TallBlond1
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2012
- Messages
- 184
- Location
- Cleveland, Ohio
Saturday Night Slaughter House
by Steve Geary
What a night.
Was it something in the air? Did alcohol play a part, or maybe everyone was high on drugs? I’ll never know the answers to these questions. I want so badly to quantify those few hours -- logically come to grips with them and package the explanation into a neat little box all gift-wrapped to myself with an attractive bow -- but this I cannot do.
The night defies logic. The answers may be so dark, so deep within the human psyche and our origins as a race, that any intelligent exploration would be futile. I fear that we humans may be closer to losing our collective sanity than I’d ever imagined.
It really wasn’t all that long ago...
My buddy Brent had looked at me and smiled after flipping the coin. “You lose, Dave.”
Hmm -- that fateful coin dictated our evening. We’d known we’d either be two-stepping this evening or hitting up the baths. Being a good sport, I happily threw together my gym bag. Soon Brent and I were out the door. No need to shine my cowboy boots tonight.
The parking lot was spilling over with cars. Brent and I had learned to look carefully at the autos as we survey the lot -- cars give all types of clues as to who’s inside. Modern, four-door Cadillacs suggest older, grandfatherly types. Older, rustier Cadillacs tend to indicate poor people in search of self-esteem. Thankfully, tonight there were few of either, and with close to ten dozen cars, there was promise for a sizzling Saturday night.
This bath house always had cute guys welcoming us. I recognized the young twink manning the window. He and I nodded at each other. “Welcome back, Dave,” he said as he took my card. Damn -- wish I could remember his name.
A tall, slim blond kid of about nineteen stood in line. He gave me a beautiful, wholesome smile -- something I didn’t expect, because bath house smiles -- if they happen at all for me -- usually occur once a man is inside, after he’s sized up the crowd and decided on his prey. I smiled back. This kid looked so hot and innocent, I made up my mind then and there to fuck his brains out tonight.
The kid rented only a locker for the night. I knew he’d have no problem finding someone with a room. He gave me a small wave as the buzzer allowed him inside. I winked back -- silent acknowledgment that we both wanted the same thing. Because of that hot number in front of me, you can bet I rented a room. After Brent and I threw on our towels, we began to explore.
It was a studly crowd. The gym had several guys doing midnight workouts. A number of dudes in the huge video room were jacking off to porno DVDs. Otherwise naked jocks with their caps on backward were giving each other blowjobs in the hallway.
Outside, by the swimming pool, a DJ blasted the air with a hot salsa beat. Several muscle heads danced naked, their dicks bouncing every which direction from their pubes. Some guys played volleyball in the heated pool while others pretended to sleep, their eyes cracked open just enough to catch every move.
Of course, there was also a regular patron whom I call Divine because he looks so much like the late actor on a bad day. Divine, poor guy, never got attention. He’d always pick the same room, number 69 -- and would lie on his fat stomach with the door open, staring out forlornly into the hallway. Even with his equal-opportunity, open-door policy, his desperate, sad eyes never attracted a fly. Within an hour, he’d fall fast asleep, his mouth open, snoring like a buzz saw. I swear the man could sleep through a tornado.
We got into some action once we arrived in the steamroom. Brent and I were standing by the wall when a Hispanic couple came in and stood opposite us -- hot, dark eyes and eyelashes on both of them! My dick pointed straight out in front of me as the younger of the two fondled it. He turned out to be an excellent cocksucker, and my cock looked beautiful porking his olive-skinned cheeks. He deepthroated both me and Brent while his partner looked on proudly. “I want you to fuck me,” the boy said to Brent.
Before you can say 'hot tamale’ Brent had the boy on his back, his feet high in the air. The boy looked up at my buddy and gasped with his mouth wide-open as Brent’s nine-incher buried itself to the bush. When he gazed over at me and grinned, I knew it was my cue to pork the kid’s slutty mouth. Soon, Brent and I were kissing, the kid’s partner was jacking, a small crowd was watching and the kid was moaning in ecstasy as we fucked both ends of our boytoy. I pulled my cock out and pressed it hard into the boy’s face.
He looked at Brent and eagerly said, “I wanna suck myself off while you guys fuck me at the same time! Push my cock deep down my throat!”
That’s when the night took its strange turn -- how were we to know the kid wasn’t as flexible as he thought he was?!
Brent, in all his horny enthusiasm, pulled the boy’s ass up high, exposing the dark hole to the moist air, and pressed the kid’s knees hard down into the floor. It was so dark in the room, I could barely see the pain shoot across the boy’s eyes. I’m sure Brent didn’t notice it. But our boy toy’s spine bent itself past the breaking point. There was a splintering CRACK! sound. His scream was muffled by his own cock. He passed out cold, his spine irreparably broken. Even unconscious, his glazed-over face betrayed a look of delirious pain and pleasure.
Putting it mildly, his partner was annoyed. “Mother Fuck! Damned gringo, you just killed my pussyboy!”
Brent was shocked. “Killed?! Whaddaya mean, KILLED?!”
Sure enough, the boy wasn’t breathing. His face was turning blue. His gorgeous eyes glazed over and took on that same deathly look soldiers get once they’ve been shot. I slapped the boy’s cheeks as hard as I could in an attempt to revive him.
“Asshole! Murderer!” his partner yelled, slamming his fist into Brent’s stomach.
Brent fell backward. He sure doesn’t take well to being attacked, especially when he’s naked. He stood up, rushed the guy, gripped his neck, squeezed hard and with his other fist punched him hard in the face.
“Awwright, it’s a fight!” a red-haired guy cried, his face lighting up with excitement. Bleeding from his nose, the Hispanic guy threw a fist at Brent, accidentally hitting the onlooker. The redhead’s neck snapped back. Without thinking, ‘Red’ lunged forward, punching the Hispanic dude in the mouth. Three front teeth were smashed down the man’s throat and the sound of a jaw cracking reverberated throughout the steamroom.
Suddenly, ten guys were all over each other, bellowing loudly, smashing their fists in a huge, blurry mass of angry flesh -- sexy faces, hairy asses, large penises, strong legs, backs and sweaty armpits. The hot, moist air was filled with grunts, groans, yells and screams as hair was pulled and men’s stomachs were stomped. It was an all-out brawl, as wild as a fight scene from any B-western, only these men weren’t wearing clothes. Everyone who’d moments earlier fantasized about worshipping a conquest was now doing everything he could to annihilate him.
Naked guys from the shower heard the brawl and came rushing over to get a better look.
A bloody foot suddenly smashed through the steam room’s glass door, ripping away tendons and exposing the meat under the skin. The foot was nearly severed. The owner of the hairy leg screamed in pain as he realized what he’d done.
For a moment, everyone was silent. There was so much blood pouring onto the ground that we could all smell it. We all stopped. Astonished eyes stared at the ripped appendage. Noses twitched as the aroma of blood permeated the room. Everyone looked at each other as if they were seeing themselves for the first time. Primal instincts kicked in. I’d never seen such looks on human faces before -- it was as though animals had taken over.
“Oh, HELL, YEAH!” someone cried. Instantly, everyone started pounding on each other, this time more fierce than before. The guy with the torn foot was kicked so hard in the face his eyes went blank as blood bubbled out of him. I’m sure he suffered brain damage. It was just as well -- at the rate he was losing blood, he’d have been dead soon, anyway.
Heads were grabbed and thrown with violent hostility into walls. It was a furious, out of control Mardi Gras -- total insanity. “YEAH, buddy!! KILL the bastard!” I heard, and then another guy’s face came smashing through another pane of steamroom glass.
Shards of glass became knives. One stud threw another to the floor, took the glass and ripped open the dude’s tight gut. I couldn’t believe how the victim reacted he giggled. He managed to get up, holding his abdomen in as best as he could. With an ecstatic, otherworldly look, he stumbled, then abruptly toppled face-down directly into the whirlpool. After the initial splash, his spread-eagled body gradually rose to the surface. Red bubbles popped all around him as blood spread out from his corpse.
Parts of the mob stormed the office and disengaged the buzzer which allowed people to enter and exit. They tore out the office phones, and then with one of the cords strangled to death that cute twink whose name I couldn’t recall.
Even guys who’d been dressing, ready to leave, stopped what they were doing when they saw how the action had turned. A half-dozen guys in various stages of undress took turns holding a poor victim in a stranglehold while whipping him. When they were done, they crunched up the corpse, crammed it into locker #13 and slammed the lock in place.
It was amazing how little it took to put these men over the edge. Everyone got into the spirit, laughing at the damage they could inflict. One guy, taking punches to his face, looked at his attacker with awestruck wonder. “Ah, fuck yeah!! KILL ME, man!” I heard him yell. Soon the entire middle of his face had been dented inward, the nose pounded five inches back into his brain. One of his eyeballs laid on the floor beside him. His body convulsed in death tremors.
The mob swarmed through the building. Men who’d been dozing in their private rooms suddenly found themselves face-to-face with total strangers kicking open their doors. They were hit over their skulls with shower heads pulled from the tiles. Wherever I went, I could hear bones cracking, accompanied by agonizing yells and screams.
“Holy shit, ya got me,” one guy said nervously. He looked down incredulously at the large shard of glass sticking into his otherwise perfect chest. His attacker pounded it in further with his bare fist, bloodying his hand. “Fuck, man -- no need, dude,” the victim said, sounding scared. “I’m already dead.” He fell backward with a sickening thud, his body folded awkwardly into the floor as blood bubbled down both sides of his ribcage.
It was incredible to watch. Initially, some guys were appalled by what they’d see, but they watched anyway, staring with fascination the same way they’d witness the aftermath of a car wreck. Once they’d seen how a young dude would look as he was transformed into dead meat, everyone got into it. It was hot making everyone look the same -- no matter what our outward appearances, we all look pretty similar once our insides are opened up.
I could tell who the natural bottoms were. The obscene beauty of it all must’ve gotten to them. “Fuck yeah! Waste my ass! KILL me, dude!” reverberated throughout the bath house walls.
But an attacker one moment became an unwilling victim the next. Maybe all the aggressors and their victims realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to explore a new dimension of their psyches. Naked men ran to their lockers, furiously pulled them open and grabbed pocket knives from their jeans.
One knife zipped across the room and landed in a young man’s chest. “I’m flying, I’m flying,” he said as his heart stopped.
Outside by the swimming pool, some of the muscle studs had tried to climb the fence to escape. Just because they had muscles didn’t mean they had any more of a right to survive the evening than the rest of us. It may have taken two or three of us dudes to do it, but sure enough, each poster boy for overindulged steroids was pulled down and forced into the water.
Three guys held one muscle dude by the arms and legs, making sure his head stayed under the surface. Others were exterminated when two or three men stood on them at the shallow end of the pool. Only several minutes after a body went limp did they let it go -- the face staring incredulously as the waterlogged body drifted along the pool bottom.
I was frustrated. Somewhere in all the confusion, I’d lost Brent. I wondered where he might be, and I anxiously went back to the steamroom shadows to find him. There were many bodies there, but not his. He must’ve escaped.
Damn, why did I leave my cell phone in the car? I couldn’t call for help. Here, I’d been concerned as to how the baths might affect me. Tempting as it was, I did my best not to kill too many guys.
Still searching for Brent, I slipped into the gym area and saw that more of those beautiful muscle gods had met their ends, too. One guy had been beaten to death with a weight bar. One studly physique, with hundreds of tiny, clipped quarter-inch hairs all over his chest and abs, was lying on a bench press -- his face and head squashed into a bloody, hairy pancake, crushed like roadkill under a couple hundred pounds of weights. His brain dripped down both sides of the equipment.
It was as I passed the shower room again that I saw that blond kid who smiled at me as we’d entered the club. A towel had been wrapped tightly around his neck and thrown over a shower head. His tongue protruded as his body hung there, twisting slowly in the air, his toes pointing downward three inches above the wet floor. I reached up and felt for his pulse. There was none, but his dangling body was still warm. Underneath his blond bush was an incredible hard-on -- little good it would do him now. I wondered if his sexy erection was the result of gravity pulling his blood downward or whether he was merely turned on by his own execution.
Popping sounds rang out, and when I carefully looked around the corner, I saw three guys in their death throes, gunshot wounds to the head. A gun in the bath house! Weren’t there laws against that? Maybe not -- never in my life had I been searched for firearms while frequenting the baths.
The guy who shot off the gun was just around the corner, a blank expression on his face, the gun still smoking in his hand. A self-inflicted gunshot wound dripped from his temple.
Looking at the scene, I was in total revulsion, but I grabbed the gun to see if it had any bullets left. Empty.
That was when I got it. A devastating pain shot through my lower back, then my abdomen, and I was horrified to look down and see the bloody end of a knife sticking out my navel. Whoever did this was laughing behind me as he turned the knife clockwise several times and then with total abandon ripped the knife out of my back. Blood flowed over my dick and down my legs. I turned around just in time to see the giggling macho stud commit hara-kiri.
Barely able to walk, I made my way in fits and starts to the bathroom to examine the wound. There was blood all over the walls. Hunky corpses lay at the bottom of each stall, red puddles quietly inching away from them. Maybe they’d tried to hide on top of each toilet.
I didn’t know what to do -- my body felt restless, like it had to keep moving lest it die. My fingers clawed at my sides. I wandered outside.
Bodies were strewn everywhere around the pool, some in death twitches. The head of the dead DJ’s body had been tossed into a large speaker; if his broken neck hadn’t killed him, the loud music surely would’ve. A few guys were lying on the pool’s edge perfectly intact -- with the exception of their faces, which had been placed just under the water’s surface to make sure they’d drown. I wobbled to the pool’s edge, suddenly felt my body implode, and fell into the pink water. There, with my dying breath, I saw Brent’s studly body at the bottom lying crumpled on its back. His eyes stared through me, unfocused.
“Looks like we both lost that coin toss,” I thought grimly as everything went black.
All was quiet the next morning as the sun rose calmly in the sky. Outside the bath house, young families loaded up their cars and made their way to church.
Nothing was stirring in our bath house. Corpses littered every room and long rivers of blood stretched down each hallway. The swimming pool had become a tepid, crimson soup. Dead bodies drifted into each other, a slight wind rippling the water and causing body hairs to occasionally change direction. The scent of death was everywhere. All was quiet and still.
Suddenly, a door opened. Stumbling out of room 69 came Divine, yawning and bleary-eyed. He tripped over bodies but with his eyes full of sleep didn’t know what they were. Only in the bathroom, after he’d splashed cold water on his face and turned around from the sink, did he do a double-take. He blinked. His eyes and mouth grew wider and wider. He stared at the carnage around him in horror. Like a madman, he wandered the premises, then raced from room to room, his face more and more aghast: everyone was dead.
Out by the pool, his emotions and self-pity finally got to him. He fell to his knees amongst the carnage, weeping uncontrollably.
Once again, for the umpteenth time, he’d been passed over completely.
by Steve Geary
What a night.
Was it something in the air? Did alcohol play a part, or maybe everyone was high on drugs? I’ll never know the answers to these questions. I want so badly to quantify those few hours -- logically come to grips with them and package the explanation into a neat little box all gift-wrapped to myself with an attractive bow -- but this I cannot do.
The night defies logic. The answers may be so dark, so deep within the human psyche and our origins as a race, that any intelligent exploration would be futile. I fear that we humans may be closer to losing our collective sanity than I’d ever imagined.
It really wasn’t all that long ago...
My buddy Brent had looked at me and smiled after flipping the coin. “You lose, Dave.”
Hmm -- that fateful coin dictated our evening. We’d known we’d either be two-stepping this evening or hitting up the baths. Being a good sport, I happily threw together my gym bag. Soon Brent and I were out the door. No need to shine my cowboy boots tonight.
The parking lot was spilling over with cars. Brent and I had learned to look carefully at the autos as we survey the lot -- cars give all types of clues as to who’s inside. Modern, four-door Cadillacs suggest older, grandfatherly types. Older, rustier Cadillacs tend to indicate poor people in search of self-esteem. Thankfully, tonight there were few of either, and with close to ten dozen cars, there was promise for a sizzling Saturday night.
This bath house always had cute guys welcoming us. I recognized the young twink manning the window. He and I nodded at each other. “Welcome back, Dave,” he said as he took my card. Damn -- wish I could remember his name.
A tall, slim blond kid of about nineteen stood in line. He gave me a beautiful, wholesome smile -- something I didn’t expect, because bath house smiles -- if they happen at all for me -- usually occur once a man is inside, after he’s sized up the crowd and decided on his prey. I smiled back. This kid looked so hot and innocent, I made up my mind then and there to fuck his brains out tonight.
The kid rented only a locker for the night. I knew he’d have no problem finding someone with a room. He gave me a small wave as the buzzer allowed him inside. I winked back -- silent acknowledgment that we both wanted the same thing. Because of that hot number in front of me, you can bet I rented a room. After Brent and I threw on our towels, we began to explore.
It was a studly crowd. The gym had several guys doing midnight workouts. A number of dudes in the huge video room were jacking off to porno DVDs. Otherwise naked jocks with their caps on backward were giving each other blowjobs in the hallway.
Outside, by the swimming pool, a DJ blasted the air with a hot salsa beat. Several muscle heads danced naked, their dicks bouncing every which direction from their pubes. Some guys played volleyball in the heated pool while others pretended to sleep, their eyes cracked open just enough to catch every move.
Of course, there was also a regular patron whom I call Divine because he looks so much like the late actor on a bad day. Divine, poor guy, never got attention. He’d always pick the same room, number 69 -- and would lie on his fat stomach with the door open, staring out forlornly into the hallway. Even with his equal-opportunity, open-door policy, his desperate, sad eyes never attracted a fly. Within an hour, he’d fall fast asleep, his mouth open, snoring like a buzz saw. I swear the man could sleep through a tornado.
We got into some action once we arrived in the steamroom. Brent and I were standing by the wall when a Hispanic couple came in and stood opposite us -- hot, dark eyes and eyelashes on both of them! My dick pointed straight out in front of me as the younger of the two fondled it. He turned out to be an excellent cocksucker, and my cock looked beautiful porking his olive-skinned cheeks. He deepthroated both me and Brent while his partner looked on proudly. “I want you to fuck me,” the boy said to Brent.
Before you can say 'hot tamale’ Brent had the boy on his back, his feet high in the air. The boy looked up at my buddy and gasped with his mouth wide-open as Brent’s nine-incher buried itself to the bush. When he gazed over at me and grinned, I knew it was my cue to pork the kid’s slutty mouth. Soon, Brent and I were kissing, the kid’s partner was jacking, a small crowd was watching and the kid was moaning in ecstasy as we fucked both ends of our boytoy. I pulled my cock out and pressed it hard into the boy’s face.
He looked at Brent and eagerly said, “I wanna suck myself off while you guys fuck me at the same time! Push my cock deep down my throat!”
That’s when the night took its strange turn -- how were we to know the kid wasn’t as flexible as he thought he was?!
Brent, in all his horny enthusiasm, pulled the boy’s ass up high, exposing the dark hole to the moist air, and pressed the kid’s knees hard down into the floor. It was so dark in the room, I could barely see the pain shoot across the boy’s eyes. I’m sure Brent didn’t notice it. But our boy toy’s spine bent itself past the breaking point. There was a splintering CRACK! sound. His scream was muffled by his own cock. He passed out cold, his spine irreparably broken. Even unconscious, his glazed-over face betrayed a look of delirious pain and pleasure.
Putting it mildly, his partner was annoyed. “Mother Fuck! Damned gringo, you just killed my pussyboy!”
Brent was shocked. “Killed?! Whaddaya mean, KILLED?!”
Sure enough, the boy wasn’t breathing. His face was turning blue. His gorgeous eyes glazed over and took on that same deathly look soldiers get once they’ve been shot. I slapped the boy’s cheeks as hard as I could in an attempt to revive him.
“Asshole! Murderer!” his partner yelled, slamming his fist into Brent’s stomach.
Brent fell backward. He sure doesn’t take well to being attacked, especially when he’s naked. He stood up, rushed the guy, gripped his neck, squeezed hard and with his other fist punched him hard in the face.
“Awwright, it’s a fight!” a red-haired guy cried, his face lighting up with excitement. Bleeding from his nose, the Hispanic guy threw a fist at Brent, accidentally hitting the onlooker. The redhead’s neck snapped back. Without thinking, ‘Red’ lunged forward, punching the Hispanic dude in the mouth. Three front teeth were smashed down the man’s throat and the sound of a jaw cracking reverberated throughout the steamroom.
Suddenly, ten guys were all over each other, bellowing loudly, smashing their fists in a huge, blurry mass of angry flesh -- sexy faces, hairy asses, large penises, strong legs, backs and sweaty armpits. The hot, moist air was filled with grunts, groans, yells and screams as hair was pulled and men’s stomachs were stomped. It was an all-out brawl, as wild as a fight scene from any B-western, only these men weren’t wearing clothes. Everyone who’d moments earlier fantasized about worshipping a conquest was now doing everything he could to annihilate him.
Naked guys from the shower heard the brawl and came rushing over to get a better look.
A bloody foot suddenly smashed through the steam room’s glass door, ripping away tendons and exposing the meat under the skin. The foot was nearly severed. The owner of the hairy leg screamed in pain as he realized what he’d done.
For a moment, everyone was silent. There was so much blood pouring onto the ground that we could all smell it. We all stopped. Astonished eyes stared at the ripped appendage. Noses twitched as the aroma of blood permeated the room. Everyone looked at each other as if they were seeing themselves for the first time. Primal instincts kicked in. I’d never seen such looks on human faces before -- it was as though animals had taken over.
“Oh, HELL, YEAH!” someone cried. Instantly, everyone started pounding on each other, this time more fierce than before. The guy with the torn foot was kicked so hard in the face his eyes went blank as blood bubbled out of him. I’m sure he suffered brain damage. It was just as well -- at the rate he was losing blood, he’d have been dead soon, anyway.
Heads were grabbed and thrown with violent hostility into walls. It was a furious, out of control Mardi Gras -- total insanity. “YEAH, buddy!! KILL the bastard!” I heard, and then another guy’s face came smashing through another pane of steamroom glass.
Shards of glass became knives. One stud threw another to the floor, took the glass and ripped open the dude’s tight gut. I couldn’t believe how the victim reacted he giggled. He managed to get up, holding his abdomen in as best as he could. With an ecstatic, otherworldly look, he stumbled, then abruptly toppled face-down directly into the whirlpool. After the initial splash, his spread-eagled body gradually rose to the surface. Red bubbles popped all around him as blood spread out from his corpse.
Parts of the mob stormed the office and disengaged the buzzer which allowed people to enter and exit. They tore out the office phones, and then with one of the cords strangled to death that cute twink whose name I couldn’t recall.
Even guys who’d been dressing, ready to leave, stopped what they were doing when they saw how the action had turned. A half-dozen guys in various stages of undress took turns holding a poor victim in a stranglehold while whipping him. When they were done, they crunched up the corpse, crammed it into locker #13 and slammed the lock in place.
It was amazing how little it took to put these men over the edge. Everyone got into the spirit, laughing at the damage they could inflict. One guy, taking punches to his face, looked at his attacker with awestruck wonder. “Ah, fuck yeah!! KILL ME, man!” I heard him yell. Soon the entire middle of his face had been dented inward, the nose pounded five inches back into his brain. One of his eyeballs laid on the floor beside him. His body convulsed in death tremors.
The mob swarmed through the building. Men who’d been dozing in their private rooms suddenly found themselves face-to-face with total strangers kicking open their doors. They were hit over their skulls with shower heads pulled from the tiles. Wherever I went, I could hear bones cracking, accompanied by agonizing yells and screams.
“Holy shit, ya got me,” one guy said nervously. He looked down incredulously at the large shard of glass sticking into his otherwise perfect chest. His attacker pounded it in further with his bare fist, bloodying his hand. “Fuck, man -- no need, dude,” the victim said, sounding scared. “I’m already dead.” He fell backward with a sickening thud, his body folded awkwardly into the floor as blood bubbled down both sides of his ribcage.
It was incredible to watch. Initially, some guys were appalled by what they’d see, but they watched anyway, staring with fascination the same way they’d witness the aftermath of a car wreck. Once they’d seen how a young dude would look as he was transformed into dead meat, everyone got into it. It was hot making everyone look the same -- no matter what our outward appearances, we all look pretty similar once our insides are opened up.
I could tell who the natural bottoms were. The obscene beauty of it all must’ve gotten to them. “Fuck yeah! Waste my ass! KILL me, dude!” reverberated throughout the bath house walls.
But an attacker one moment became an unwilling victim the next. Maybe all the aggressors and their victims realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to explore a new dimension of their psyches. Naked men ran to their lockers, furiously pulled them open and grabbed pocket knives from their jeans.
One knife zipped across the room and landed in a young man’s chest. “I’m flying, I’m flying,” he said as his heart stopped.
Outside by the swimming pool, some of the muscle studs had tried to climb the fence to escape. Just because they had muscles didn’t mean they had any more of a right to survive the evening than the rest of us. It may have taken two or three of us dudes to do it, but sure enough, each poster boy for overindulged steroids was pulled down and forced into the water.
Three guys held one muscle dude by the arms and legs, making sure his head stayed under the surface. Others were exterminated when two or three men stood on them at the shallow end of the pool. Only several minutes after a body went limp did they let it go -- the face staring incredulously as the waterlogged body drifted along the pool bottom.
I was frustrated. Somewhere in all the confusion, I’d lost Brent. I wondered where he might be, and I anxiously went back to the steamroom shadows to find him. There were many bodies there, but not his. He must’ve escaped.
Damn, why did I leave my cell phone in the car? I couldn’t call for help. Here, I’d been concerned as to how the baths might affect me. Tempting as it was, I did my best not to kill too many guys.
Still searching for Brent, I slipped into the gym area and saw that more of those beautiful muscle gods had met their ends, too. One guy had been beaten to death with a weight bar. One studly physique, with hundreds of tiny, clipped quarter-inch hairs all over his chest and abs, was lying on a bench press -- his face and head squashed into a bloody, hairy pancake, crushed like roadkill under a couple hundred pounds of weights. His brain dripped down both sides of the equipment.
It was as I passed the shower room again that I saw that blond kid who smiled at me as we’d entered the club. A towel had been wrapped tightly around his neck and thrown over a shower head. His tongue protruded as his body hung there, twisting slowly in the air, his toes pointing downward three inches above the wet floor. I reached up and felt for his pulse. There was none, but his dangling body was still warm. Underneath his blond bush was an incredible hard-on -- little good it would do him now. I wondered if his sexy erection was the result of gravity pulling his blood downward or whether he was merely turned on by his own execution.
Popping sounds rang out, and when I carefully looked around the corner, I saw three guys in their death throes, gunshot wounds to the head. A gun in the bath house! Weren’t there laws against that? Maybe not -- never in my life had I been searched for firearms while frequenting the baths.
The guy who shot off the gun was just around the corner, a blank expression on his face, the gun still smoking in his hand. A self-inflicted gunshot wound dripped from his temple.
Looking at the scene, I was in total revulsion, but I grabbed the gun to see if it had any bullets left. Empty.
That was when I got it. A devastating pain shot through my lower back, then my abdomen, and I was horrified to look down and see the bloody end of a knife sticking out my navel. Whoever did this was laughing behind me as he turned the knife clockwise several times and then with total abandon ripped the knife out of my back. Blood flowed over my dick and down my legs. I turned around just in time to see the giggling macho stud commit hara-kiri.
Barely able to walk, I made my way in fits and starts to the bathroom to examine the wound. There was blood all over the walls. Hunky corpses lay at the bottom of each stall, red puddles quietly inching away from them. Maybe they’d tried to hide on top of each toilet.
I didn’t know what to do -- my body felt restless, like it had to keep moving lest it die. My fingers clawed at my sides. I wandered outside.
Bodies were strewn everywhere around the pool, some in death twitches. The head of the dead DJ’s body had been tossed into a large speaker; if his broken neck hadn’t killed him, the loud music surely would’ve. A few guys were lying on the pool’s edge perfectly intact -- with the exception of their faces, which had been placed just under the water’s surface to make sure they’d drown. I wobbled to the pool’s edge, suddenly felt my body implode, and fell into the pink water. There, with my dying breath, I saw Brent’s studly body at the bottom lying crumpled on its back. His eyes stared through me, unfocused.
“Looks like we both lost that coin toss,” I thought grimly as everything went black.
------------------------------
All was quiet the next morning as the sun rose calmly in the sky. Outside the bath house, young families loaded up their cars and made their way to church.
Nothing was stirring in our bath house. Corpses littered every room and long rivers of blood stretched down each hallway. The swimming pool had become a tepid, crimson soup. Dead bodies drifted into each other, a slight wind rippling the water and causing body hairs to occasionally change direction. The scent of death was everywhere. All was quiet and still.
Suddenly, a door opened. Stumbling out of room 69 came Divine, yawning and bleary-eyed. He tripped over bodies but with his eyes full of sleep didn’t know what they were. Only in the bathroom, after he’d splashed cold water on his face and turned around from the sink, did he do a double-take. He blinked. His eyes and mouth grew wider and wider. He stared at the carnage around him in horror. Like a madman, he wandered the premises, then raced from room to room, his face more and more aghast: everyone was dead.
Out by the pool, his emotions and self-pity finally got to him. He fell to his knees amongst the carnage, weeping uncontrollably.
Once again, for the umpteenth time, he’d been passed over completely.
