TallBlond1
Forum Regular
(Author's Note: I've seen this story of mine posted elsewhere, and published in a small volume of my stories. I had to tone down some of it for the publisher. In my humble opinion, this is easily an improved version--better written and more graphic.)
An Unholy Appetite for Young Pubes
by Steve Geary
Nobody could do the homeless hustle better than Andre.
He knew how to use his brown eyes well, knew how to communicate a pleading, lost puppy-dog look as he'd beg for spare change. If he felt inspired, he might even create odd jobs for himself, insisting on scrubbing someone's windshield at a self-serve filling station and then demanding pay.
Speaking of cars, how many times, he wondered, had he begged for handouts, pretending he had a stranded car a few blocks away? Andre lost track of that figure after a mere couple of weeks. The only cars Andre drove were ones he'd stolen.
Why he chose to live in alleys defied comprehension, at least at first glance. It was probably an extension of how he'd always seen himself -- a rebel. Although capable of making a good impression, he chose not to, unless it was to charm someone out of something he wanted. What clinched his present lifestyle was when his aunt kicked him out after he'd racked up too many friendships with drug addicts and thieves.
Now in his early twenties, Andre enjoyed a private joke of purposely playing stupid. "Ah's hungry -- d'ya gots enny spare change?" he'd ask in a melancholy way. One passerby in ten might slip him a few quarters -- not much to write home about, but hell, even Babe Ruth's overall batting average was only .290. One evening, he proudly realized he'd earned almost thirty tax-free dollars.
All of that was just side money, of course. His true calling was as a thief. If he was lucky, he might adequately steal a purse or pick a rich pocket. His success as a homeless waif made him the envy of every other street urchin in town. Suffice to say, the police were well acquainted with Andre; he was a frequent guest at the local jail.
Andre's actual home was a box. He'd usually park it in his favorite alley, right around the corner from a popular bar. It wasn't ideal -- a constant stench of piss permeated the pavement, but because of the high volume of people, the earning potential was limitless.
One evening, around midnight, he saw a muscled young man in leather jeans leave the club, and he wasted no time in approaching his prospective meal ticket. "Suh, can I talks with you fo' a second?" he asked. "I don't means you no harm -- "
"Let me guess," the buffed dude interrupted. He eyed Andre closely, quickly taking in Andre's masculine, street-wise face. His eyes twinkled at the young hustler. "I know this routine. You want some money. Well, you'll have to earn it."
"I'd do anything, suh," Andre said, doing his best to make his firm young body stand tall. "Ah's nevah been afraid o’ hard work."
"Yeah? How are you with hard cock?" the stud asked. He rubbed the bulge in his pants. Not used to so direct a question, Andre's eyes darted away. He glanced at the dude's T-shirt for the first time and read words printed across the stud’s chest --
I WANT YOUR BODY.
After a slight pause, Andre didn't skip a beat. "Ah sucks dicks fo' ten bucks," he said proudly. "Bes' blowjob you's evah gonna git! An' I swallows, too." With his index finger, he traced a line from his jaw down his neck toward his stomach. "All the way down -- Ah don't misses a drop."
"You're on," the leather dude replied. "But dude, can it with the fake street talk. I know your game, and you're not what you're pretending to be. Now let's find ourselves a dark corner."
Damn. This guy was the first one in a week who hadn't fallen for his dumbed-down routine. There was still a chance to rob him, though, so within moments, the two men were in a dark corner of the alley with only a full moon’s indirect beam shedding light through the night shadows.
Andre was on his knees, carefully unzipping the stud's fly, when a hefty slab of thick cockmeat popped out and pulsed wickedly in front of him. The enormous organ glistened enticingly at the tip with thick pre-cum. Opening wide his generously-sized mouth, Andre swallowed the cock and clamped his fat lips eight inches down the shaft.
Something seemed -- unusual. It was odd to feel this much pressure at the back of his throat and still be so far away from a dude’s body. Not only were there a good three or four inches of cock left to be swallowed, the very texture of the cock felt different.
His customer groaned with disappointment as Andre pulled his head back. The moon went behind some clouds, but Andre was still able to see the sight, and gasp:
A solid five to six inches of the thick shaft were literally covered with a hairy pubic growth!
It looked like an other-worldy prick, almost inhuman. Andre was so taken aback, his jaw practically hit the piss-stained pavement. "Yo dick!" he cried. "It looks like it belong to some -- beast."
The muscle stud laughed. "Yeah, I know. You like?"
"DAYUMMM! I sho do! I sho ‘nuff do!"
Steven’s eyes rolled. Obviously, once Andre was in this dumbed-down mode it was difficult to discard it.
Andre's long fingers quickly scrambled to open up the stud’s underwear, where his fingertips reached past the wrist-sized root and found even more abundant sex vegetation. He excitedly ran his fingers through the thick texture of the stud’s garden, and, unable to contain himself, quickly pulled down the pants. Exposing the base of the all-meat whopper to the night air aroused the cock even more; it pointed straight upward now, throbbing passionately, and surrounding the fuckroot was an uncommonly thick forest of pitch-black pubes.
It was as though this beefy hard-on was a throwback to a previous incarnation of man. Did it seem like an ape man’s cock? The dick of a Neanderthal? To Andre, it symbolized a time when man was primitive, uncivilized, violent. Andre found the huge cock decadent -- and overwhelmingly sexy.
He looked up at the proud owner of his ultimate pubic fantasy and said, "Mmm, Dude! You’s just gotta let me lick yo dick! -- I wants to taste it some place where I can really see it! That furry sausage looks sooo fuckin HOT!"
"Glad you appreciate it," his client smiled.
"You bet I does," Andre said, genuinely beside himself. His heart was racing. "Fuck, I'd pay you to let me bury my nose in that bush!"
The stud thought for a second. "Tell you what, we can go to the place I work. I promise you, you’ll have a hot -- unlike any sex you’ve ever had. It’s not far away. We can walk." Now Andre's lost puppy dog expression was thoroughly genuine as he watched the massive cock get temporarily tucked back inside the pants. "Name’s Steven," the dude smiled, holding out his hand.
Andre shook his hand. "Dre," he replied. "Glad to 'meat' ya!"
Steven smiled. "I don't think I'm going to call you Dre," he said. "I'm going to call you every nasty name in the book. I'll assume that as long as I pay you, you don't have a problem with that."
"No, not at all, suh! I loves bein' called nasty names, suh."
They started walking briskly down the alley, both of them silent, but filled with anticipation of the upcoming sexual encounter. Throughout the walk, Andre noticed how Steven's shirt tightly hugged his torso, mesmerizingly accentuating the powerful chest and shoulder muscles. "I WANT YOUR BODY, that's a hot shirt," Andre said, attempting small conversation.
Steven turned the key to the back door of a small brick building. "Glad you like it, cocksucker. Take a look at the back." He smiled as he turned to face away from the hustler.
Emblazoned across Steven's muscular back, Andre read:
"After you, faggot," Steven said. Together, they entered the funeral parlor.
Andre gulped. During his short life, he'd had sex in "tea rooms," toilet stalls, bath houses and peep shows. He'd given hand and blow jobs in the back seats of cars, but no, never a coffin.
Steven smiled. “Look at this huge box,” he said. “We’d been expecting the remains of a 450-pound drag queen, so we special-ordered an extra-wide coffin. At the last moment, the family decided the fat fuck wasn't worth the dough so they just threw the bitch into a bag and tossed her in the ocean. My Dad and I put this coffin back in the hearse and plan to take it back to the manufacturer tomorrow, but there’s plenty of room in it tonight for us guys to sixty-nine.”
Sex with a stud in a coffin? Andre didn’t need further coaxing. He excitedly tore off his clothes and salivated as Steven did the same. Steven then climbed into the casket, held out his hand, pulled Andre up into the sacred resting place and threw him down against the floor of the container. For Andre, it was two hours of carnal pleasure never to be forgotten. As Steven's hips bucked up into Andre's face, Steven called the prostitute every degrading name in the book -- whore, slut, trash, nigger, pussyboy, faggot. The stud tightly gripped Andre's skull and rammed all twelve inches of cockmeat down his gummy throat, forcing Andre's face to entirely disappear into the thick bush. Andre felt used, no more significant than a mere insect, a bug smothered underneath a sexy lawn of black grass. The musty hairs permeated his mouth and nose, allowing him to smell nothing but Steven's earthy scent. It was sweaty and wild -- devilish, but so erotically charged, Andre was in heaven.
After Steven pumped what felt like half a quart of semen into Andre's stomach, he fell back against his side of the coffin, his whole body perspiring.
"Dayum," was all Andre could say.
Steven smirked. "Yeah, you love my dick, pussyboy."
"Hell, I sho do."
There was a silence. "You always been this way about cock hair?" Steven queried.
Andre thought for a moment. "Not like this," he replied, "but yeah, I's always thought hairy cocks are handsome things." He took a breath, then spoke -- he'd never exactly put it into words before -- and he heard his familiar voice reveal his sexual fetish. "Sho as I speak, I think nature made dicks hairy to call attention to 'em. I think bushes focus our eyes on a cock the same way picture frames showcase a damned masterpiece work of art!"
Steven chuckled. "Dude, that's almost profound." He thought for a moment. "Well, I like it, too. Dick hair separates the men from the boys." A wicked gleam came to his eyes. "Look, I wouldn't do this with everybody -- but you wanna have a good time? -- I mean, a really twisted good time?"
Andre smiled. "I tries anything, at least once."
"Ya gotta promise me, man, you won't tell a soul. Nobody -- ever."
The hustler’s curiosity was piqued. "Show me."
Still nude, his hairy cock flopping, Steven stepped out of the coffin, nearly bumping his head on the roof of the hearse. "Here -- I've got some ‘things’ down in the basement to show ya. You're gonna love 'em." The young studs' cocks were still rock-hard and leading the way as they left the parlor’s garage and walked down the stairs to the dark basement.
There, in the dim light, Andre could make out four porcelain embalming tables, three of which contained young, muscular male corpses, all of them face-up, all of them naked. "They're marines, pal," Steven said. "The first two, anyway. Just got here yesterday. The third guy's some gang member who got shot in the head. I'm supposed to work on them tonight before I sleep."
"Holy shit," Andre breathed. "What will you do to 'em?"
"Embalm 'em. I'll sponge them down, put 'em in clothes--but first, ya wanna have some fun?" Steven asked.
"Oh, damn," Andre gasped, his heart racing. "What kind of fun?"
"Take a look at them," Steven said enticingly. "See what comes to mind."
Andre inched over to the tables in wonder. He'd never seen young dead men before. They couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old. All three had hard, manly bodies, their faces flush with youth. Both marines wore handsome, tight haircuts, had broad shoulders and firm, muscular chests and asses. All of their eyes were still open. Each member of the trio was narrow-waisted, with slim hips and thighs. If it weren't for the bullet wounds, Andre would've assumed all three teenagers were merely sleeping. They'd probably died instantly, snuffed out in a moment of exquisite violence.
Andre looked over to the third, the gang member, and pointed nervously. "Ha! He's got a hard-on!"
The dead stud's long cock was indeed sticking up at an angle much like the Tower of Pisa, his eyes open but staring aimlessly. Steven walked over to the young corpse, put his hand around the thick boner and squeezed it. "Angel lust," Steven smiled. "He’s deep in rigor mortis."
"God," Andre breathed. "I don't know what to say -- or do."
"Look at 'em, pussyboy. These guys were probably all straight. In life, not one would've let you touch him. But now -- now, everything they were saving for their girlfriends and whores is yours for the taking. They won't lift a finger."
"Look how handsome their faces are," Steven continued. "What would you like to do to this one?" He pointed to a marine with thick brown eyebrows and lashes. The eyebrows were slightly raised, the lips youthfully full and mouth partially open.
Andre looked at the sharp, chiseled features. Cut down in his prime, the boy looked sweet and vulnerable. "I wants to kiss him."
Steven stepped back, getting out of Andre’s way. "Then do it."
Andre's body shook with excitement. What he was about to do was so wrong, so taboo -- but so new and exciting, how could he pass it up? He'd always said he'd try anything once. And this dead marine was beyond being hurt further; he wouldn't even know what was happening to him -- a victimless crime. Yes. Andre could have some sweet fun at this young soldier's expense.
Andre brought his face up close to that of the dead boy. The handsome face seemed to stare up at him, right through him. After studying every sweet facial feature close-up, Andre closed his eyes and tenderly kissed the marine's brave, hunky lips. The lips accepted the kiss, didn't complain, didn't resist. Andre was so turned on, his nine-inch cock sprouted to full manhood, pulsed wickedly and spilled pre-cum all over the serviceman's muscular dead thighs. The soldier’s dilated eyes continued to stare through him aimlessly.
After another long kiss, Andre sighed and glanced under the corpse's arm. There he saw a hefty tuft of hair creeping out from the masculine armpit. Andre looked to Steven, who was smiling appreciatively. "Can we lift his arm?" Andre asked.
Steven understood. "You can do whatever you want, pal," he replied. "Just so you know, he's not been washed yet. All you're going to smell is his earthy death scent."
Together, they lifted the muscular arm, revealing the young forest inside the deeply-grooved, rich armpit. Andre was breathing heavily. With his tongue, Andre tentatively made small, then larger circles in the hair, causing the growth to swirl, then stick together. Andre watched the dead marine's face and suddenly felt a euphoric superiority over the unlucky teenager. 'Yeah, soldier boy,' Andre thought. 'You's got no choice but to let me have you! I's alive and you's fuckin' dead!'
It was inevitable now that Andre would look down toward the hairy nest resting above the marine's cock. "I know what you're thinking," Steven said, chuckling. "Here, let me show you my hobby." He pulled out some clippers from a drawer. "I like to shave the cute ones before they get tucked into the ground."
"Shave their pubes?"
Steven nodded. "Yeah. And their armpits, sometimes their chests and leg hair. It's not like these guys are ever going to miss it. I always use clippers -- never shaving cream. I prefer a natural aroma."
"But, something obvious like that," Andre stuttered. "Wouldn't relatives complain?"
Steven scoffed. “You ever see a family take a body's clothes off while it lies in a casket?" Steven had a point there, Andre had to admit. "By the time I'm done with soldiers' bodies, they're as smooth as G.I. Joe dolls. Tell ya what I'll do. You lick his pubes and I'll have my clippers working right behind your tongue, how’s that? That'll take care of both our fetishes."
Andre grinned from ear to ear. "Man, that's soooo fucking hot."
"Then let's do it."
Andre positioned his head just above the boy's marine cock. Starting at the left side of the cock, Andre then brought his lips half-way down on the pubes. Allowing his tongue to slather up, down, and through the crinkly hairs, he then pressed his lips forward until they met with the boy's hard lower abdomen. Gently, Andre started moving his mouth in slow, sensuous circles. More and more hairs stuck together, and soon the hustler was making wide, sloppy mouth motions through the sex garden, causing the entire bush to become gummy with saliva. From his position, he then nodded up at Steven. There was an electrical buzzing sound as the clippers started up. Steven deftly ran his clippers through the bush, trimming the boy's manhood bald. The process was then repeated on those hot, hairy marine armpits.
The process was repeated on the second marine. His legs were quite hairy, so Steven used the clippers on them, too. When it came to the gang member suffering from "angel lust," Andre sucked seven inches of the large boner into his face and watched the pubes get shaved away from the root in close-up. Soon, all three corpses were as smooth as the day they were born.
The two young men then straddled that first marine's face and stroked their cocks, both of their bodies shaking with lust. "Yeah, fucking straight soldier boy! Take our cum all over your damn face!"
Moving their hairy cocks left to right, then back again, they sprayed the boy's handsome features down with hot sperm, Steven drenching the forehead and eye sockets, Andre sending huge gobs of splatter across the nose and partially-opened mouth. Soon the boy's masculine face was buried underneath a hot, dripping sea of white icing. His unblinking face took it all.
Lying on the floor, breathing heavily with their heads leaning against the walls, Steven and Andre smiled at each other. Slowly regaining his composure, Andre remembered that he still needed to rob his host; he'd make sure to do that somehow before the night was over.
Andre could've let the fun stop there, but when Steven finally got up and said, "Here, I've got another fun game for us to play," the evening was going so well, far be it for Andre to refuse. Steven patted the fourth, empty table. "Climb up," he said. "You're gonna love this."
"Sure thing, boss," Andre replied, happily surprised that his dick was already beginning to stir again. Damn, he might cum more times tonight than he had any other night this month.
As soon as Andre was lying horizontally on the table, Steven strapped him in. "Can you move your arms or legs?" he asked.
Andre tried. "Nope," he grinned.
"Good. OK, move your head up for a second, I've got something I need to do."
Andre lifted his head, and from underneath the table some sort of clamping device on a hinge came springing up around his skull. Carefully, Steven tightened the heavy clamps around Andre's head until everything was locked tightly into place. "Tell me, can you move your head now?"
Andre tried, but nothing happened. "Nope, I can't."
"Try real hard."
Again, Andre was unsuccessful. "Good. That's just where we want you," Steven said. "Now I'm going to show you something really wild. I'll bet I can cure you of your appetite for guys’ pubes."
Andre laughed. "Ain't gonna happen, man. Ah LOVES cock hair!"
Going to a back closet, Steven brought forth three large bags and positioned them above Andre's head so the hustler could see them. On each bag there was lettering: PUBES, ARMPITS, and finally CHEST AND LEGS. "What are those?" Andre asked curiously.
"It's hair," Steven replied. "It's from all the hot studs who've wound up on these tables. I've been saving it for years. Guess what you're gonna do with it."
Andre had no idea. He tried to shake his head but his skull wouldn't budge. "What?"
Steven’s expression was suddenly hard and nasty. “You’re gonna eat it.”
"Yes, EAT IT, whore. Open your mouth, you slimy pig."
"EAT IT?!?! Steven, I likes lickin' it when it's on some stud's body, but I don't EAT the damn stuff!"
"You do now." Steven punched Andre in the face, then gave him a look the prostitute hadn't seen before. "We're gonna play a game, fag. You're gonna chew up everything I give you. You'll either swallow it or suffocate."
“You’s crazy!!”
Steven practically howled with laughter. "I've never been in a better mood." His face abruptly went mean. He reached into the PUBES bag, pulled out a thick wad of multi-colored, scraggly hairs and held it over Andre's lips. With his other hand he grabbed a scalpel. "Open your mouth or I'll cut your jugular."
Andre’s body shook. He felt himself starting to cry. "No. I want out. Cut me loose!" he screamed. Angry tears flowed from his tear ducts.
Steven scowled, grabbed Andre's nose and pinched it closed. Andre stared at his pinched nose cross-eyed, realized he was suffocating, and with no choice, opened his mouth. Past his teeth Steven pushed the scratchy, threadlike structures, but Andre succeeded in biting down on Steven's fingers. Steven pulled his hand away sharply. "OW! You're gonna pay for that, bitch!" He punched him hard in the nose. Stunned, Andre could hear the cartilage crunch.
"Now CHEW THE HAIR, pussyboy! Take it down your face hole, slut!" Andre obediently moved his jaw up and down, looking something like Popeye inhaling a can of spinach, gagging as he struggled and chewed. The hair wouldn’t break up naturally; it merely stuck more and more to itself and started getting caught in Andre's teeth. But he swallowed as much as he could.
"You scumshit," Steven said, reaching into the ARMPITS bag. "Did you really think I'd risk you telling somebody about my death games?" He then stuffed heavy clumps of armpit hair into Andre's mouth and even nudged some up both nostrils. Soon his head was literally stuffed with steamy, musty male vegetation, his mouth brimming over the top with various colors of sweaty body hairs. There was hair stuffed down his throat, hair coating his tongue, hair stuck between all his teeth and hanging from his gums. Andre's face puffed out with wad after wad of scraggly pubes, making the sides of his face look like those of a squirrel -- except it wasn't nuts that were puffing out his cheeks. Andre could taste and smell nothing now but the aromas of dead young men.
Suddenly, with the click of a switch, the entire basement was flooded with light. There at the top of the stairs was Old Man Flannery himself. Frantic, Andre careened his neck in the direction of the old man. He managed to gasp, causing spittle and wet pubes to spray into the air. "HELP!" he cried.
Mr. Flannery strode up to the naked young men with a determined walk. "What's the meaning of this, son?" the father glared.
Andre's eyes were blood-shot with fear, but at least they now held a glimmer of hope. "He'th killing be!"
"I'm sorry, sir," Steven replied, looking somewhat dejected. "I guess I got carried away with my pubes collection."
“The entire thing?” the old man cried. He shook his head. “It took you years to accumulate all that hair -- unlike when you collected stamps.”
"HELP!" Andre again coughed.
"Be glad to," the old man said.
The father studied Andre's jaw and aimed his fist right at the chin. With a sharp jab, Andre’s jaw was loudly and masterfully broken. The hustler screamed in agony as his mouth literally snapped in two. “Bet he could bite you before,” the father said. “Won’t happen now, son.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Steven replied.
From deep in his gullet Andre began to wail constantly. It wasn’t just from pain. It was an emotional response, from knowing that he was now officially in deep shit. Andre stared at the father and son, his lower mouth now hanging stupidly from what was left of the jaw hinge. Unencumbered by sharp teeth, Steven stuffed even more wads of thick dick hair down Andre's throat.
The father rushed to a small side restroom, pulling out a dirty funnel and large bottle from the sink. "This young man could sue you for what you've done here, Steven," he said. "We'll have to take care of this quickly." He examined the inside of the whore's mouth. The sheer volume of hair permeating the orifice was such that even if the jaw hadn't been broken, it would've hung open. The father had to move his thumbs in small circles inside the face hole merely to unearth the teeth and tongue.
Mr. Flannery took the funnel and pushed it as far as he could into the hooker's face. Bits of crinkly hairs were forced out, some of them sliding amid saliva over Andre's lips and down his cheeks. "Just think of your mouth as a shower drain, boy," the father urged. "We're going to cut through all this hair in a jiffy." Opening up the bottle of Liquid Drano, he quickly tossed it on its side and poured the contents down Andre's gullet.
The hair was acting like a strainer, but gradually Andre felt the burn first in his mouth, then his throat, and finally, most violently, in his stomach. His body's reaction was immediate. It kicked and gagged as his face upchucked a confection of half-eaten pubes coated with saliva, vomit and poison. His throat made weird noises, sounding as though he were gargling. He managed to croak, "You inthane ATH-HOLTH!"
Father and son chuckled. "Of course we're insane, we're morticians!" Mr. Flannery looked at his boy and said, "He won't last much longer. Would you like a hammer, son?"
"Hell yeah, Pop!"
The father handed his son the heavy, blunt instrument. Steven grinned, looked at Andre determinedly and with a powerful blow brought the hammer straight down on Andre's forehead.
There's a moment when a hole first appears in the human body in which the newly-formed crater is chalk white. For an instant, that's what Andre's forehead was, but then, like black gold, the cavity overflowed with blood, bubbling up over the rim of the large hole and gushing down the sides of his face. "Yes, do it again!" Mr. Flannery cried.
The first hammer strike had stunned Andre even more than the broken jaw. The next blow slammed down so hard on his nose that it was smashed flat, pieces of it embedding themselves deep within his no-longer-handsome face. Every nerve in Andre's young body screamed, electrified with pain that went off the scale. With blood flooding his throat chamber, Andre could no longer even breathe past the bloody wads of cock hair. His skin color went a deathly purple, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes. A third and fourth blow broke Andre's cheekbones, and another smashed out six front teeth. With more force than ever, the hammer then connected with Andre's left eye, crushing it four inches back into his brain. His other eye lost focus and stared aimlessly at nothing before it, too, was smashed. Over the next few minutes, Andre's face was bashed deep within the crevices of his head, straight down to the table, the entire skull eventually collapsing inward. A sticky, unrecognizable sludge of blood, brains, bone and pubes spread out from above the neck like a crushed watermelon.
Andre's body went into convulsions. After a few violent heaves, the torso went limp. His skin turned gray, and soon there was a familiar, tell-tale smell from piss trickling through his large penis. The urine quickly filled the table, spilled over the sides, and went leaking all over the floor as Andre’s bladder quietly drained.
Andre's evening had come full circle. He'd started the night off in a piss-filled alley, and now, to the stench of urine, he had returned. Blood spurted and gushed from his collapsed head and ruined neck, permanent echoes of his final horror.
Without a word, both father and son stood opposite each other over Andre's corpse, jerking themselves off just above the rubble that used to be a head. They grinned with evil glee as they came simultaneously. Huge spurts of snake jizz splattered over the gooey red mess like cake decoration. Andre’s head was rubble--there were no eyes left to flinch. "Hail Satan," Steven announced.
"Hail -- myself," Mr. Flannery chuckled matter-of-factly.
Steven walked over to Andre's pants and went through the pockets. "Thanks for your help, sir," he said, adding, "of course, I could've done it all myself."
"I know you could've, son," his father replied. "But I'm still head of this business. I can't let you have all the fun! Anyone's fair game, but it's good to see you got yourself another homeless scumboy."
Steven pocketed about seven dollars and some change. "Yes, sir. A cheap hustler -- a worthless piece of shit, a throw-away. Just like the others."
"Good. I'll go make things ready. Too bad about your pubes hobby."
Yes, it was a shame; a solid tenth of Steven's collection was ruined. Drenched in poison, all those pubes and armpit hairs crammed inside Andre's skull and throat had lost their sexy aroma.
But, philosophically speaking, what's life if we can't indulge once in a while? There's no reason why the ambitious young man couldn't replace the lost hair. For every door that closes, another opens. When a sand castle is washed away by the sea, sooner or later a new one takes its place.
As his father went off to prepare the crematorium, the young undertaker gazed at Andre’s sexy young corpse with the ruined face and head. The strong arms hung loosely at the body's sides, and from various vantage points, the armpit hair was clearly visible. For the first time, Steven noticed the trickling of hair that crawled down Andre's six-pack abs. The bush looked thick and wiry, very sexy. No wonder the hustler had been so popular.
Steven reached into a drawer and approached the body.
There was a hungry glint in his eyes as he fired up his clippers.
An Unholy Appetite for Young Pubes
by Steve Geary
Nobody could do the homeless hustle better than Andre.
He knew how to use his brown eyes well, knew how to communicate a pleading, lost puppy-dog look as he'd beg for spare change. If he felt inspired, he might even create odd jobs for himself, insisting on scrubbing someone's windshield at a self-serve filling station and then demanding pay.
Speaking of cars, how many times, he wondered, had he begged for handouts, pretending he had a stranded car a few blocks away? Andre lost track of that figure after a mere couple of weeks. The only cars Andre drove were ones he'd stolen.
Why he chose to live in alleys defied comprehension, at least at first glance. It was probably an extension of how he'd always seen himself -- a rebel. Although capable of making a good impression, he chose not to, unless it was to charm someone out of something he wanted. What clinched his present lifestyle was when his aunt kicked him out after he'd racked up too many friendships with drug addicts and thieves.
Now in his early twenties, Andre enjoyed a private joke of purposely playing stupid. "Ah's hungry -- d'ya gots enny spare change?" he'd ask in a melancholy way. One passerby in ten might slip him a few quarters -- not much to write home about, but hell, even Babe Ruth's overall batting average was only .290. One evening, he proudly realized he'd earned almost thirty tax-free dollars.
All of that was just side money, of course. His true calling was as a thief. If he was lucky, he might adequately steal a purse or pick a rich pocket. His success as a homeless waif made him the envy of every other street urchin in town. Suffice to say, the police were well acquainted with Andre; he was a frequent guest at the local jail.
Andre's actual home was a box. He'd usually park it in his favorite alley, right around the corner from a popular bar. It wasn't ideal -- a constant stench of piss permeated the pavement, but because of the high volume of people, the earning potential was limitless.
One evening, around midnight, he saw a muscled young man in leather jeans leave the club, and he wasted no time in approaching his prospective meal ticket. "Suh, can I talks with you fo' a second?" he asked. "I don't means you no harm -- "
"Let me guess," the buffed dude interrupted. He eyed Andre closely, quickly taking in Andre's masculine, street-wise face. His eyes twinkled at the young hustler. "I know this routine. You want some money. Well, you'll have to earn it."
"I'd do anything, suh," Andre said, doing his best to make his firm young body stand tall. "Ah's nevah been afraid o’ hard work."
"Yeah? How are you with hard cock?" the stud asked. He rubbed the bulge in his pants. Not used to so direct a question, Andre's eyes darted away. He glanced at the dude's T-shirt for the first time and read words printed across the stud’s chest --
I WANT YOUR BODY.
After a slight pause, Andre didn't skip a beat. "Ah sucks dicks fo' ten bucks," he said proudly. "Bes' blowjob you's evah gonna git! An' I swallows, too." With his index finger, he traced a line from his jaw down his neck toward his stomach. "All the way down -- Ah don't misses a drop."
"You're on," the leather dude replied. "But dude, can it with the fake street talk. I know your game, and you're not what you're pretending to be. Now let's find ourselves a dark corner."
Damn. This guy was the first one in a week who hadn't fallen for his dumbed-down routine. There was still a chance to rob him, though, so within moments, the two men were in a dark corner of the alley with only a full moon’s indirect beam shedding light through the night shadows.
Andre was on his knees, carefully unzipping the stud's fly, when a hefty slab of thick cockmeat popped out and pulsed wickedly in front of him. The enormous organ glistened enticingly at the tip with thick pre-cum. Opening wide his generously-sized mouth, Andre swallowed the cock and clamped his fat lips eight inches down the shaft.
Something seemed -- unusual. It was odd to feel this much pressure at the back of his throat and still be so far away from a dude’s body. Not only were there a good three or four inches of cock left to be swallowed, the very texture of the cock felt different.
His customer groaned with disappointment as Andre pulled his head back. The moon went behind some clouds, but Andre was still able to see the sight, and gasp:
A solid five to six inches of the thick shaft were literally covered with a hairy pubic growth!
It looked like an other-worldy prick, almost inhuman. Andre was so taken aback, his jaw practically hit the piss-stained pavement. "Yo dick!" he cried. "It looks like it belong to some -- beast."
The muscle stud laughed. "Yeah, I know. You like?"
"DAYUMMM! I sho do! I sho ‘nuff do!"
Steven’s eyes rolled. Obviously, once Andre was in this dumbed-down mode it was difficult to discard it.
Andre's long fingers quickly scrambled to open up the stud’s underwear, where his fingertips reached past the wrist-sized root and found even more abundant sex vegetation. He excitedly ran his fingers through the thick texture of the stud’s garden, and, unable to contain himself, quickly pulled down the pants. Exposing the base of the all-meat whopper to the night air aroused the cock even more; it pointed straight upward now, throbbing passionately, and surrounding the fuckroot was an uncommonly thick forest of pitch-black pubes.
It was as though this beefy hard-on was a throwback to a previous incarnation of man. Did it seem like an ape man’s cock? The dick of a Neanderthal? To Andre, it symbolized a time when man was primitive, uncivilized, violent. Andre found the huge cock decadent -- and overwhelmingly sexy.
He looked up at the proud owner of his ultimate pubic fantasy and said, "Mmm, Dude! You’s just gotta let me lick yo dick! -- I wants to taste it some place where I can really see it! That furry sausage looks sooo fuckin HOT!"
"Glad you appreciate it," his client smiled.
"You bet I does," Andre said, genuinely beside himself. His heart was racing. "Fuck, I'd pay you to let me bury my nose in that bush!"
The stud thought for a second. "Tell you what, we can go to the place I work. I promise you, you’ll have a hot -- unlike any sex you’ve ever had. It’s not far away. We can walk." Now Andre's lost puppy dog expression was thoroughly genuine as he watched the massive cock get temporarily tucked back inside the pants. "Name’s Steven," the dude smiled, holding out his hand.
Andre shook his hand. "Dre," he replied. "Glad to 'meat' ya!"
Steven smiled. "I don't think I'm going to call you Dre," he said. "I'm going to call you every nasty name in the book. I'll assume that as long as I pay you, you don't have a problem with that."
"No, not at all, suh! I loves bein' called nasty names, suh."
They started walking briskly down the alley, both of them silent, but filled with anticipation of the upcoming sexual encounter. Throughout the walk, Andre noticed how Steven's shirt tightly hugged his torso, mesmerizingly accentuating the powerful chest and shoulder muscles. "I WANT YOUR BODY, that's a hot shirt," Andre said, attempting small conversation.
Steven turned the key to the back door of a small brick building. "Glad you like it, cocksucker. Take a look at the back." He smiled as he turned to face away from the hustler.
Emblazoned across Steven's muscular back, Andre read:
FLANNERY AND SON
Morticians
Andre laughed. You've got to appreciate a warped sense of humor.Morticians
"After you, faggot," Steven said. Together, they entered the funeral parlor.
------------------------------------
“Tell me something,” Steven said. “You ever have sex inside a coffin?”
Andre gulped. During his short life, he'd had sex in "tea rooms," toilet stalls, bath houses and peep shows. He'd given hand and blow jobs in the back seats of cars, but no, never a coffin.
Steven smiled. “Look at this huge box,” he said. “We’d been expecting the remains of a 450-pound drag queen, so we special-ordered an extra-wide coffin. At the last moment, the family decided the fat fuck wasn't worth the dough so they just threw the bitch into a bag and tossed her in the ocean. My Dad and I put this coffin back in the hearse and plan to take it back to the manufacturer tomorrow, but there’s plenty of room in it tonight for us guys to sixty-nine.”
Sex with a stud in a coffin? Andre didn’t need further coaxing. He excitedly tore off his clothes and salivated as Steven did the same. Steven then climbed into the casket, held out his hand, pulled Andre up into the sacred resting place and threw him down against the floor of the container. For Andre, it was two hours of carnal pleasure never to be forgotten. As Steven's hips bucked up into Andre's face, Steven called the prostitute every degrading name in the book -- whore, slut, trash, nigger, pussyboy, faggot. The stud tightly gripped Andre's skull and rammed all twelve inches of cockmeat down his gummy throat, forcing Andre's face to entirely disappear into the thick bush. Andre felt used, no more significant than a mere insect, a bug smothered underneath a sexy lawn of black grass. The musty hairs permeated his mouth and nose, allowing him to smell nothing but Steven's earthy scent. It was sweaty and wild -- devilish, but so erotically charged, Andre was in heaven.
After Steven pumped what felt like half a quart of semen into Andre's stomach, he fell back against his side of the coffin, his whole body perspiring.
"Dayum," was all Andre could say.
Steven smirked. "Yeah, you love my dick, pussyboy."
"Hell, I sho do."
There was a silence. "You always been this way about cock hair?" Steven queried.
Andre thought for a moment. "Not like this," he replied, "but yeah, I's always thought hairy cocks are handsome things." He took a breath, then spoke -- he'd never exactly put it into words before -- and he heard his familiar voice reveal his sexual fetish. "Sho as I speak, I think nature made dicks hairy to call attention to 'em. I think bushes focus our eyes on a cock the same way picture frames showcase a damned masterpiece work of art!"
Steven chuckled. "Dude, that's almost profound." He thought for a moment. "Well, I like it, too. Dick hair separates the men from the boys." A wicked gleam came to his eyes. "Look, I wouldn't do this with everybody -- but you wanna have a good time? -- I mean, a really twisted good time?"
Andre smiled. "I tries anything, at least once."
"Ya gotta promise me, man, you won't tell a soul. Nobody -- ever."
The hustler’s curiosity was piqued. "Show me."
Still nude, his hairy cock flopping, Steven stepped out of the coffin, nearly bumping his head on the roof of the hearse. "Here -- I've got some ‘things’ down in the basement to show ya. You're gonna love 'em." The young studs' cocks were still rock-hard and leading the way as they left the parlor’s garage and walked down the stairs to the dark basement.
There, in the dim light, Andre could make out four porcelain embalming tables, three of which contained young, muscular male corpses, all of them face-up, all of them naked. "They're marines, pal," Steven said. "The first two, anyway. Just got here yesterday. The third guy's some gang member who got shot in the head. I'm supposed to work on them tonight before I sleep."
"Holy shit," Andre breathed. "What will you do to 'em?"
"Embalm 'em. I'll sponge them down, put 'em in clothes--but first, ya wanna have some fun?" Steven asked.
"Oh, damn," Andre gasped, his heart racing. "What kind of fun?"
"Take a look at them," Steven said enticingly. "See what comes to mind."
Andre inched over to the tables in wonder. He'd never seen young dead men before. They couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old. All three had hard, manly bodies, their faces flush with youth. Both marines wore handsome, tight haircuts, had broad shoulders and firm, muscular chests and asses. All of their eyes were still open. Each member of the trio was narrow-waisted, with slim hips and thighs. If it weren't for the bullet wounds, Andre would've assumed all three teenagers were merely sleeping. They'd probably died instantly, snuffed out in a moment of exquisite violence.
Andre looked over to the third, the gang member, and pointed nervously. "Ha! He's got a hard-on!"
The dead stud's long cock was indeed sticking up at an angle much like the Tower of Pisa, his eyes open but staring aimlessly. Steven walked over to the young corpse, put his hand around the thick boner and squeezed it. "Angel lust," Steven smiled. "He’s deep in rigor mortis."
"God," Andre breathed. "I don't know what to say -- or do."
"Look at 'em, pussyboy. These guys were probably all straight. In life, not one would've let you touch him. But now -- now, everything they were saving for their girlfriends and whores is yours for the taking. They won't lift a finger."
"Look how handsome their faces are," Steven continued. "What would you like to do to this one?" He pointed to a marine with thick brown eyebrows and lashes. The eyebrows were slightly raised, the lips youthfully full and mouth partially open.
Andre looked at the sharp, chiseled features. Cut down in his prime, the boy looked sweet and vulnerable. "I wants to kiss him."
Steven stepped back, getting out of Andre’s way. "Then do it."
Andre's body shook with excitement. What he was about to do was so wrong, so taboo -- but so new and exciting, how could he pass it up? He'd always said he'd try anything once. And this dead marine was beyond being hurt further; he wouldn't even know what was happening to him -- a victimless crime. Yes. Andre could have some sweet fun at this young soldier's expense.
Andre brought his face up close to that of the dead boy. The handsome face seemed to stare up at him, right through him. After studying every sweet facial feature close-up, Andre closed his eyes and tenderly kissed the marine's brave, hunky lips. The lips accepted the kiss, didn't complain, didn't resist. Andre was so turned on, his nine-inch cock sprouted to full manhood, pulsed wickedly and spilled pre-cum all over the serviceman's muscular dead thighs. The soldier’s dilated eyes continued to stare through him aimlessly.
After another long kiss, Andre sighed and glanced under the corpse's arm. There he saw a hefty tuft of hair creeping out from the masculine armpit. Andre looked to Steven, who was smiling appreciatively. "Can we lift his arm?" Andre asked.
Steven understood. "You can do whatever you want, pal," he replied. "Just so you know, he's not been washed yet. All you're going to smell is his earthy death scent."
Together, they lifted the muscular arm, revealing the young forest inside the deeply-grooved, rich armpit. Andre was breathing heavily. With his tongue, Andre tentatively made small, then larger circles in the hair, causing the growth to swirl, then stick together. Andre watched the dead marine's face and suddenly felt a euphoric superiority over the unlucky teenager. 'Yeah, soldier boy,' Andre thought. 'You's got no choice but to let me have you! I's alive and you's fuckin' dead!'
It was inevitable now that Andre would look down toward the hairy nest resting above the marine's cock. "I know what you're thinking," Steven said, chuckling. "Here, let me show you my hobby." He pulled out some clippers from a drawer. "I like to shave the cute ones before they get tucked into the ground."
"Shave their pubes?"
Steven nodded. "Yeah. And their armpits, sometimes their chests and leg hair. It's not like these guys are ever going to miss it. I always use clippers -- never shaving cream. I prefer a natural aroma."
"But, something obvious like that," Andre stuttered. "Wouldn't relatives complain?"
Steven scoffed. “You ever see a family take a body's clothes off while it lies in a casket?" Steven had a point there, Andre had to admit. "By the time I'm done with soldiers' bodies, they're as smooth as G.I. Joe dolls. Tell ya what I'll do. You lick his pubes and I'll have my clippers working right behind your tongue, how’s that? That'll take care of both our fetishes."
Andre grinned from ear to ear. "Man, that's soooo fucking hot."
"Then let's do it."
Andre positioned his head just above the boy's marine cock. Starting at the left side of the cock, Andre then brought his lips half-way down on the pubes. Allowing his tongue to slather up, down, and through the crinkly hairs, he then pressed his lips forward until they met with the boy's hard lower abdomen. Gently, Andre started moving his mouth in slow, sensuous circles. More and more hairs stuck together, and soon the hustler was making wide, sloppy mouth motions through the sex garden, causing the entire bush to become gummy with saliva. From his position, he then nodded up at Steven. There was an electrical buzzing sound as the clippers started up. Steven deftly ran his clippers through the bush, trimming the boy's manhood bald. The process was then repeated on those hot, hairy marine armpits.
The process was repeated on the second marine. His legs were quite hairy, so Steven used the clippers on them, too. When it came to the gang member suffering from "angel lust," Andre sucked seven inches of the large boner into his face and watched the pubes get shaved away from the root in close-up. Soon, all three corpses were as smooth as the day they were born.
The two young men then straddled that first marine's face and stroked their cocks, both of their bodies shaking with lust. "Yeah, fucking straight soldier boy! Take our cum all over your damn face!"
Moving their hairy cocks left to right, then back again, they sprayed the boy's handsome features down with hot sperm, Steven drenching the forehead and eye sockets, Andre sending huge gobs of splatter across the nose and partially-opened mouth. Soon the boy's masculine face was buried underneath a hot, dripping sea of white icing. His unblinking face took it all.
Lying on the floor, breathing heavily with their heads leaning against the walls, Steven and Andre smiled at each other. Slowly regaining his composure, Andre remembered that he still needed to rob his host; he'd make sure to do that somehow before the night was over.
Andre could've let the fun stop there, but when Steven finally got up and said, "Here, I've got another fun game for us to play," the evening was going so well, far be it for Andre to refuse. Steven patted the fourth, empty table. "Climb up," he said. "You're gonna love this."
"Sure thing, boss," Andre replied, happily surprised that his dick was already beginning to stir again. Damn, he might cum more times tonight than he had any other night this month.
As soon as Andre was lying horizontally on the table, Steven strapped him in. "Can you move your arms or legs?" he asked.
Andre tried. "Nope," he grinned.
"Good. OK, move your head up for a second, I've got something I need to do."
Andre lifted his head, and from underneath the table some sort of clamping device on a hinge came springing up around his skull. Carefully, Steven tightened the heavy clamps around Andre's head until everything was locked tightly into place. "Tell me, can you move your head now?"
Andre tried, but nothing happened. "Nope, I can't."
"Try real hard."
Again, Andre was unsuccessful. "Good. That's just where we want you," Steven said. "Now I'm going to show you something really wild. I'll bet I can cure you of your appetite for guys’ pubes."
Andre laughed. "Ain't gonna happen, man. Ah LOVES cock hair!"
Going to a back closet, Steven brought forth three large bags and positioned them above Andre's head so the hustler could see them. On each bag there was lettering: PUBES, ARMPITS, and finally CHEST AND LEGS. "What are those?" Andre asked curiously.
"It's hair," Steven replied. "It's from all the hot studs who've wound up on these tables. I've been saving it for years. Guess what you're gonna do with it."
Andre had no idea. He tried to shake his head but his skull wouldn't budge. "What?"
Steven’s expression was suddenly hard and nasty. “You’re gonna eat it.”
"Yes, EAT IT, whore. Open your mouth, you slimy pig."
"EAT IT?!?! Steven, I likes lickin' it when it's on some stud's body, but I don't EAT the damn stuff!"
"You do now." Steven punched Andre in the face, then gave him a look the prostitute hadn't seen before. "We're gonna play a game, fag. You're gonna chew up everything I give you. You'll either swallow it or suffocate."
“You’s crazy!!”
Steven practically howled with laughter. "I've never been in a better mood." His face abruptly went mean. He reached into the PUBES bag, pulled out a thick wad of multi-colored, scraggly hairs and held it over Andre's lips. With his other hand he grabbed a scalpel. "Open your mouth or I'll cut your jugular."
Andre’s body shook. He felt himself starting to cry. "No. I want out. Cut me loose!" he screamed. Angry tears flowed from his tear ducts.
Steven scowled, grabbed Andre's nose and pinched it closed. Andre stared at his pinched nose cross-eyed, realized he was suffocating, and with no choice, opened his mouth. Past his teeth Steven pushed the scratchy, threadlike structures, but Andre succeeded in biting down on Steven's fingers. Steven pulled his hand away sharply. "OW! You're gonna pay for that, bitch!" He punched him hard in the nose. Stunned, Andre could hear the cartilage crunch.
"Now CHEW THE HAIR, pussyboy! Take it down your face hole, slut!" Andre obediently moved his jaw up and down, looking something like Popeye inhaling a can of spinach, gagging as he struggled and chewed. The hair wouldn’t break up naturally; it merely stuck more and more to itself and started getting caught in Andre's teeth. But he swallowed as much as he could.
"You scumshit," Steven said, reaching into the ARMPITS bag. "Did you really think I'd risk you telling somebody about my death games?" He then stuffed heavy clumps of armpit hair into Andre's mouth and even nudged some up both nostrils. Soon his head was literally stuffed with steamy, musty male vegetation, his mouth brimming over the top with various colors of sweaty body hairs. There was hair stuffed down his throat, hair coating his tongue, hair stuck between all his teeth and hanging from his gums. Andre's face puffed out with wad after wad of scraggly pubes, making the sides of his face look like those of a squirrel -- except it wasn't nuts that were puffing out his cheeks. Andre could taste and smell nothing now but the aromas of dead young men.
Suddenly, with the click of a switch, the entire basement was flooded with light. There at the top of the stairs was Old Man Flannery himself. Frantic, Andre careened his neck in the direction of the old man. He managed to gasp, causing spittle and wet pubes to spray into the air. "HELP!" he cried.
Mr. Flannery strode up to the naked young men with a determined walk. "What's the meaning of this, son?" the father glared.
Andre's eyes were blood-shot with fear, but at least they now held a glimmer of hope. "He'th killing be!"
"I'm sorry, sir," Steven replied, looking somewhat dejected. "I guess I got carried away with my pubes collection."
“The entire thing?” the old man cried. He shook his head. “It took you years to accumulate all that hair -- unlike when you collected stamps.”
"HELP!" Andre again coughed.
"Be glad to," the old man said.
The father studied Andre's jaw and aimed his fist right at the chin. With a sharp jab, Andre’s jaw was loudly and masterfully broken. The hustler screamed in agony as his mouth literally snapped in two. “Bet he could bite you before,” the father said. “Won’t happen now, son.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Steven replied.
From deep in his gullet Andre began to wail constantly. It wasn’t just from pain. It was an emotional response, from knowing that he was now officially in deep shit. Andre stared at the father and son, his lower mouth now hanging stupidly from what was left of the jaw hinge. Unencumbered by sharp teeth, Steven stuffed even more wads of thick dick hair down Andre's throat.
The father rushed to a small side restroom, pulling out a dirty funnel and large bottle from the sink. "This young man could sue you for what you've done here, Steven," he said. "We'll have to take care of this quickly." He examined the inside of the whore's mouth. The sheer volume of hair permeating the orifice was such that even if the jaw hadn't been broken, it would've hung open. The father had to move his thumbs in small circles inside the face hole merely to unearth the teeth and tongue.
Mr. Flannery took the funnel and pushed it as far as he could into the hooker's face. Bits of crinkly hairs were forced out, some of them sliding amid saliva over Andre's lips and down his cheeks. "Just think of your mouth as a shower drain, boy," the father urged. "We're going to cut through all this hair in a jiffy." Opening up the bottle of Liquid Drano, he quickly tossed it on its side and poured the contents down Andre's gullet.
The hair was acting like a strainer, but gradually Andre felt the burn first in his mouth, then his throat, and finally, most violently, in his stomach. His body's reaction was immediate. It kicked and gagged as his face upchucked a confection of half-eaten pubes coated with saliva, vomit and poison. His throat made weird noises, sounding as though he were gargling. He managed to croak, "You inthane ATH-HOLTH!"
Father and son chuckled. "Of course we're insane, we're morticians!" Mr. Flannery looked at his boy and said, "He won't last much longer. Would you like a hammer, son?"
"Hell yeah, Pop!"
The father handed his son the heavy, blunt instrument. Steven grinned, looked at Andre determinedly and with a powerful blow brought the hammer straight down on Andre's forehead.
There's a moment when a hole first appears in the human body in which the newly-formed crater is chalk white. For an instant, that's what Andre's forehead was, but then, like black gold, the cavity overflowed with blood, bubbling up over the rim of the large hole and gushing down the sides of his face. "Yes, do it again!" Mr. Flannery cried.
The first hammer strike had stunned Andre even more than the broken jaw. The next blow slammed down so hard on his nose that it was smashed flat, pieces of it embedding themselves deep within his no-longer-handsome face. Every nerve in Andre's young body screamed, electrified with pain that went off the scale. With blood flooding his throat chamber, Andre could no longer even breathe past the bloody wads of cock hair. His skin color went a deathly purple, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes. A third and fourth blow broke Andre's cheekbones, and another smashed out six front teeth. With more force than ever, the hammer then connected with Andre's left eye, crushing it four inches back into his brain. His other eye lost focus and stared aimlessly at nothing before it, too, was smashed. Over the next few minutes, Andre's face was bashed deep within the crevices of his head, straight down to the table, the entire skull eventually collapsing inward. A sticky, unrecognizable sludge of blood, brains, bone and pubes spread out from above the neck like a crushed watermelon.
Andre's body went into convulsions. After a few violent heaves, the torso went limp. His skin turned gray, and soon there was a familiar, tell-tale smell from piss trickling through his large penis. The urine quickly filled the table, spilled over the sides, and went leaking all over the floor as Andre’s bladder quietly drained.
Andre's evening had come full circle. He'd started the night off in a piss-filled alley, and now, to the stench of urine, he had returned. Blood spurted and gushed from his collapsed head and ruined neck, permanent echoes of his final horror.
Without a word, both father and son stood opposite each other over Andre's corpse, jerking themselves off just above the rubble that used to be a head. They grinned with evil glee as they came simultaneously. Huge spurts of snake jizz splattered over the gooey red mess like cake decoration. Andre’s head was rubble--there were no eyes left to flinch. "Hail Satan," Steven announced.
"Hail -- myself," Mr. Flannery chuckled matter-of-factly.
Steven walked over to Andre's pants and went through the pockets. "Thanks for your help, sir," he said, adding, "of course, I could've done it all myself."
"I know you could've, son," his father replied. "But I'm still head of this business. I can't let you have all the fun! Anyone's fair game, but it's good to see you got yourself another homeless scumboy."
Steven pocketed about seven dollars and some change. "Yes, sir. A cheap hustler -- a worthless piece of shit, a throw-away. Just like the others."
"Good. I'll go make things ready. Too bad about your pubes hobby."
Yes, it was a shame; a solid tenth of Steven's collection was ruined. Drenched in poison, all those pubes and armpit hairs crammed inside Andre's skull and throat had lost their sexy aroma.
But, philosophically speaking, what's life if we can't indulge once in a while? There's no reason why the ambitious young man couldn't replace the lost hair. For every door that closes, another opens. When a sand castle is washed away by the sea, sooner or later a new one takes its place.
As his father went off to prepare the crematorium, the young undertaker gazed at Andre’s sexy young corpse with the ruined face and head. The strong arms hung loosely at the body's sides, and from various vantage points, the armpit hair was clearly visible. For the first time, Steven noticed the trickling of hair that crawled down Andre's six-pack abs. The bush looked thick and wiry, very sexy. No wonder the hustler had been so popular.
Steven reached into a drawer and approached the body.
There was a hungry glint in his eyes as he fired up his clippers.
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