Boys In Heat, page 16
I’m not surprised his lounge is dark—he’ll still be in the kitchen absorbed with new recipes. I’ve taken off my mask; I keep promises although he’s spoiled my Halloween. Most years I spend all October creating something grotesque and fantastic. This year I couldn’t summon the interest. I knew all along Alan wouldn’t come, and without him it seemed pointless. Dispirited, I’d defaulted to a generic Zorroesque costume—plastic sword, tight pants, boots, and open shirt. It was okay, but my heart wasn’t in it. Shit! Now my heart’s in my mouth! A dark shape looms backlit in the doorway. I scream: there’s a monster in Alan’s kitchen!
The kitchen light snaps off and a hand on my nape draws me in. My knees are Jell-O. The creature is huge—I’m five-eight and it’s a foot taller. It pushes me down to my knees. The kitchen is stark black-and-white in moonlight. All I see is silhouette: a square head and lumpy neck. From my knees my perspective is distorted, and then my view’s blocked by crotch.
Whoa! Monsters are in proportion all over! I admit it, I’m a slut; I perk up when I realize why I’m on my knees. My eyes adapt. The hands on my shoulders are green-tinged, but the cock before me is honey colored. And tastes familiar—I grab Alan’s ass and slurp at his hard-on. Before I lose myself, I remind myself to lie later and say I knew it was Alan before I started the blow job. I apple-bob for his balls, but he tugs my hair and returns my mouth to his rigid Franken-pole. His bent knees let his prick slide into my throat and he thrusts. I gag, but keep my hands on his butt. I knead his glutes and tickle his hole. He roars and shoots.
I sputter, then murmur, “Ah! Sweet mystery of life…”
He cracks up. “Are you ever serious, Hunter?”
“How can I be? I’m in breeches blowing Franken-cock.”
He flips on the lights. Platform shoes give him those crucial four extra inches.
“Why are you dressed up?” A doubt assails me. What if he had a date and I hate Halloween was a ruse?
“Thought I’d try Ray’s—for you—you looked so puppy dog earlier.”
I’m abashed, aware I suspected him unjustly, and that I dove for his prick before I knew who he was. He must have been thinking ahead if he had even a basic Frankenstein costume ready. I’ve been sulking all month while he’s been battling his demons.
Still. “Puppy dog!” I say indignantly. I squeal as he swats my ass.
“Breeches suit you, but better off.” He hauls my breeches down. My knee-high riding boots stop them. He catches my prick in his green palm and caresses me until it strains toward him. He pulls my shirt over my head, but my hands stick at the buttoned wrists. He makes no move to undo them. I’m bound knee and wrist by my own costume, with my face hidden in shirt.
I’m helpless as Alan drags me to the sofa and onto his lap. He spanks my ass, flips me over, strokes my prick, turns me back again and slaps harder and harder until I writhe. He torments my asscheeks until they tingle and pulls on my cock until I beg him to finish me. He’s mean and succumbs to the inevitable trick-or-treat jokes as he slaps and strokes.
“Which is which Hunter? Do you even know?”
I’ve slid half off his knees and he can access my prick with just a reach around.
He tickles my cockhead: “Trick.” Slaps my ass: “Treat.”
He pulls the shirt from my face. He stares into my eyes and works my shaft.
“Just a trick, Hunter?”
“No,” I groan.
“Then what?”
I wriggle. Why the hell do all my relationships end up with men discovering I’m a bottom at heart?
Alan slaps me hard again. “What, boy?”
“Treat?” I venture, hoping he just wants the other half of the joke. Fuck! He’s slapped my balls. He stops spanking me or stroking me and watches me fight with my pain and dignity. Alan wipes my tears with my shirt.
“Come on boy, I’ve unmasked you. You’re not the tough guy you say you are. I heard you squeal when Jane’s sage bundle hit you, and you screamed like a girl when you saw me. You were on your knees for a big cock in a second, and you’re crying from a little spanking and a tiny ball slap.”
I’m not the world’s smartest guy. I say, “At least I’m not afraid of a children’s holiday.”
Alan’s affectionate good humor evaporates in a second. He throws me off his lap and I’m on the floor on my hands and knees. He grabs my Zorro sword and slashes it against my ass.
I howl. It may only be a toy, but, shit, it stings.
“I know who I am boy, and I’m man enough to admit my fears. Are you?”
He hits me again, and I crawl away as fast as my clothing-bonds allow. He strides after me, switching at me. Damn, if only Wicca Jane were home. Surely he wouldn’t do this to me then? The calm part of my brain says: Of course he would. If he’s already doing this, nothing would stop him from gagging me. I finally get enough of a grip to stop crawling. I know I have to stay still and let him finish venting his anger on my ass. My attempts to escape are only fueling his anger and provoking his desire.
I hear him laugh when I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the coffee table and stay obediently still as he takes a few more swipes at my tender ass.
“Do you know who you are now, Hunter?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I turn around and rest my face on his monster shoes. “Your boy.”
“I could get to like Halloween,” he says. “So long as you remember from now on who’s who, and drop your act. Hunter: you’ve been caught.”
BURLINGTON
Phillip Mackenzie, Jr.
The phone rang. Brendan jumped and stabbed himself farther onto my tongue, then moaned and twitched while I lazily jacked his cock.
“Do you need to get that?” he muttered after the third ring.
I pulled my face out of his ass for a second to say, “Machine’ll get it.”
Before he could respond, I heard my own voice say, “It’s Josh, leave it at the beep,” followed by Rob’s voice saying, “Dude, pick up the phone.” I kept eating Brendan out as Rob chanted, “Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up,” for a few minutes and then said, “Dude, I know you’re there, you never go anywhere.”
I snorted. Brendan jumped again, looked wildly at me. He thought Rob was his boyfriend, and hearing his voice on the phone like that freaked him out, so I gave his cock an extra-strong stroke that made him groan and shudder. His pucker clamped down on my tongue and I shook my head back and forth like a dog going after a gopher and he started making this puffing sound he does when he’s ready to come.
“Dude,” Rob was saying, “I have to go to South Carolina tomorrow. My uncle or second cousin or something, you know, one of those old guys, died, so I have to go to the funeral and you’re coming with me.”
Brendan was pumping his hips and his dick was getting harder in my hand, and his hole was really opening up to my tongue. I started to get drippy myself, so I started jacking myself with my free hand.
“Anyway, call me,” Rob said. “I figure we’ll leave in the morning… Dude, I know you’re there listening, pick up the phone. Fuck you then, who has an answering machine anymore anyway. Later.”
He hung up and I spit on my hand and really laid into Brendan and in a few seconds he blew all over my knuckles and my bed, which meant I had to do laundry again.
“I like road trips,” Brendan said when he caught his breath.
“I hope you get to take one sometime,” I said shoving my goopy hand into his mouth.
After I got Brendan out the door I picked up the phone.
“KwikKopyKorner, Brian speaking, how may I help you?”
“Yeah, hey Brian, it’s Josh,” I said, looking down at my bed and deciding never to buy a dark blue bed spread again. “I can’t make it in tomorrow.”
“Really?” He started getting that ferrety sound to his voice that always made me want to deck him. “Because you know you’re actually supposed to be here right now, so it’s really great that you remembered to call about tomorrow.”
“That doesn’t really make any sense, Brian, do you know that?” I said.
“You know what doesn’t make sense, Josh?” I could see him in my mind, his face all red, with a little prissy half smile, looking like he was about to start pounding the receiver on the desk. “What doesn’t make sense is you. If you want this job, to keep this job, it might make more sense if you changed your attitude.”
“Right,” I said. “I guess that means I don’t really want this job.”
“You know what—” Brian’s voice went all Doppler effect as I hung up the phone.
I called Rob back.
“Were you fucking somebody?” he asked me.
“No,” I answered fairly truthfully. “So is this going to be all dark suits and funeral homes or can we log some country club time?”
“Definitely. Golf. Pool. Beer.”
“So who was it who died?”
“Like I know?” he said. “We’re related to half the people in the fucking state.”
“That’s why you’re retarded,” I said.
“Funerals and weddings down there are just excuses for family reunions. The only people who get noticed and remembered are the ones who don’t show up, and I like to keep Mom happy. If you think that’s, what was your word, retarded, well that just shows the depth of evil in your dead black heart. I pity you.”
He was serious about keeping his mom happy, which is kind of funny because he’s really an asshole in a gangly white trash rock star sort of way. Actually he isn’t any of those things besides gangly, but the way he talks you’d think he didn’t give a shit about anything. Mostly we just hang out and watch Comedy Central and get burnt. I’m the only person I know who likes him. I know if I ever needed anything, he’d give me the shirt off someone’s back. Plus his family is fucking loaded, so it’s top-shelf booze all the way if you know what I mean, and all we had to do was put on a suit for a couple of hours. Sweet deal.
He picked me up about ten the next morning, pulling up outside my building in a fucking Nova. An old one.
“You have a trust fund as big as a Hilton cunt,” I said, tossing my bag into the back. “What the fuck is this?”
The front seat was a grimy off-white, punched with holes out of which fell Styrofoam stuffing. It smelled like mold and rust.
He laughed, and pulled away from the curb.
Rob shops at Salvation Army and buys his cars from these scary dealerships on Pulaski Highway up in Baltimore. Then he tricks them out with Bose speakers and drives down the road with the windows shaking and enough black smoke coming out the ass end to burn a new hole in the ozone layer. He thinks it’s cool, and all he does when I tell him he’s a dick is laugh.
“You were fucking Brendan yesterday,” he said, as we got on I-95 headed south.
“I didn’t fuck him exactly,” I said, glancing over to see if he was pissed. “Did he tell you?”
“No, he called me last night and was acting weird, so I kind of figured.”
“He said he hadn’t seen you in two weeks, you hadn’t called him back. I felt bad for him.”
“I don’t care.” Rob looked at me and grinned. “I really don’t. Actually I kind of like it. It’s cool.”
Not really. Not really. But I didn’t say anything, because what’s to say?
We’d been on the road for about five hours, and it was in the heat of the afternoon when the shit-heap Nova lurched and went bang, and then started going bang bang bang bang bang really loud and fast. All this white-hot-smelling smoke came pouring out the back and we coasted onto the side of the road, where it died.
“That’s fucked up” Rob said looking at me sideways.
“Yeah, big shock too, because I thought this car was in really good shape,” I said.
“Oh, sorry. I guess we should have taken your car. Except, wait…you don’t have one.”
We were sitting on the shoulder of I-85 with eighteen-wheelers and distracted parents driving minivans flying by us. It was about ninety degrees, and the shit-heap didn’t have air-conditioning even when it was running. None of this seemed to be bothering Rob, who was grinning at me like, “Isn’t this fun?” but I was ready for a change of scenery pretty fast.
I could see an exit about a quarter mile up the road, and there was a big truck stop sign towering over it, so we headed in that direction, hoofing along through weeds and tossed away Burger King bags, with hot exhaust and road dust whipping us in the eyes every time a truck blasted by.
Okay, this is where I do the long-story-short part. They couldn’t do anything to help us at the truck stop because a crappy broken-down Nova is not a truck, but we did find out that we were in Burlington, North Carolina. For whatever that was worth. I told Rob we should find a car dealer and buy a new one, just leave the Nova to finish rotting, but he looked at me like I had just kicked his puppy.
The mechanic at the truck stop called this guy he knew who had a repair shop and he said he’d tow the car in and see what he could do. We walked back to the car, and after about a half an hour this guy showed up in a tow truck and hauled us down this Deliverance-looking dirt road to where he had a garage attached to his house.
So, at about four P.M., there we were, sitting cross-legged on a concrete slab, waiting and smoking and sweating. When the mechanic’s kid, a scrawny buck-toothed redheaded thing took to driving the riding lawnmower in reverse up and down the driveway, Rob looked at me with wide eyes and said, “That is seriously fucked up,” and got up and walked into the shop.
I just lit another smoke and watched the little Hills Have Eyes creepshow ride back and forth some more, until Rob came out and said, “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Don’t know, but this place creeps me out and the car won’t be done until tomorrow.”
“Well, okay, but…” I got up and walked after him down the driveway. “Wait up Rob, I mean, do you even know where you’re going?”
“Not really, but we came through town on the way here, so we’ll go there unless you want to stay here and play with ratboy.” He jerked his head toward the kid.
“Well, can we grab some of our shit first?”
As we walked down the road with the sun in our eyes and back-packs on our backs, I decided that Burlington, North Carolina is a useless assfuck of a town that has no reason for existing. The only thing we found after fifteen minutes of walking was a Wal-Mart.
I hate Wal-Mart. Not only because it’s like a virus that sucks the life out of every town it infects, but because it’s also like a church rummage sale grown to grotesquely horrible proportions. Heaps of tires, flyswatters, liquid plumber, ugly appliquéd sweatshirts, monstrous bags of Styrofoam plates and DVDs of Left Behind assault you as you stumble through in a drooling daze of hypnotized mass consumption.
Rob grabbed a cart and started throwing stuff in it, just a random mix of crap we walked past, until we found the bathroom, then he left the cart outside the door, and we went inside to wash up.
We’d been in there like fifteen seconds when the door popped open, and this Wal-Mart automaton bustled through the door, all official in his white shirt and blue vest/smock with its lame-ass fucking smiley face leering at us. He pulled up short and stared at Rob and me, and in the seconds between his appearance and when he spoke, I could tell that the presence of two shirtless guys with muscles in his bathroom was something he was going to jerk off to later that night. But only after the lights were out.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked uncertainly.
Rob turned around and looked at him without speaking while he continued to wash under his arm with his balled up T-shirt.
“I don’t know, Justin,” he said, looking at Justin’s name tag, “what did you have in mind?”
“Are you…homeless?” Justin asked, worry all over his cute face.
And he was cute. Blond and blue-eyed and with an accent that made him sound dumber than a box of hair. And if anyone can make a stupid Wal-Mart smock look interesting enough to make you think they might be worth seeing out of it, well Justin did.
“Are we homeless, Josh?” Rob asked me. “Justin wants to know if we’re homeless.”
“We’re not homeless, we just smell like it,” I said.
Rob ran one hand over that sexy patch of hair between his pecs, over his nipple and into his left armpit, before holding out his hand to Justin.
“Do you want to smell?”
“No!” Justin practically shouted, lurching backward a step.
But he did want to, and he knew that we knew that he did. Rob and I both laughed.
“Oh, Justin, you look like dinner. But right now we need a hotel. Do you know where Josh and I can find a hotel?”
“Um, well, there are a bunch of them. Which one did you want?”
“The one with the shower and the beds.”
“That’s stupid,” Justin said. “They all have that.”
“Really? Well which one do you think we should stay at, Justin?” Rob said, smiling his sexiest rock star smile. At this point, the only person who didn’t know that Rob was going to fuck Justin was Justin.
“I can give you directions,” he offered.
“Well, see, Justin, that’s a problem,” I said. “Rob’s car is in the shop, so we have no way to get there.”
“Unless you wanted to give us a ride,” Rob said like it had just occurred to him.
And of course there was no way little Justin wasn’t going to do that, so we waited outside Wal-Mart until Justin got off work about an hour later. We watched him walking toward us talking to some fat chick.
“Justin. Where’s that hotel you’re taking us to?” Rob barked across the parking lot.
The fat chick jumped and stared before hurrying away and Justin turned red and I laughed before realizing it wasn’t really that funny.
