrote down. You know, can’t leave proof of premeditation.”
A grenade bounces off the edge of a partial wall, ricocheting away from us, but not far. We hurl ourselves flat on the floor and wait to become further deafened. It doesn’t explode. We sit back up.
Part of what sucks about being a third world shithole is it’s hard to buy good weapons. The first and second worlds feel quite free to make a profit off your drugs, buying them with crap weapons and ammo they don’t think are worth using anymore. It wasn’t that bad a shot with the grenade, and might have done us some damage by knocking down the rest of that wall. If only they hadn’t been shafted by the arms dealers. Again.
“What, you guys fucking serious? You got criminal plans?” I ask.
Brick doesn’t take his eyes off the darkness outside the wall, but I can tell most of his attention is inside the room, focused on this conversation. “I got a lot of plans. I don’t mean to die here. And if I do get the fuck out of here, well, I’ve been fucking trained by the Army to sneak into places I don’t belong, do shit I shouldn’t be doing, and get away clean. You all really think we should spend the rest of our lives being good little taxpayers?”
We think about this in silence for a while.
Springer breaks it. “I tell you what: we ain’t got a fucking chance in hell of getting out of here alive.” We all laugh. “But we’re going to do it anyway, because we’re fucking Delta boys. And if we do, we’re going to carry out a solemn pact.”
“What’s that, boss?”
“We’re each going to pick our most outrageous fantasy. Like, the one thing that might require four Delta boys to pull off, and is heinously risky and stupid, but sounds like so much fucking fun you keep thinking about it.”
“The shit you just can’t get out of your head,” murmurs Blue.
“Exactly. Pick one thing. Keep it to yourself. Then, when we’re all out of here, we’ll find each other and do each guy’s in turn.”
“Right on, dude!” says Blue.
“Count me in,” says Brick.
I know what I want. Want it so bad I can taste it. It’s right there, branded across my eyeballs, taking up my whole field of vision. It can’t ever happen, though. It’s way too fucking wrong. But we’re all going to die, right? And if God reaches down and plucks us out of this asshole of the world, well, I’ll have some time to come up with another idea, right?
“Yeah, me too,” I say.
Fuck.
Of course, we get out of there. When they all show up at my doorstep one fine afternoon, I pack a fucking bag and get in the fucking car.
Brick’s bank robbery slides along on greased rails. It’s such a smooth ride it takes all three of us to talk him out of doing it again every weekend. He’s always wanted to be a gangsta.
Springer, for all his tough talk, is hiding a soft spot for his high school sweetheart. Problem is, the sweetheart has moved the fuck on and is shacked up with some dweeb who is in the country more than one weekend a month and two weeks a year. The roofies are disgustingly easy to get, and she never sees us coming. Or going. Springer hadn’t ever managed to fuck her in high school, what with her virginity pact. That she tossed it out the window for this asshole a year later has been chafing his ass eternally. So he fucks her. It looks like fun, so we all fuck her. It’s a good night.
Blue wants to be the first man in history to moon the president of the United States. He isn’t entirely happy about our nation’s foreign policy during the preceding three years, and the prankster in him just can’t resist. We have endless arguments about how to get away with it, as the man has some fairly decent security. I mean, it’s not like it’s impenetrable, as plenty of idiot assholes have gotten a shot off at the prez from time to time. It’s that the openings are unpredictable, and we don’t want to get shot for this. So we rig a screen and a projector along the president’s motorcade path—all checked out for bombs and such by those irrepressible Secret Police. I mean Service. Then we remotely activate a video of Blue’s ass and get the fuck out of there. It’s all you ever see on the news for about thirty seconds, and then the media vultures move on to the next scandal. He’s happy.
Then it’s my turn. I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with something good to say. And then, when they all turn to stare at me, all those thoughts evaporate like fumes off a chem fire.
“Ah, forget it, guys. I don’t have anything. I mean, besides like traveling and winning the lotto and shit. That’s all I want. Lots of pussy and the fucking lotto. Can we do that?” I feel myself break out into a cold sweat.
Blue cocks his head, looking at me. “Boys, I think the sorry bastard’s holding out on us.”
“Yeah, I think so too,” says Brick. “And I can’t imagine why he’d want to do that, unless he was planning on turning us in or some shit.”
“As your superior officer, Ferret, I suggest you open your fucking mouth and tell us what you want to do, before we have to bury you under your mama’s grave to protect ourselves,” says Springer.
They wouldn’t do that. I think.
“No really, guys. A sea of fucking pussy, wall-to-wall women. Going from one to the other all night. And money, lots of money. Maybe we could rob another bank, and then see how many hookers we can buy in one night. Round them up from three cities or something.” I’m reaching, and failing to catch.
Blue, the happy jokester, isn’t smiling. He’s staring me down, a cold expression I’ve seen on him before in battle, but never directed against one of us. “Is a Delta boy allowed to break his solemn oath to his brothers?” he asks.
“Hell no!” yells Brick.
“Roger that,” says Springer. “Grab the bastard.”
The three of them pounce on me. I go down fighting, but three superbly trained fighting machines outfight one superbly trained fighting machine, even on a good day. Which is not what I am having at the moment.
We are in a cheap-ass fucking motel room in Fresno, another third world asshole of strategic importance where we happen to be at the moment. I guess they don’t want the manager calling the cops on us, so after they flex-cuff me they gag me. Blue grabs one of his dirty fucking socks from the pile of clothes he’d tossed off on his way into the shower earlier (mooning the president being hard work), and stuffs it in my mouth. They slap duct tape over it, and I am thoroughly fucked.
Both my wrists and my ankles are cuffed together, but I guess that isn’t good enough. They yank my ankles back behind me and slap another cuff around both the others, bending me back until you can hear the “Soo-ee!” They pick me up off the floor and toss me on the bed, as if I’m not two hundred pounds of lean muscle, able to kill with my bare hands. Well, right now I’m not that, not exactly. I’m two hundred pounds of lean muscle trussed up and fucking helpless.
Better than telling them what I really want to do, though, so who the fuck’s complaining?
Springer gets right up in my face. “Son, this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” Brick sniggers. Springer hauls off and fucking punches me in the jaw. He follows it up with a quick pair of jabs to my gut, and then knees me in the nuts.
Shit. I think I black out for a second it hurts so bad. I’m pretty sure a tear or two leaks out of the corners of my eyes, involuntarily. I’ve been shot, twice, and that’s never been as bad as the whole testicle thing. If we needed proof that God hates us, it’s right there in that vulnerable sac hanging right out in the open, right in front where any-fucking-one can go shoving their jeans-clad knee into it, whenever they feel like it.
Fuck-ow.
Springer waits calmly until I stop writhing, and then says, slowly and clearly, “You make any fucking noise and I’ll twist them off. Got it?”
I nod.
“You ready to talk, boy? ’Cause we can keep at this indefinitely.”
I nod again. He yanks the strip of duct tape and pulls out the sock.
I decide to try begging now. “Come on, guys, don’t be like this. I know I wasn’t as creative as you were, but is that any reason to treat me like this? Give me a break, here. I promise, I totally swear to you on my honor as a man, that I won’t ever say a word about anything we’ve done. Did I not point a gun at bank tellers just like you? Didn’t I stick my dick in Springer’s girl? Come to think of it, I bought the fucking roofies, right? Don’t tell me you don’t have plenty on me. Come on, let me go. That fucking hurt.”
I run out of steam, and look around at three stone-cold faces. Fuck.
Springer says, “No dice, boy. We all bared our sorry little souls, and we all got what we wanted. You go hanging on to your pathetic little unrealized dream, and it’s going to fester inside you. You’ll get all bitter and take to drink, and then next thing you know you’ll be passing marked bills and shooting your mouth off in a bar down the street from the Federal Building. You are going to talk. The only question is when.”
I can’t do it. I just shake my head.
Springer rolls his eyes and re-gags me. Two of them pick me up and carry me to the bathroom. They drop me in the bathtub. It’s a bit of a tight fit, what with my legs up behind my back, but they shove until I’m flat on the bottom. Then they plug the drain and start filling it up with cold water. They run it until I have to lift my head to keep from drowning. They run it until I can feel the cords standing out on my neck. Then they start making runs down to the ice machine and pile buckets of ice on top of me.
Shivering makes it distinctly harder to keep one’s muscles at full extension. I start getting sleepy, all the while shaking uncontrollably. My clothes are soaking wet, making me even colder. The muscles in my neck are cramping and I have to stretch them for a minute. I suck in a deep breath through my nose, hold my breath, and duck my head under the water to flex my neck the other way. Then when I have to breathe again, I heave myself back up, trying to scoot myself up the side of the tub somehow. Whenever I seem to be making any progress, Blue’s hand reaches in and shoves me back down in the water.
I wonder what they’d do if I went into shock and died. Would they just leave? Or would they cook up some story about my death, refusing to leave behind a fellow soldier’s body?
Is it possible this could really go that wrong? Is any of this worth the shame I’m going to feel if I just tell the truth?
I’m tired. I’ve stopped shivering, which frightens me. The ice is pretty much melted, but that doesn’t make me any warmer. It makes me think I’ve been there longer than I remember, which scares me some more. I look up, and Springer is next to the tub, not Blue anymore. I meet his eyes and nod.
He doesn’t quite smile, but the ice in his eyes cracks a little. He hits the drain on the tub. In moments I can set my head down, and I smile behind the tape.
Springer leans down. “Talk, and you can have hot water.”
I nod. Again, the gag is removed.
Fuck it. This is just not worth dying for.
“I wanted to have sex with a guy. I never did, and I always wanted to.”
There is silence in the bathroom. A long silence. Springer reaches out and turns on the water, adjusting it to warm, not hot. I’m probably hypothermic and need to be warmed slowly. He turns on the shower, aims it at my torso and legs, and pushes the other two guys out of the bathroom. They close the door.
I let my eyelids drift closed and surrender to the stabbing knives of warmth pouring over me.
Springer comes back a couple times to turn down the cold water and check on me. He doesn’t speak, and I’m scared to. For a while I try to amuse myself by thinking about all the horrible things that could come out of my little disclosure, ranging from dishonorable discharge to my father’s death by a heart attack. Eventually I figure out this isn’t very amusing, and just sorta go numb.
Until the door opens again, and Springer is standing there, naked but for dog tags and combat boots, holding a bottle of JD by the neck. “On your feet, soldier!” he barks. I’m too surprised to laugh. “A deal’s a deal, and we’re your squad.”
Grinning widely, he reaches down and grabs me under my arms, hauling me out of the tub like I weigh nothing. Maybe I don’t to him, as he’s six-four and built like an APC, thick veins standing out on his forearms even at rest. I’m not small, but I’m pretty sure his neck is as big around as my thigh.
He kicks out a foot behind him to shut off the shower and drags me dripping into the room. I’m dropped on the floor, totally stunned. Looking up, I can see three Delta boys, all wearing Springer’s new fashion choice. They burst out laughing at the look on my face, and Brick and Blue clink their beers together.
“I think the poor bastard’s going to die of a heart attack,” says Blue.
“Yeah,” agrees Brick, “He makes it through Delta training, when nine outa ten guys wash out, and dies a sudden death ’cause he’s embarrassed about being a fucking pervert. We’re gonna put that on his tombstone.”
Another clink, another swallow of beer. “Glad you’re enjoying yourselves,” I finally manage to say. “Want to clue me in on what the fuck you’re all doing?”
“Hangin’,” says Blue, with what I would have to swear is a giggle if he weren’t a knife-eyed practical-joking killing machine.
Springer takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He reaches out to kick my legs until I’m facing him. Then he puts his boots up on my hip, like I’m a trussed-up fucking footstool. “Here’s the deal, Ferret. We had us a little debate. First we thought about picking up a trick, you know, cruising the alleys downtown for a fourteen-year-old piece of willing ass. Plenty of ’em ready to do whatever you want for a place to stay for the night and some food, much less actual cash, for which they’ll start volunteering to do shit you didn’t even think to want until they brought it up.”
He leans back a little, dropping his hand to casually adjust the position of his dick on his thigh. If I could shake the feeling of having dropped into another fucking dimension, I might think it’s growing a little bit.
“But we ruled that out.”
Brick scowls. “Yeah, little fucking shit could figure out there was an opportunity to make some money, being able to finger four big ole soldier types as faggots. No fucking way am I losing my benefits over your getting a chance at a gaping faggot asshole.”
“And if we didn’t want to get fingered, we’d have to kill the little fucker, and we all thought that murder, while appropriate in certain circumstances, was probably an extreme measure for your chance at that flapping orifice,” says Blue.
“Ha! Yeah. Exactly,” says Springer. “So then what? We thought about getting creative, you know, advertising for a bottom to get fucked up the ass blindfolded by a well-hung military type, on the S/M personal ads or some shit. But, we ruled that out for two reasons. One, you said ‘have sex with,’ which is not the same thing as ‘fuck a pervert up the ass while he doesn’t know it’s me.’ Thank God you didn’t say ‘make love to,’ because we didn’t know how on earth we’d work out a faggot being in love with you without knowing it was you. Anyway, it seemed fraught with the potential for fuckups, and weird on top of it.”
