TallBlond1
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2012
- Messages
- 184
- Location
- Cleveland, Ohio
TIC TAC TOE
by Steve Geary
It was early in the summer, in the wee hours of the morning. I was sleeping naked with my partner Brent when the phone call came. My eyes still had sleep in them and I was barely conscious, but I recognized the voice.
It was my Dad in Indianapolis. Something about my sister and her husband catching an apparent burglar in their home. The intruder had a weapon. Both of them were dead.
I was feeling disoriented, possibly in shock. The words weren’t registering. I barely recall him asking me if my eighteen-year-old nephew Frankie might stay with us until college started in the fall. I must’ve said yes, because the voice on the other end said, “Great. Frankie’ll be there at 10 o’clock Saturday morning.”
I silently wondered if Dad was even ‘with it’ enough to know that Brent and I slept together. My buddy was awake now, too, and he looked at me quizzically as I hung up the phone. “What was that all about, Doug?” he asked.
I looked at him glumly. “Our fucking finally paid off,” I said. “We’ve become parents.”
We’d been fucking each other for five hot years. He was thirty-four, five years younger than me. From the beginning, sex had been great -- we were both thrill seekers. We both recognized in the other that there was no place we wouldn’t go if it helped us shoot our loads.
We’d bought a hot property in Cape Cod with a swimming pool in the back. On the outside, it appeared to be your average home -- as wholesome and All-American as a hefty slice of apple pie a la mode. Only a few of our guests knew what really went on in that basement.
None of my family had been close with me, even though my late sister had made me Frankie’s godfather. I frankly thought that was just a gesture to get me more involved in her life. I hadn’t seen the boy since he was eight years old. He’d been a handsome kid. If Mother Nature was still smiling upon this youngster, he’d probably already broken a lot of hearts.
Well, what to do? It made sense that Frankie should stay with us; my Dad was sick, probably only had a few months to live; there was no way he could take on a long-term guest. But how the hell would Frankie react to living with two gay men for the entire summer?
We found out Saturday morning when we drove to the bus station in my Jeep. Off the bus jumps a beautiful young man -- incredibly handsome, with a boyish, masculine face. He tossed his gym bag and suitcases at me as he flashed a disarming grin. “Hiya, Doug,” he said. He gave me an affectionate hug. “Is this your boyfriend?”
I gulped. “Sure is. Frankie, meet Brent. Brent, Frankie.”
“Glad to meet ya,” the two of them said. Brent shot me a look -- I knew what it meant. His eyes were twinkling, as if to say, ‘Hey, this kid’s cool. He’ll do just fine. This’ll be fun.’
“Where are you going to college, Frankie?” I asked once we were in the Jeep.
“I.U. -- Indiana University,” he replied. “Gonna major in music.”
“Do you play an instrument?” I asked.
“Sure do,” he replied. “Piano. I’m damn good, too.”
“Great, we’ve got one in the living room,” I told him. “We don’t play ourselves, but it’s there for parties. You’ll have to play for us every sometime.”
“No sweat,” Frankie smiled. “I love to show off.”
He proved how much of a show-off he was once we got back to the house and had shown him his room. It wasn’t by playing piano. Brent and I were hanging by the pool when Frankie strutted out in his speedos.
There’s no other way to describe it -- Frankie had one of the hottest young torsos I’d ever seen. His body positively exuded youthful masculinity. The abdominal area was beautifully constructed with a remarkably well-defined six-pack. The back and chest flared up and outward toward the muscled shoulders, creating a stunning “V” frame. The skin was fresh -- not a mark anywhere on him. The underarms were well chiseled, with a generous amount of hair emanating from each armpit cavity. If that wasn’t enough, a scorching pattern of secondary sex characteristics adorned his front. Young Frankie, with that hot, innocent face, had the first wisps of sexy hairs adorning his teen-aged chest.
He grinned at me, the sun catching the twinkle in his blue eyes, before he did a perfect swan dive into the deep end. I looked at Brent. “Ya know, this could be one helluva hot summer,” I mused.
I made spaghetti in the kitchen that night as Frankie played music for us in the living room. “Your Baldwin needs a tuning,” he scowled.
“Sorry, Frankie,” I explained. “That’s what comes from not being musical. I’ll have it tuned next week.”
“You’d better,” he replied. “I sound like shit on this thing.” Brent set up the recording system nonetheless, and by the time dinner was ready we had nearly an hour’s worth of CD music to accompany our meal.
Frankie ate like a pig. It’s hard to believe a guy could look hot with spaghetti sauce running down his chin, but Frankie sure did. I doubted the guy could take a bad picture; his face, coupled with his attitude, made for unforgettable viewing pleasure. Times with Brent and me were always fun, but there were extra sparks of sexual electricity darting about our dining room table that evening.
“Frankie,” I said, “it’s a little uncomfortable bringing this up, but we know you must be going through a lot of pain deep inside because of what happened to your parents.”
Frankie stopped eating for a moment and stared sullenly at his plate. “I can’t talk about that yet,” he said softly.
I understood. Things like this were bound to take time. “Well, just understand that if you need to talk about it, we’re here for you." I felt the need to change the subject. “So, Frankie, how’s your love life? Have you got a girlfriend?” I tried to give my question a casual inflection, but I was dying to know the answer as I bit into a meatball.
“Nah,” he replied. “Well, I’ve had a few, but they don’t last too long. Hey, I’m young. I'm still playing the field.”
I nodded. “Yes, I know what it’s like. Been there, done that.” Brent looked at me and winked.
Frankie pointed at Brent with his thumb. “I knew you lived with this guy,” he said, grinning. “I think you included that tidbit in one of your Christmas letters. I’m no dumbass. I knew what was going on before I got here.”
“Glad to see you’re cool with it,” I smiled.
“Hey, nothing shocks me.” He shot me a look. “Nothing.” There was something about the way he said it that made me think that behind that innocent face was a wealth of experience far beyond his years.
With Frankie tickling the keys on the piano, Brent and I washed dishes and retired to our room early. We were in a ‘69’ position, in the throes of passion, when Brent suddenly tapped my leg. “We have a visitor,” he said, pointing upward.
brought my head up from my buddy’s huge cock. There, stark naked, was Frankie. He was stroking his young, massive hard-on and subconsciously licking his lips. There was no mistaking the hungry look in his eyes. “I -- I want to watch,” he said. “I’m a voyeur. Really get off on seeing two people naked.”
I held out my hand. “So, you’re bisexual,” I said. “You can do more than just watch, chum! C’mon, get in. We’ll show you how much love we really have in this family.”
And so, for that magical summer, we became three. It was a summer we’ll never forget. We swam. We taught Frankie how to fish and gut the vertebrate for an evening meal. We went to Provincetown as a threesome and made quite an impression. We even tuned the piano for him, and he made us a number of easy listening dinner music recordings. And although he’d occasionally go into town to hook up with chicks, from then until the end of the summer, when he was with us, Frankie never slept in his own bed.
---------------------------
It was perhaps a week after we’d initiated Frankie that he finally inquired about the basement. “Why is it always locked?” he asked.
“Frankie, I’m not sure if you’re ready for that one,” I responded.
“Try me,” he said.
It was a dare. “OK,” I replied, “I’ll tell you. Your uncles get into a number of sexual scenes. What we have down there is a dungeon. A torture chamber. We invite friends over now and then. S&M. BDS&M. Do those letters mean anything to you?”
“Oh, sure,” he replied. “I know all about it. I wanna see it. Show me the ropes.”
I chuckled. “Well, you’ll see ropes, chains, whips, blindfolds, handcuffs... all kinds of things used to create pain.” Frankie shrugged like it was no big deal, but I knew he was intensely curious. There was a mischievous look about him.
Damn, I wasn’t yet forty, but this kid was making me feel old. I sure didn’t know about S&M when I was his age.
I had a smile on my face as I unlocked the door and turned on the light. Frankie walked from one piece of equipment to another, asking what it did. “What do you think, pal?” I asked. He grinned lasciviously. “Hey, I can do this.” He sounded like a grown-up. “Include me in your next session.”
So we did. When we picked up a young hustler, Frankie fucked him hard. Something strange came over his eyes; Brent said it reminded him of an evil glint which took over my own face during sex.
In a sexual situation, Frankie appeared far older than his years.
I took him to a leather shop. I must say he cut quite a figure all geared up in leather. When he was involved in a roleplay, he didn’t seem to be acting the part of an interrogator -- he was the bastard. Something came over his features that seemed demonic -- downright evil. After a time, I noticed it even away from the basement sessions. I’d look over at his face as he lay by the pool naked. His hard-on would start throbbing its way up into the sky like the leaning tower of Pisa and a nasty look would cloud his face. It was scary. It was also sexy as hell.
I wondered what he was thinking about. There was something familiar in that expression. Brent was right. Dammit, the young son of a bitch reminded me of me.
It was in the morning over breakfast, sometime in early September, that Frankie felt comfortable enough with me to finally reveal himself. Maybe he did it because he’d grown fond of me. Perhaps it happened because he knew he’d be leaving soon for college. Whatever the reason, he sat down in front of me as I gobbled down my sausage links. “I’ve got something to tell you,” he said.
“Shoot,” I replied.
"I’ve never told anyone anything like this before.”
“Frankie, tell me,” I said. “Nothing shocks me.” I winked at him as I looked him directly in the eye and whispered, “Nothing.”
He waited, gathered his thoughts, then finally spoke. “I really like seeing people in pain,” he admitted. “See, it’s something I’ve always fantasized about. In fact -- ” He paused again before continuing. “I’ve done a lot of it since my last birthday, some of it well before I met you.” There was a pregnant pause before he finally blurted it out. “OK, Doug, I know I’m only eighteen, but since my last birthday I’ve killed five people.” There. He said it. He grinned at me proudly.
I choked. My coffee went down the wrong pipe. I tried to hide the astonishment I was feeling. “Who?” I asked.
“Just -- people,” he replied. “I’m only telling you this because I love you and know you won’t tell anyone. Besides, I think you’ve got the same drive in you, too!” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’d be easy to tell you that I did it just cuz I wanted their stuff, and yeah, I always keep something as a, uh, souvenir -- but basically I just do it because I think it’s fun.”
I gulped. He was just too young to be like this. It took me years to get to the point he was at. I tried to hide my shaking hands as I asked him,
“Where do you meet these, uh, people?”
“I dunno -- here and there, anywhere. It’s mostly just chicks. You know, people weaker than me. Only killed one guy so far.” He almost sounded nonchalant as he talked about it.
“Are these people you’ve dated?”
“Some of them.”
“What of theirs do you keep?”
“Usually just a piece of jewelry or clothing. You wanna see?”
“Yes, Frankie. Show me what you’re talking about.”
He took me into his room and pulled out a drawer. “These credit cards are from a housewife who picked me up at the super market,” he said proudly. “They’re no good anymore, but I keep 'em anyway.”
He reached for some earrings. “These are from a college girl I was dicking back in January,” he boasted, “and this bra is what I used to strangle a bitch who picked me up at a bar not far from here. I told her I was twenty-five!” He laughed at that one.
My eyes spotted a tube of lipstick. “Who’d you get that from?” I asked. “I’m sure that’s not yours, unless you’re planning on a life as a drag queen.” I was trying to joke about it, but my hands were still trembling.
He chuckled. “Nah, that’s from -- that’s from -- ” He stopped. There was a sudden wary look in his eyes. He tried to gather his thoughts. “Um, I forget who that’s from.”
I stared at the lipstick. “That’s Avon’s Red 2000,” I said slowly. “You know, I didn’t know her all that well, but I remember something about my sister. My sister wore Avon's Red 2000.”
I slowly moved my eyes toward Frankie’s face and stared into his eyes. He was blushing, starting to stammer. “Really?” he said. “W - wow, that's a coincidence.”
“Frankie.” My voice was steady. I was talking slowly, but studying his every movement. “Frankie, did you hurt my sister?”
He stared helplessly at me. “No! N - no way, Doug…” he stammered.
“Oh, Frankie,” I said. A storm was starting to brew inside my head. I started looking at him more suspiciously. It was as though I was seeing him for the first time.
“Who was the man you killed, Frankie?”
Frankie burst into tears. “Dammit, Doug, they didn’t love me! Not like you and Brent!” he screamed. I grabbed him by the collar. “OUCH!” he yelled. “MOTHER FUCKER, let me go!”
He kicked at my leg. With a free arm, he reached under his bed sheets and pulled out a steak knife. I kicked it from his hand. “BRENT!” I yelled at the top of my lungs before punching Frankie in the jaw. He fell to the floor, passed out cold.
We carried Frankie’s unconscious body down to the basement, then put plastic painting sheets all over the floor. Lifting Frankie’s body, we shackled his arms to the chains hanging from the ceiling. Then we pulled his ankles up and clamped them to a pole. He was face down and naked as the day he was born as he hovered above us in midair.
No doubt this was an extremely painful position. I could only imagine the stress being placed on his rotator cuffs and lower back, but I didn’t care. This young fucker had it coming.
Brent knew to set up the video camera. This was going to be a scene we’d want to remember the rest of our lives. The red light came on just before I started slapping Frankie’s face.
Slowly he came to. When he first saw me glaring at him, Frankie’s initial response was to smile. Then the excruciating pain kicked in. It was amusing to see Frankie’s beautiful face register pain.
The sharp twinges from his nerve endings awakened him completely. He was suddenly fully alert. His friendly look disappeared entirely, exchanged for a look of total terror. He started to yell, but caught himself.
I continued to stare at his body, an evil glint in my eyes as I grabbed a baseball bat and tapped the top of it against the palm of my hand. Brent and I both wore nothing but army boots and leather jockstraps. My cock was pulsing inside my jock. Frankie winced, slowly licked his lips and finally muttered, “I don’t suppose this is a good time for me to beg for mercy, seeings how now I’m an orphan…”
“Old joke, dumbshit,” I replied, “and, I might also add, in really bad taste. You shouldn’t do anything at this point to make me madder.”
In spite of his fear, Frankie’s cock was erect and throbbing -- maybe he thought he was going to enjoy this. “I thought we had a good thing going,” he said. “Look, I feel bad about what happened. What more can I do now than tell you I’m sorry?”
“You don’t need to do anything, pal,” I replied, “except hang there, relax, and take your punishment.”
“More S&M shit, huh?” he chided me. “Look, fuckers, I’ve seen what you guys have got. I can take it.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’, asshole,” I retorted. “Everything this summer was soft-pedaled for your benefit. As far as having a good thing going, well, we did have a special summer here -- but you killed my sister, and I’ve got a feeling you might’ve eventually killed us, too.” I gripped the bat tighter. “Asshole, you’re about to discover how thick blood really is in our family. I’ll show you.”
I swung hard with the bat, smashing it full force into his right knee. The bone instantly shattered.
He screamed with pain, astonished that I would do him such brutal bodily harm. The kneecap instantly turned black and blue, with blood dribbling from the bruise onto the plastic a few feet beneath him. His body writhed frantically in the air. “HOLY FUCK!! Dammit, now I’m gonna need a fuckin’ cast! I won’t be able to exercise this leg for months!” he screamed. Perspiration poured out of his forehead.
“That’s just for starters, creep,” I said. I swung the bat again, this time causing blood to spray high in the air. A large fragment of red bone tore three inches out from the skin.
Frankie shrieked in horror. He couldn’t help it; hot tears streamed down his face as he wailed from the pain. “You ruined my leg,” he cried. “You can’t do this. You’re my -- you’re my god -- ”
“I was your godfather,” I corrected him. “Now you’re nothing to me but a slimy piece of shit.” I turned to Brent. “Your turn, buddy. Anything you want to do, go for it.”
“My pleasure,” Brent grinned. He walked toward my injured nephew. “I’ve wanted to do this to him from the moment I saw him.”
He reached for Frankie’s crotch and forcefully yanked on a hefty, large clump of prick hair growing just above the hard-on. Hard as he could, he tore a snatch of the coarse hair out by its roots. Frankie screamed in agony, but Brent wasn’t done. His fingers surrounded another thick wad of wiry pubes and pulled them out, too.
I smiled with bitter satisfaction. “Pull harder,” I said. Brent reached just to the side of the cock and yanked out another bloody wad of pubes. Before Brent was done, the entire area above and around Frankie’s dick was raw. “I know you liked our Baldwin,” Brent said when he was through. “Now you’ve got a bald one, too.”
I pulled off my jockstrap, freeing my dick, and Brent did the same. Our cocks bounced high into the air and precum dripped from the heads.
"My turn," I said as I grabbed the cigar cutter. “Guess who ain't never gonna play the piano again.”
"You wouldn't dare!" Frankie screamed.
I smirked and surrounded his middle "fuck you" finger with the cigar cutter, pressing in hard. Frankie cried with anguish as the sharp blades sliced straight through the flesh and bone, breaking the finger off at the base. The bloody digit fell to the floor and bounced a couple of times before landing on its side. "AWWGHHHHHH!" Frankie stared at his ruined piano hand with horror. "You fuckers! You've ruined my career! I'll sue you! I'll sue you both!"
“You're not seeming to get the picture, asshole,” I stated as I reached for a second finger, “we're gonna mess you up here but good.” One by one, I amputated each of his fingers. He was sobbing like a girl. It was satisfying watching Frankie's mouth fall open and drool. His red eyes were wide with fear and excruciating pain as he watched me rob him of his future as a pianist. The best he could hope for now was a life on Medicaid.
Five jets of blood shot out of each of his hand stumps and squirted all over the plastic on the floor in time to his heart rhythm. Brent grabbed a whip and aimed it right at Frankie’s cock. With a crack, it snapped across the dick head, causing a painful, purple welt. Frankie’s body thrashed in the air.
I grabbed two of the amputated fingers from the floor and brought over a hammer from my workbench. “You probably don’t remember this, but when you were kid, you picked your nose, punk,” I grinned. I brought the hammer up to his handsome but sweaty and terrified face. “Let’s go down memory lane, shall we?”
I inserted the tip of one of the fingers into the right side of his nose. With a well-placed whack, the entire finger was nailed up into his head. He howled like a wounded animal as his eyes reflected newly discovered pain. I then slammed another finger up his left nostril. With his nose’s air supply cut off, his gurgling mouth hung open. He stared down at his nose cross-eyed, then glanced at his face in a mirror a few feet in front of him. He cried and shook his head in disbelief.
“Bastards!” His voice had a nasal sound as he wailed at the top of his lungs. “I’ll kill you both when I get down from here!”
“Too late, asshole,” I laughed.
Naturally, we wanted background music for our fun, so Brent brought down a Frankie piano CD, if only to remind our friend of what he’d never be able to do again. The first selection geared up. It was Frankie’s rendition of I Fall To Pieces.
I slapped Frankie’s boyish, cute face and looked into his blue eyes. “Sing for us, Frankie -- ol’ blue eyes! The better you sing, bitch, the easier maybe we’ll be on you.” Frankie had no choice. He tried to wail on pitch but in his emotional and physically compromised state the music was more like that of a wounded coyote. Without the use of his nose, Frankie’s crooning sounded comical as hot rivers of tears streamed from his eyes down both sides of his face.
I then showed him the tube of lipstick which had signaled his downfall. “Now we’re gonna really have us some fun, pal.” Across the front of his torso, I made two long horizontal lines with the red lipstick, then made two vertical ones intersecting them. His chest and abs were now divided into nine separate parts.
“Let’s play Tic Tac Toe,” I said to Brent. “You’re X. You go first.”
Frankie’s red face stared downward, barely able to comprehend what we were doing. What Are You Doing The Rest of Your Life? played on his CD.
Of course, Brent picked the middle square to make his first X. He always did like Paul Lynde.
I countered his move with an O in the lower right corner. When he put an X in the lower left, I should have gone for the block but it was just too tempting to let my buddy have the pleasure of a win. I virtually threw away my turn by placing an O off to the side.
“Go ahead,” I said to Brent, congratulating him with a friendly slap on the back. “Go for the win.” He took the lipstick and smiled proudly as he made his X in the upper right corner.
“Now,” I said, “show the two of us that you won. Draw your winning line.” Brent pulled out the very knife Frankie had intended to use on me. It was extremely sharp. "No!" Frankie cried. I strapped a ball inside his mouth so he could no longer mouth words. Brent slammed the knife several inches deep into Frankie’s deeply-grooved hairy armpit. How appropriate -- Frankie's CD was playing I’ve Got You Under My Skin.
Frankie howled -- his face looked as though he’d been struck by lightning. The blade crashed through the forest of hair, then dug over to the X. “X marks the spot,” Brent said matter-of-factly as he dug especially deep into the letter. The serrated knife edge easily tore through the otherwise perfect skin at a downward angle, chewed past the epidermis and muscle, coming to rest only after embedding itself close to Frankie’s internal organs.
Frankie must have known how lethal this wound might be. An endless scream emanated from his throat as he felt the merciless invasion cut into his body. “Live by the sword, die by the sword,” I said grimly.
Frankie’s jaw clenched hard on the ball and every muscle in his body tightened. His body shook as it hopelessly fought to expel the razor-sharp intruder from the ugly, crimson gash.
With determined sawing motions, Brent started the knife’s bloody journey through Frankie’s body. I’d taught him well. He skillfully made three motions simultaneously with the knife -- in, out, and down. But there was an obstruction.
“The guy’s damned ribcage is getting in the way,” Brent cursed.
“Don’t worry about that,” I explained. I held Frankie’s jerking body in place to make sure the knife would complete its mission.“We’ll get those organs behind the ribcage later, once your line is complete. You’ll see.”
The ever-growing wound chewed its way through Frankie’s left nipple. The blade easily ripped the stunning chest in half, carving the strong chest muscles wide open. Soon the sharp utensil was past the ribcage and was free to whittle Frankie’s guts unfettered as it trekked toward the second X. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Brent smiled with relief. He started making deeper, longer and more destructive cuts.
The blade tore and chopped its way down Frankie’s beautifully sculpted torso toward the middle X. It bit hard into Frankie’s stomach and dissected his lower lungs. Frankie’s abs tightened. His entire body vomited, as though it were trying to regurgitate the knife wounds. His nose tried to sneeze, but couldn’t with the fingers inside it. Bloody saliva poured from his mouth.
With ease, the knife carved through parts of the upper intestine and went on its merry way toward the lower. The protein shake Frankie had consumed for breakfast was stopped dead in its tracks as the lower intestine was ripped to shreds. Hot, rich blood, mixed with bits of internal organs, bubbled out of Frankie’s dying body. Out of the wound’s rapidly expanding maw, the red life force spewed and cascaded over the body hair pattern which had so captivated us weeks earlier. Blood cascaded down into what remained of Frankie's thick bush.
Where once there’d been not a single blemish, Frankie’s torso was now being sliced apart as easily as a slab of day-old cheese.
The body shook as it tried to absorb the shock of its impending destruction. Frankie sounded as though he was still desperately trying to sing, but his guttural outpourings now resembled gurgled cries for help. Maybe he was going mad; the pain must’ve been unbearable. Down, down, down the knife chewed its path -- in and out, back and forth, but always with an extra bit of force in the direction of the cut to allow more skin, muscles, and tendons to be severed. Frankie’s six-pack muscles, the ones he’d spent so much time embellishing with abdominal crunches before he met us, were now flimsy, useless raw steaks with nothing to anchor them to the body.
Brent continued to carve. The knife journeyed through the furrows of muscle and tight skin just above Frankie’s navel, then trekked through the third and final X. It chopped its way over to the appendix, instantly cutting it in half before doubling back slightly to slice through what remained of the pubic bush. The knife started making its way down Frankie's right leg, then took a sharp turn to the left so that it might slice his young but manly testicles. Still connected to his body with the thinnest strings of flesh, both balls fell to the floor like dead yo-yos.
It took some maneuvering, but the blade finally ended its journey when it connected with Frankie’s asshole. I shook Brent’s hand. “Congratulations, you’ll be our returning champion,” I said proudly.
“How does that one feel, ol’ buddy?” Brent asked Frankie as he wiped the bloody blade clean on Frankie’s pubic area. Red suds poured from the corners of the ball still clenched inside Frankie's open mouth. His eyelids were fluttering. I laughed; I could only imagine what Frankie was feeling. The pain must have gone off the scale. His body was damaged beyond repair. His ruined chest cavity wheezed as it fought in vain to pull air into his destroyed lungs.
I pointed a finger into Frankie’s fading eyes. “You’re DESTROYED, creep! Nobody wants you, you murderous fuckin’ asshole! End of the line! Now do us all a favor and fuckin’ DIE!”
I decided to help the cut along. I grabbed flesh on either side of the ugly divide and pulled the flaps out toward his ribs. Frankie wailed a final cry--that of a creature lamenting his inevitable death. A large clump of Frankie's guts started appearing at the wound.
September in the Rain played on Frankie's CD. I turned to my partner. "Brent, I've always thought it romantic to make love in the rain. Let's do it."
We got on the floor just under Frankie's body. I kissed Brent deeply, toyed with his hole, mounted and started fucking him. As we fucked, we could hear above us the squishy sounds of gurgling blood and internal organs adjusting. The earth's gravity was gently pulling Frankie's insides downward. Just as we shot our loads, a huge, slippery clump of warm intestines, lungs, heart and kidneys splashed on top of us and on the floor all around us. It was as though Frankie had become a pinata. “I told ya we’d get all the organs eventually,” I smiled at Brent.
Frankie's eyes rolled backward and with a violent jerk, as if he'd been electrocuted, Frankie's corpse went limp. Early in the summer we'd shown him how to gut a fish, and now he'd been gutted himself.
Of course, we still had to dispose of the body. We decided it best not to chop it up for the trash. Still naked, we carefully carried the corpse and body organs out to the driveway with the plastic still underneath them. I fired up the Jeep, then put it into reverse. “Watch out, Brent. This is gonna get messy.” Frankie’s body was face-up. In death, Frankie had terror carved into his still-handsome facial features. I carefully aimed the tires for Frankie's face.
There was no mistaking the cracking sound of Frankie’s skull and face popping open. The entire head was instantly smashed flat. I ran my Jeep over his face time and again until there was less and less resistance. Pieces of his face stuck to my tires. Gradually his entire body was ground down to unrecognizable roadkill.
We hosed down the tires and the underside of my vehicle. It took us a couple of hours to feed our garbage disposal the grisly pudding that used to be Frankie. But we made love that night like never before.
Shortly before dawn, every trace of the young stud had been removed from our house except for the CDs. After all, he truly did have a nice, romantic touch, and I still felt somewhat sentimental about our summer with Frankie. We kept the CD's, for old times’ sake--you know, as "souvenirs".
I’ll admit it -- deep down, I’m a hopeless romantic.
by Steve Geary
It was early in the summer, in the wee hours of the morning. I was sleeping naked with my partner Brent when the phone call came. My eyes still had sleep in them and I was barely conscious, but I recognized the voice.
It was my Dad in Indianapolis. Something about my sister and her husband catching an apparent burglar in their home. The intruder had a weapon. Both of them were dead.
I was feeling disoriented, possibly in shock. The words weren’t registering. I barely recall him asking me if my eighteen-year-old nephew Frankie might stay with us until college started in the fall. I must’ve said yes, because the voice on the other end said, “Great. Frankie’ll be there at 10 o’clock Saturday morning.”
I silently wondered if Dad was even ‘with it’ enough to know that Brent and I slept together. My buddy was awake now, too, and he looked at me quizzically as I hung up the phone. “What was that all about, Doug?” he asked.
I looked at him glumly. “Our fucking finally paid off,” I said. “We’ve become parents.”
We’d been fucking each other for five hot years. He was thirty-four, five years younger than me. From the beginning, sex had been great -- we were both thrill seekers. We both recognized in the other that there was no place we wouldn’t go if it helped us shoot our loads.
We’d bought a hot property in Cape Cod with a swimming pool in the back. On the outside, it appeared to be your average home -- as wholesome and All-American as a hefty slice of apple pie a la mode. Only a few of our guests knew what really went on in that basement.
None of my family had been close with me, even though my late sister had made me Frankie’s godfather. I frankly thought that was just a gesture to get me more involved in her life. I hadn’t seen the boy since he was eight years old. He’d been a handsome kid. If Mother Nature was still smiling upon this youngster, he’d probably already broken a lot of hearts.
Well, what to do? It made sense that Frankie should stay with us; my Dad was sick, probably only had a few months to live; there was no way he could take on a long-term guest. But how the hell would Frankie react to living with two gay men for the entire summer?
We found out Saturday morning when we drove to the bus station in my Jeep. Off the bus jumps a beautiful young man -- incredibly handsome, with a boyish, masculine face. He tossed his gym bag and suitcases at me as he flashed a disarming grin. “Hiya, Doug,” he said. He gave me an affectionate hug. “Is this your boyfriend?”
I gulped. “Sure is. Frankie, meet Brent. Brent, Frankie.”
“Glad to meet ya,” the two of them said. Brent shot me a look -- I knew what it meant. His eyes were twinkling, as if to say, ‘Hey, this kid’s cool. He’ll do just fine. This’ll be fun.’
“Where are you going to college, Frankie?” I asked once we were in the Jeep.
“I.U. -- Indiana University,” he replied. “Gonna major in music.”
“Do you play an instrument?” I asked.
“Sure do,” he replied. “Piano. I’m damn good, too.”
“Great, we’ve got one in the living room,” I told him. “We don’t play ourselves, but it’s there for parties. You’ll have to play for us every sometime.”
“No sweat,” Frankie smiled. “I love to show off.”
He proved how much of a show-off he was once we got back to the house and had shown him his room. It wasn’t by playing piano. Brent and I were hanging by the pool when Frankie strutted out in his speedos.
There’s no other way to describe it -- Frankie had one of the hottest young torsos I’d ever seen. His body positively exuded youthful masculinity. The abdominal area was beautifully constructed with a remarkably well-defined six-pack. The back and chest flared up and outward toward the muscled shoulders, creating a stunning “V” frame. The skin was fresh -- not a mark anywhere on him. The underarms were well chiseled, with a generous amount of hair emanating from each armpit cavity. If that wasn’t enough, a scorching pattern of secondary sex characteristics adorned his front. Young Frankie, with that hot, innocent face, had the first wisps of sexy hairs adorning his teen-aged chest.
He grinned at me, the sun catching the twinkle in his blue eyes, before he did a perfect swan dive into the deep end. I looked at Brent. “Ya know, this could be one helluva hot summer,” I mused.
I made spaghetti in the kitchen that night as Frankie played music for us in the living room. “Your Baldwin needs a tuning,” he scowled.
“Sorry, Frankie,” I explained. “That’s what comes from not being musical. I’ll have it tuned next week.”
“You’d better,” he replied. “I sound like shit on this thing.” Brent set up the recording system nonetheless, and by the time dinner was ready we had nearly an hour’s worth of CD music to accompany our meal.
Frankie ate like a pig. It’s hard to believe a guy could look hot with spaghetti sauce running down his chin, but Frankie sure did. I doubted the guy could take a bad picture; his face, coupled with his attitude, made for unforgettable viewing pleasure. Times with Brent and me were always fun, but there were extra sparks of sexual electricity darting about our dining room table that evening.
“Frankie,” I said, “it’s a little uncomfortable bringing this up, but we know you must be going through a lot of pain deep inside because of what happened to your parents.”
Frankie stopped eating for a moment and stared sullenly at his plate. “I can’t talk about that yet,” he said softly.
I understood. Things like this were bound to take time. “Well, just understand that if you need to talk about it, we’re here for you." I felt the need to change the subject. “So, Frankie, how’s your love life? Have you got a girlfriend?” I tried to give my question a casual inflection, but I was dying to know the answer as I bit into a meatball.
“Nah,” he replied. “Well, I’ve had a few, but they don’t last too long. Hey, I’m young. I'm still playing the field.”
I nodded. “Yes, I know what it’s like. Been there, done that.” Brent looked at me and winked.
Frankie pointed at Brent with his thumb. “I knew you lived with this guy,” he said, grinning. “I think you included that tidbit in one of your Christmas letters. I’m no dumbass. I knew what was going on before I got here.”
“Glad to see you’re cool with it,” I smiled.
“Hey, nothing shocks me.” He shot me a look. “Nothing.” There was something about the way he said it that made me think that behind that innocent face was a wealth of experience far beyond his years.
With Frankie tickling the keys on the piano, Brent and I washed dishes and retired to our room early. We were in a ‘69’ position, in the throes of passion, when Brent suddenly tapped my leg. “We have a visitor,” he said, pointing upward.
brought my head up from my buddy’s huge cock. There, stark naked, was Frankie. He was stroking his young, massive hard-on and subconsciously licking his lips. There was no mistaking the hungry look in his eyes. “I -- I want to watch,” he said. “I’m a voyeur. Really get off on seeing two people naked.”
I held out my hand. “So, you’re bisexual,” I said. “You can do more than just watch, chum! C’mon, get in. We’ll show you how much love we really have in this family.”
And so, for that magical summer, we became three. It was a summer we’ll never forget. We swam. We taught Frankie how to fish and gut the vertebrate for an evening meal. We went to Provincetown as a threesome and made quite an impression. We even tuned the piano for him, and he made us a number of easy listening dinner music recordings. And although he’d occasionally go into town to hook up with chicks, from then until the end of the summer, when he was with us, Frankie never slept in his own bed.
---------------------------
It was perhaps a week after we’d initiated Frankie that he finally inquired about the basement. “Why is it always locked?” he asked.
“Frankie, I’m not sure if you’re ready for that one,” I responded.
“Try me,” he said.
It was a dare. “OK,” I replied, “I’ll tell you. Your uncles get into a number of sexual scenes. What we have down there is a dungeon. A torture chamber. We invite friends over now and then. S&M. BDS&M. Do those letters mean anything to you?”
“Oh, sure,” he replied. “I know all about it. I wanna see it. Show me the ropes.”
I chuckled. “Well, you’ll see ropes, chains, whips, blindfolds, handcuffs... all kinds of things used to create pain.” Frankie shrugged like it was no big deal, but I knew he was intensely curious. There was a mischievous look about him.
Damn, I wasn’t yet forty, but this kid was making me feel old. I sure didn’t know about S&M when I was his age.
I had a smile on my face as I unlocked the door and turned on the light. Frankie walked from one piece of equipment to another, asking what it did. “What do you think, pal?” I asked. He grinned lasciviously. “Hey, I can do this.” He sounded like a grown-up. “Include me in your next session.”
So we did. When we picked up a young hustler, Frankie fucked him hard. Something strange came over his eyes; Brent said it reminded him of an evil glint which took over my own face during sex.
In a sexual situation, Frankie appeared far older than his years.
I took him to a leather shop. I must say he cut quite a figure all geared up in leather. When he was involved in a roleplay, he didn’t seem to be acting the part of an interrogator -- he was the bastard. Something came over his features that seemed demonic -- downright evil. After a time, I noticed it even away from the basement sessions. I’d look over at his face as he lay by the pool naked. His hard-on would start throbbing its way up into the sky like the leaning tower of Pisa and a nasty look would cloud his face. It was scary. It was also sexy as hell.
I wondered what he was thinking about. There was something familiar in that expression. Brent was right. Dammit, the young son of a bitch reminded me of me.
It was in the morning over breakfast, sometime in early September, that Frankie felt comfortable enough with me to finally reveal himself. Maybe he did it because he’d grown fond of me. Perhaps it happened because he knew he’d be leaving soon for college. Whatever the reason, he sat down in front of me as I gobbled down my sausage links. “I’ve got something to tell you,” he said.
“Shoot,” I replied.
"I’ve never told anyone anything like this before.”
“Frankie, tell me,” I said. “Nothing shocks me.” I winked at him as I looked him directly in the eye and whispered, “Nothing.”
He waited, gathered his thoughts, then finally spoke. “I really like seeing people in pain,” he admitted. “See, it’s something I’ve always fantasized about. In fact -- ” He paused again before continuing. “I’ve done a lot of it since my last birthday, some of it well before I met you.” There was a pregnant pause before he finally blurted it out. “OK, Doug, I know I’m only eighteen, but since my last birthday I’ve killed five people.” There. He said it. He grinned at me proudly.
I choked. My coffee went down the wrong pipe. I tried to hide the astonishment I was feeling. “Who?” I asked.
“Just -- people,” he replied. “I’m only telling you this because I love you and know you won’t tell anyone. Besides, I think you’ve got the same drive in you, too!” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’d be easy to tell you that I did it just cuz I wanted their stuff, and yeah, I always keep something as a, uh, souvenir -- but basically I just do it because I think it’s fun.”
I gulped. He was just too young to be like this. It took me years to get to the point he was at. I tried to hide my shaking hands as I asked him,
“Where do you meet these, uh, people?”
“I dunno -- here and there, anywhere. It’s mostly just chicks. You know, people weaker than me. Only killed one guy so far.” He almost sounded nonchalant as he talked about it.
“Are these people you’ve dated?”
“Some of them.”
“What of theirs do you keep?”
“Usually just a piece of jewelry or clothing. You wanna see?”
“Yes, Frankie. Show me what you’re talking about.”
He took me into his room and pulled out a drawer. “These credit cards are from a housewife who picked me up at the super market,” he said proudly. “They’re no good anymore, but I keep 'em anyway.”
He reached for some earrings. “These are from a college girl I was dicking back in January,” he boasted, “and this bra is what I used to strangle a bitch who picked me up at a bar not far from here. I told her I was twenty-five!” He laughed at that one.
My eyes spotted a tube of lipstick. “Who’d you get that from?” I asked. “I’m sure that’s not yours, unless you’re planning on a life as a drag queen.” I was trying to joke about it, but my hands were still trembling.
He chuckled. “Nah, that’s from -- that’s from -- ” He stopped. There was a sudden wary look in his eyes. He tried to gather his thoughts. “Um, I forget who that’s from.”
I stared at the lipstick. “That’s Avon’s Red 2000,” I said slowly. “You know, I didn’t know her all that well, but I remember something about my sister. My sister wore Avon's Red 2000.”
I slowly moved my eyes toward Frankie’s face and stared into his eyes. He was blushing, starting to stammer. “Really?” he said. “W - wow, that's a coincidence.”
“Frankie.” My voice was steady. I was talking slowly, but studying his every movement. “Frankie, did you hurt my sister?”
He stared helplessly at me. “No! N - no way, Doug…” he stammered.
“Oh, Frankie,” I said. A storm was starting to brew inside my head. I started looking at him more suspiciously. It was as though I was seeing him for the first time.
“Who was the man you killed, Frankie?”
Frankie burst into tears. “Dammit, Doug, they didn’t love me! Not like you and Brent!” he screamed. I grabbed him by the collar. “OUCH!” he yelled. “MOTHER FUCKER, let me go!”
He kicked at my leg. With a free arm, he reached under his bed sheets and pulled out a steak knife. I kicked it from his hand. “BRENT!” I yelled at the top of my lungs before punching Frankie in the jaw. He fell to the floor, passed out cold.
----------------------------
We carried Frankie’s unconscious body down to the basement, then put plastic painting sheets all over the floor. Lifting Frankie’s body, we shackled his arms to the chains hanging from the ceiling. Then we pulled his ankles up and clamped them to a pole. He was face down and naked as the day he was born as he hovered above us in midair.
No doubt this was an extremely painful position. I could only imagine the stress being placed on his rotator cuffs and lower back, but I didn’t care. This young fucker had it coming.
Brent knew to set up the video camera. This was going to be a scene we’d want to remember the rest of our lives. The red light came on just before I started slapping Frankie’s face.
Slowly he came to. When he first saw me glaring at him, Frankie’s initial response was to smile. Then the excruciating pain kicked in. It was amusing to see Frankie’s beautiful face register pain.
The sharp twinges from his nerve endings awakened him completely. He was suddenly fully alert. His friendly look disappeared entirely, exchanged for a look of total terror. He started to yell, but caught himself.
I continued to stare at his body, an evil glint in my eyes as I grabbed a baseball bat and tapped the top of it against the palm of my hand. Brent and I both wore nothing but army boots and leather jockstraps. My cock was pulsing inside my jock. Frankie winced, slowly licked his lips and finally muttered, “I don’t suppose this is a good time for me to beg for mercy, seeings how now I’m an orphan…”
“Old joke, dumbshit,” I replied, “and, I might also add, in really bad taste. You shouldn’t do anything at this point to make me madder.”
In spite of his fear, Frankie’s cock was erect and throbbing -- maybe he thought he was going to enjoy this. “I thought we had a good thing going,” he said. “Look, I feel bad about what happened. What more can I do now than tell you I’m sorry?”
“You don’t need to do anything, pal,” I replied, “except hang there, relax, and take your punishment.”
“More S&M shit, huh?” he chided me. “Look, fuckers, I’ve seen what you guys have got. I can take it.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’, asshole,” I retorted. “Everything this summer was soft-pedaled for your benefit. As far as having a good thing going, well, we did have a special summer here -- but you killed my sister, and I’ve got a feeling you might’ve eventually killed us, too.” I gripped the bat tighter. “Asshole, you’re about to discover how thick blood really is in our family. I’ll show you.”
I swung hard with the bat, smashing it full force into his right knee. The bone instantly shattered.
He screamed with pain, astonished that I would do him such brutal bodily harm. The kneecap instantly turned black and blue, with blood dribbling from the bruise onto the plastic a few feet beneath him. His body writhed frantically in the air. “HOLY FUCK!! Dammit, now I’m gonna need a fuckin’ cast! I won’t be able to exercise this leg for months!” he screamed. Perspiration poured out of his forehead.
“That’s just for starters, creep,” I said. I swung the bat again, this time causing blood to spray high in the air. A large fragment of red bone tore three inches out from the skin.
Frankie shrieked in horror. He couldn’t help it; hot tears streamed down his face as he wailed from the pain. “You ruined my leg,” he cried. “You can’t do this. You’re my -- you’re my god -- ”
“I was your godfather,” I corrected him. “Now you’re nothing to me but a slimy piece of shit.” I turned to Brent. “Your turn, buddy. Anything you want to do, go for it.”
“My pleasure,” Brent grinned. He walked toward my injured nephew. “I’ve wanted to do this to him from the moment I saw him.”
He reached for Frankie’s crotch and forcefully yanked on a hefty, large clump of prick hair growing just above the hard-on. Hard as he could, he tore a snatch of the coarse hair out by its roots. Frankie screamed in agony, but Brent wasn’t done. His fingers surrounded another thick wad of wiry pubes and pulled them out, too.
I smiled with bitter satisfaction. “Pull harder,” I said. Brent reached just to the side of the cock and yanked out another bloody wad of pubes. Before Brent was done, the entire area above and around Frankie’s dick was raw. “I know you liked our Baldwin,” Brent said when he was through. “Now you’ve got a bald one, too.”
I pulled off my jockstrap, freeing my dick, and Brent did the same. Our cocks bounced high into the air and precum dripped from the heads.
"My turn," I said as I grabbed the cigar cutter. “Guess who ain't never gonna play the piano again.”
"You wouldn't dare!" Frankie screamed.
I smirked and surrounded his middle "fuck you" finger with the cigar cutter, pressing in hard. Frankie cried with anguish as the sharp blades sliced straight through the flesh and bone, breaking the finger off at the base. The bloody digit fell to the floor and bounced a couple of times before landing on its side. "AWWGHHHHHH!" Frankie stared at his ruined piano hand with horror. "You fuckers! You've ruined my career! I'll sue you! I'll sue you both!"
“You're not seeming to get the picture, asshole,” I stated as I reached for a second finger, “we're gonna mess you up here but good.” One by one, I amputated each of his fingers. He was sobbing like a girl. It was satisfying watching Frankie's mouth fall open and drool. His red eyes were wide with fear and excruciating pain as he watched me rob him of his future as a pianist. The best he could hope for now was a life on Medicaid.
Five jets of blood shot out of each of his hand stumps and squirted all over the plastic on the floor in time to his heart rhythm. Brent grabbed a whip and aimed it right at Frankie’s cock. With a crack, it snapped across the dick head, causing a painful, purple welt. Frankie’s body thrashed in the air.
I grabbed two of the amputated fingers from the floor and brought over a hammer from my workbench. “You probably don’t remember this, but when you were kid, you picked your nose, punk,” I grinned. I brought the hammer up to his handsome but sweaty and terrified face. “Let’s go down memory lane, shall we?”
I inserted the tip of one of the fingers into the right side of his nose. With a well-placed whack, the entire finger was nailed up into his head. He howled like a wounded animal as his eyes reflected newly discovered pain. I then slammed another finger up his left nostril. With his nose’s air supply cut off, his gurgling mouth hung open. He stared down at his nose cross-eyed, then glanced at his face in a mirror a few feet in front of him. He cried and shook his head in disbelief.
“Bastards!” His voice had a nasal sound as he wailed at the top of his lungs. “I’ll kill you both when I get down from here!”
“Too late, asshole,” I laughed.
Naturally, we wanted background music for our fun, so Brent brought down a Frankie piano CD, if only to remind our friend of what he’d never be able to do again. The first selection geared up. It was Frankie’s rendition of I Fall To Pieces.
I slapped Frankie’s boyish, cute face and looked into his blue eyes. “Sing for us, Frankie -- ol’ blue eyes! The better you sing, bitch, the easier maybe we’ll be on you.” Frankie had no choice. He tried to wail on pitch but in his emotional and physically compromised state the music was more like that of a wounded coyote. Without the use of his nose, Frankie’s crooning sounded comical as hot rivers of tears streamed from his eyes down both sides of his face.
I then showed him the tube of lipstick which had signaled his downfall. “Now we’re gonna really have us some fun, pal.” Across the front of his torso, I made two long horizontal lines with the red lipstick, then made two vertical ones intersecting them. His chest and abs were now divided into nine separate parts.
“Let’s play Tic Tac Toe,” I said to Brent. “You’re X. You go first.”
Frankie’s red face stared downward, barely able to comprehend what we were doing. What Are You Doing The Rest of Your Life? played on his CD.
Of course, Brent picked the middle square to make his first X. He always did like Paul Lynde.
I countered his move with an O in the lower right corner. When he put an X in the lower left, I should have gone for the block but it was just too tempting to let my buddy have the pleasure of a win. I virtually threw away my turn by placing an O off to the side.
“Go ahead,” I said to Brent, congratulating him with a friendly slap on the back. “Go for the win.” He took the lipstick and smiled proudly as he made his X in the upper right corner.
“Now,” I said, “show the two of us that you won. Draw your winning line.” Brent pulled out the very knife Frankie had intended to use on me. It was extremely sharp. "No!" Frankie cried. I strapped a ball inside his mouth so he could no longer mouth words. Brent slammed the knife several inches deep into Frankie’s deeply-grooved hairy armpit. How appropriate -- Frankie's CD was playing I’ve Got You Under My Skin.
Frankie howled -- his face looked as though he’d been struck by lightning. The blade crashed through the forest of hair, then dug over to the X. “X marks the spot,” Brent said matter-of-factly as he dug especially deep into the letter. The serrated knife edge easily tore through the otherwise perfect skin at a downward angle, chewed past the epidermis and muscle, coming to rest only after embedding itself close to Frankie’s internal organs.
Frankie must have known how lethal this wound might be. An endless scream emanated from his throat as he felt the merciless invasion cut into his body. “Live by the sword, die by the sword,” I said grimly.
Frankie’s jaw clenched hard on the ball and every muscle in his body tightened. His body shook as it hopelessly fought to expel the razor-sharp intruder from the ugly, crimson gash.
With determined sawing motions, Brent started the knife’s bloody journey through Frankie’s body. I’d taught him well. He skillfully made three motions simultaneously with the knife -- in, out, and down. But there was an obstruction.
“The guy’s damned ribcage is getting in the way,” Brent cursed.
“Don’t worry about that,” I explained. I held Frankie’s jerking body in place to make sure the knife would complete its mission.“We’ll get those organs behind the ribcage later, once your line is complete. You’ll see.”
The ever-growing wound chewed its way through Frankie’s left nipple. The blade easily ripped the stunning chest in half, carving the strong chest muscles wide open. Soon the sharp utensil was past the ribcage and was free to whittle Frankie’s guts unfettered as it trekked toward the second X. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Brent smiled with relief. He started making deeper, longer and more destructive cuts.
The blade tore and chopped its way down Frankie’s beautifully sculpted torso toward the middle X. It bit hard into Frankie’s stomach and dissected his lower lungs. Frankie’s abs tightened. His entire body vomited, as though it were trying to regurgitate the knife wounds. His nose tried to sneeze, but couldn’t with the fingers inside it. Bloody saliva poured from his mouth.
With ease, the knife carved through parts of the upper intestine and went on its merry way toward the lower. The protein shake Frankie had consumed for breakfast was stopped dead in its tracks as the lower intestine was ripped to shreds. Hot, rich blood, mixed with bits of internal organs, bubbled out of Frankie’s dying body. Out of the wound’s rapidly expanding maw, the red life force spewed and cascaded over the body hair pattern which had so captivated us weeks earlier. Blood cascaded down into what remained of Frankie's thick bush.
Where once there’d been not a single blemish, Frankie’s torso was now being sliced apart as easily as a slab of day-old cheese.
The body shook as it tried to absorb the shock of its impending destruction. Frankie sounded as though he was still desperately trying to sing, but his guttural outpourings now resembled gurgled cries for help. Maybe he was going mad; the pain must’ve been unbearable. Down, down, down the knife chewed its path -- in and out, back and forth, but always with an extra bit of force in the direction of the cut to allow more skin, muscles, and tendons to be severed. Frankie’s six-pack muscles, the ones he’d spent so much time embellishing with abdominal crunches before he met us, were now flimsy, useless raw steaks with nothing to anchor them to the body.
Brent continued to carve. The knife journeyed through the furrows of muscle and tight skin just above Frankie’s navel, then trekked through the third and final X. It chopped its way over to the appendix, instantly cutting it in half before doubling back slightly to slice through what remained of the pubic bush. The knife started making its way down Frankie's right leg, then took a sharp turn to the left so that it might slice his young but manly testicles. Still connected to his body with the thinnest strings of flesh, both balls fell to the floor like dead yo-yos.
It took some maneuvering, but the blade finally ended its journey when it connected with Frankie’s asshole. I shook Brent’s hand. “Congratulations, you’ll be our returning champion,” I said proudly.
“How does that one feel, ol’ buddy?” Brent asked Frankie as he wiped the bloody blade clean on Frankie’s pubic area. Red suds poured from the corners of the ball still clenched inside Frankie's open mouth. His eyelids were fluttering. I laughed; I could only imagine what Frankie was feeling. The pain must have gone off the scale. His body was damaged beyond repair. His ruined chest cavity wheezed as it fought in vain to pull air into his destroyed lungs.
I pointed a finger into Frankie’s fading eyes. “You’re DESTROYED, creep! Nobody wants you, you murderous fuckin’ asshole! End of the line! Now do us all a favor and fuckin’ DIE!”
I decided to help the cut along. I grabbed flesh on either side of the ugly divide and pulled the flaps out toward his ribs. Frankie wailed a final cry--that of a creature lamenting his inevitable death. A large clump of Frankie's guts started appearing at the wound.
September in the Rain played on Frankie's CD. I turned to my partner. "Brent, I've always thought it romantic to make love in the rain. Let's do it."
We got on the floor just under Frankie's body. I kissed Brent deeply, toyed with his hole, mounted and started fucking him. As we fucked, we could hear above us the squishy sounds of gurgling blood and internal organs adjusting. The earth's gravity was gently pulling Frankie's insides downward. Just as we shot our loads, a huge, slippery clump of warm intestines, lungs, heart and kidneys splashed on top of us and on the floor all around us. It was as though Frankie had become a pinata. “I told ya we’d get all the organs eventually,” I smiled at Brent.
Frankie's eyes rolled backward and with a violent jerk, as if he'd been electrocuted, Frankie's corpse went limp. Early in the summer we'd shown him how to gut a fish, and now he'd been gutted himself.
----------------------------
Of course, we still had to dispose of the body. We decided it best not to chop it up for the trash. Still naked, we carefully carried the corpse and body organs out to the driveway with the plastic still underneath them. I fired up the Jeep, then put it into reverse. “Watch out, Brent. This is gonna get messy.” Frankie’s body was face-up. In death, Frankie had terror carved into his still-handsome facial features. I carefully aimed the tires for Frankie's face.
There was no mistaking the cracking sound of Frankie’s skull and face popping open. The entire head was instantly smashed flat. I ran my Jeep over his face time and again until there was less and less resistance. Pieces of his face stuck to my tires. Gradually his entire body was ground down to unrecognizable roadkill.
We hosed down the tires and the underside of my vehicle. It took us a couple of hours to feed our garbage disposal the grisly pudding that used to be Frankie. But we made love that night like never before.
Shortly before dawn, every trace of the young stud had been removed from our house except for the CDs. After all, he truly did have a nice, romantic touch, and I still felt somewhat sentimental about our summer with Frankie. We kept the CD's, for old times’ sake--you know, as "souvenirs".
I’ll admit it -- deep down, I’m a hopeless romantic.
Last edited:
