Therapy Session

[Luis Adam Bree]

Tom says to me, “So, fair is fair. Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn to what?” Probably tune up the truck or some shit job.

“Kill a friend.”

I have to laugh. “Where’d that idea come from?”

“Seems to me you made me kill a friend of mine, so now it’s your turn. We have an
equal partnership here, don’t we?” He’s referring to this college bud of his who ran into him downtown, ended up stay*ing here cuz he had some fight with his wife, and it was my idea to off him.

“Tom, I don’t have any friends.” Other people, I find, are scary, dangerous.

“You have friends at work. Hot construction studs.”

“They’re just work guys. I eat lunch with them. Not exactly friends.”

“No friends?”

I think. “Josh ...”

“Uh-uh. Bad move.”
“No friends, then.”

“What about upSeattleway?”

“Heck, I don’t know anyone from back there. Don’t even know their last names, wouldn’t know how to find anyone.”

“Start at the group home.”

I look hard at him. “You got it all figured out, ain’t you. No way I can squirm out of this one.”

“Damn right.” He smiles that smile I’m in love with.

Two weeks later we leave Josh in charge of the farmhouse, load up the truck and drive north.
I’m hanging around outside, afraid almost to go in, my head spin*ning, I’m trying to separate the two scenes here. One: find a kid to kill. Two, there’s something a whole lot less simple going on.

To make a grisly story very short, when I was maybe sixteen a good pal of my dad’s got sick of watching my old man beat me, fuck me, treat me like shit, so he basically kidnapped me and put me on a bus to Seattle. He ended up getting killed for his efforts, by my dad. I ended up in this group home, figuring out my dad. Got kind of sorted out, and eventually went back to CA, to my dad.

So I’m just standing there shuffling my feet on the front walk. People come out, people go in, not many and no one I remember. I’m thinking maybe I should just go get it over with, go in there and introduce myself, when he comes bounding out with his briefcase. Slows down, recognizes me, stops. I’d like to just go into a coma.
Mr. Hamlyn. Ed—my counselor from those days. Knows a lot about me. Up to that point, anyway. And even then, not everything.

He says, “Well, well, well, look what blew in with winter. Good to see you. I have to confess I’m terrible with names.”

“Aren’t we all,” says Tom.

“Buzz,” I say.

“Of course!”

“And this is my partner, Tom. Mr. Hamlyn.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
They shake hands. I’d like to just walk away right about now, leave them to chat.

“So what are you fellas up to?”

“Just,” I stutter.

Tom saves me, as usual. “We drove up fromCalifornia. Buzz has been talking for some time about coming up to check out the old haunts, pay a few visits. Sort of a closure thing, you know.”

“Of course. You should have phoned, let me know you were coming. Where are you staying?”

There’s more small-talk like that, and I tune out. Ed’s a hand*some guy. I had the hots for him briefly, though they say that happens anyway with your therapist. He’s balding, furry chested, runs mara*thons. Unmarried, but straight. Easy to get along with.
Still wears that green tweed jacket.

Somehow we end up in a bar, a jug of draft on the table. A shit-load of empty talk, catching up, who’s where, what I’m doing, how I’m doing.

“About time I headed home,” he finally says. “Here’s my card, Buzz. Give me a call if you’d like to get together again.”

“It is getting on,” Tom says to me. “We should find ourselves a motel. Can we offer you a lift, sir?”

“I do wish you wouldn’t call me sir. But sure, actually, there’s a few motels we pass on the way to my place, it’s in that direction, if you’re sure you don’t mind. You can let me off if you see a vacancy. I’ll walk.”

Bang, bang, bang, I feel like I’m dreaming. We’re in the truck, Ed between us, my strong thigh in my faded jeans pressing against his strong thigh in his new jeans. I’m wondering if I ever saw him out of that jacket. My hard-on’s getting bigger, gotta think about something else. Like count the raindrops hitting the windscreen

“There’s one.” I point to a motel just up ahead.

Then we’re past it and Tom says, “No cable.”

I twist in my seat, look back at the sign. I don’t get it. Tom hates vegging in front of the TV. What does he care if there’s cable? “What’s the point of staying in a motel that doesn’t have cable TV?” he’s saying to Ed. “What’s the world coming to?”

It dawns on me. The motel is close to the highway, parallel to it, and the lot’s well lit. Too obvious. And there are too many other cars in the lot. So that’s what he has in mind.
Then we’re crossing the highway and pulling into another motel and Tom says he’ll just go check on prices. The building’s at an angle to the highway, and some big pine trees grow along the side of the road, shielding it. There’s only one other car in the lot, outside the only room with lights on.

“Nice man,” Ed says.

“Very nice,” I say. “He’s very good to me. I’m lucky.”

“You deserve it.”

Tom comes out of the office, waving keys, opens the truck door, his face shiny with rain. He shoots me one of those ESP looks. “If we can just get our luggage in, Mr. Hamlyn, sir, if you don’t mind, then we’ll run you home.”

I’m out of the truck, and at the tailgate Tom says to me, “Leave it to me. Bang hard if anyone shows up.” He folds a rag, stuffs it into his pocket. He goes back to the cab while I slide our duffel bags around. There’s a bottle of chloroform in the glove box. It’s all amazingly easy. It’s dark already, raining harder. We carry him between us like he’s drunk, carry him into our room, go back for our stuff, close cur*tains, strip off our wet jackets and T-shirts. We stand there looking down at Mr. Hamlyn, fast asleep on the beige carpet.

“I hope he’s a friend,” Tom says. “It’s too late now.”

It’s not too late at all. He’d wake up alone in a couple hours, find he hadn’t been robbed, just some kind of weird prank—he puts up with weird kids all day long—we’d be halfway back toCaliforniaby then. But I’m shaking.

“Sure.” I nudge him with my boot. “Sure, he’s a friend.”

He comes to find himself stripped naked, except for his tie, still loose around his neck. And he’s securely restrained.

I never go on a trip without my toolbox. You just never know. We’ve pushed the desk and the TV out of the way, taken down the ugly sunset painting, and drilled sturdy eye-rings into the wall studs and the baseboard. Mr. Hamlyn finds himself spread-eagled, chains around his ankles, ropes around his wrists, his arms straight out to his sides. I’ve been sitting here naked on the bed with Tom, facing him, just looking at the guy’s fine body. Good muscles, thick hair on his chest and abs like my dad, big nipples which are soft right now but I bet they get good and hard if you do the right things to them. And a nice tool, not huge but heavy, cut. Hairy, muscular thighs. Firm round ass. Colt-model sort of guy. Tom approves. Or his dick does, at least. My hand is wrapped around it. He watches us on the bed watching him, takes stock of his situation. He’s groggy. Finally he says, “I’m not quite sure I understand, Buzz.”

I light another joint. “Not much to understand, Mr. Hamlyn. Me and Tom, we’re going to torture you. And then kill you.” I pass the joint to Tom. The news doesn’t seem to surprise him, but he’s like that, I remember.

“And why would you wish to do that?”

“Cuz I enjoy it.”

“Okay,” he says. He looks around. After a while he says, “So you’re still feeling pretty mad at your father.”

I pick up the ashtray, throw it at him, crash it against the wall near his head.

“This ain’t a fucking session, Mr. Hamlyn. Am I paying you?” I suck on the joint. “I’ve got all that fucking figured out. But what’s it supposed to change? So I figure out I get thrills eating chocolate chip cookies. Do I fucking stop eating them?”

I guess there’s no reason to shout. He just looks at me, that way he has, let the patient blab.

“No, I fucking gorge on them, mister. So I figure out I get thrills torturing and killing hot young guys. So the fuck what?”

He actually goddamn smiles at me. “At the moment I’m not feeling particularly tortured, Buzz.”

Tom says, “He hasn’t started yet, sir.” That edge in his voice.

Ed picks up on it, nervously looks from Tom to me, back again.

Tom and me pass the roach back and forth in the silence. I’m still fingering his big dick. Wipe some pre-cum off with my finger and lick it.

“Why choose me?” Ed says at last. He tries to laugh. “I’m not a hot young guy.”
“Don’t get excited, it’s nothing personal. Just part of a deal I made with someone. You were just in the wrong place at the right time.”

He thinks. “A deal to torture and kill a person.”

“Yup.”

“A human being.”

“What, we’re talking another language here?” I let go of Tom’s dick, go stand in front of him. “You have problems with English?”

“None at all. I have some problems with that idea.”

“Tough shit.”
“Digression!” Tom calls out, and he swings off the bed, walks up next to me.

Ed says, “Holden Caulfield. And a similar anarchy pervades.”

“But Holden was badly messed up, sir.”

I don’t know who the fuck they’re talking about, but Ed looks hard at me. He says, “Sometimes people can be. Through no fault of their own, of course.”

Quick as a flash Tom drives his fist into the guy’s gut. “Watch,” he says, “how you talk about my boyfriend.”

Mr. Hamlyn wheezes. Tom lights a cigarette, blows the smoke into Ed’s face. “And just to get everything straight here,” he says, “I also enjoy what Buzz enjoys: torturing.” Another drag, another long cloud into the guy’s face. “And killing. But, Mr. Incisive Psycho*therapist, or whatever your credentials are, just to blow your theory out of the water, my dad was incredibly good to me. Taught me moral lessons, never hit me, was proud of me, was supportive, provided well for his church-going family. Ground*ed me a few times for typical adolescent misbehavior, and he was right to, so overall a fine, upstanding father. And my mother was equally loving. I had, I could say, a golden youth. No anger there.”

Ed looks at him. Then he says, quietly, “Abuse isn’t necessarily physical.”

Tom punches him hard again, and he jerks forward. Twice, three times, four, five, six. He pulls hard on the ropes, gasping. “Don’t you dare speak ill of my father. He was a finer man than you’ll ever be.”

Ed looks up, wincing. “You say was.”

I look at Tom. “Guy’s a sucker for punishment.”
Tom smirks, says to Ed, “I killed him. Because I thought it would be fun. And it was. So much fun that now I just can’t stop.”

That’s a lie. I think.

Ed straightens up, though. He looks at me, back to Tom, then starts to chuckle. “No,” he says. “That’s too much. You fellas are putting me on.”

Tom turns to me with a look of shock. “He doesn’t believe us!” He reaches down and squeezes Ed’s big furry balls till the guy’s eyes shut. “He doesn’t believe that I enjoy inflicting pain for the simple reason” —he rams his knee up into the guy’s balls— “that I enjoy inflicting pain.”

Ed’s wheezing again. I squeeze one of his tits while Tom keeps stretching his balls, lean in and tongue it, suck it into my mouth and gently nibble until it stiffens. I chew harder and suck harder, until his tit is stiff and red and he’s wincing, holding his breath. I look up, smile at him. I squat down, take a bite of his thick, dark bush, jerk my head back and yank out a mouthful of dick-hair, do it again, he’s gasping. I spit the hair out, get more between my teeth, pull it right out, his skin stretching, flecked with blood. I straighten up, suck and chew his tit again, harder now until I start tasting blood. I pinch the tit, squeeze out a big drop of dark blood, and when it looks about ready to fall off, I dab it onto the end of my tongue, let him watch me, let him see his own blood, his own fucking pubic hairs stuck to my tongue. I step back, stroke my hard-on. “Figure that one out.”

“Believe us now, sir?” Tom says. “Pain for pleasure.”

“Sadism is not unusual. Although usually in includes respect for limits.”

Tom makes a face at me. “You had to put up with this guy?”
“For two years almost. What are limits?” I ask Ed. “That’s a big word I don’t understand.” He actually starts to answer, but Tom’s knee crashes into his balls again, twice. He’s gasping, wincing, looks like he just finished running ten miles.

“Maybe he needs a live demo.” I spit out more of his hair, pull on some clothes, pick up the truck keys. “Keep him entertained. Be right back.”



2

I cruise the dark streets where I used to hustle, easy as pie pick up a cute boy, agree on a price, take him back to the motel. Kid tells me he’s sixteen, which is a lie, but he’s lucky, he almost looks it. I’d still peg him for a couple years older. He doesn’t look too surprised to see a man all tied up in the room, probably seen it all before. He’s more interested in Tom, who’s spread out naked on the bed stroking his big boner.
“Did he yammer much?” I ask him.

“Don’t know, wasn’t listening.”

While the boy strips down I cram Ed’s white briefs into his mouth, expect he’ll want to kick up some noise when the demo’s near over.

I sit on the edge of the bed, the naked boy on all fours on the carpet sucking me off while Tom kneels behind him, fingering his hole. Ed watches. When Tom moves his hand a bit, enough to let me see the flash of metal, I put my head back, moan, growl out, “Fuck, yeah. Suck me,” loud enough to cover the click of the switchblade.

The boy’s head flies off my dick as he feels Tom’s sharp blade sink up his hole. He’s about to get noisy but already my hands are squeezing tight around his throat. I look into his face, look at my straining muscles. I look at Tom’s red hand and his blade slicing in again and again. I look at Ed and smile. It’s all over fast. Just to make a point, after all.

Tom dumps the boy face-down on the bed, and I shake my arms to get the tingling out. I want to have a little more fun, though, so I kneel behind the kid, spread his cute cheeks, sink my face into his wet, red crack, lick, suck in a mouthful of hot blood, tilt my head back and gargle, then spray it in Ed’s direction. Most of it lands on the carpet, but a little splatters onto his thighs. Tom stands beside me, and I suck his dick into my mouth, in and out, get it good and covered with dark shiny blood, leave red hand prints on his ass. We go stand in front of Ed. He’s breathing hard, sparkling with sweat. Tom raises his blood-smeared knife, catches an edge of the guy’s briefs, pulls the wad out of his mouth, lets them drop to the floor.

“How’s that for limits?” he says. “Or lack thereof.”

We stand there, waiting.“And was that fun?” he finally says. He won’t look at the boy on the bed, tries not to look at the blood dripping off my chin, or at Tom’s switchblade.

“One on a scale of ten,” I tell him. “Usually we make it last a day or two at least, have a few orgasms, see a lot more blood, hear a lot of screaming and begging.” I lick blood off my lips.

He looks real disappointed, like I just busted his favorite vase may*be. He says slowly, “This all demonstrates such a sad lack of respect for life.”

“Life!” I hork onto the rug. Just for effect.

“That’s judgmental,” says Tom. “Mind your rhetoric.”

“You can’t get away with this forever,” Ed says.

Tom yawns. “How cliché.”

“It’ll catch up to you. There’s no escape. They can do amazing things with DNA these days. Eventually some cop will make a con*nection. You’ll burn in hell.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom says. He picks Ed’s briefs off the floor, starts balling them up.

I hold out my hand. “Gimme those.” I press them to my blood-covered face, take a deep whiff. “Hmm, so-so. Could be raunchier.”

I hand them to him and he stuffs them back into Ed’s mouth. I go to the little desk, open the drawer. Phone book, Bible, letter pad, yellow Bic pen. I hold the Bible up and say to Tom, “Think about this one. Could be fun to use.”
I pull the cap off the pen, kneel down in front of Mr. Hamlyn, kiss his dick, kiss his balls, start licking, get everything slobbery pinky-wet, then suck his dick. Tom’s hand is on the back of my head, guy can’t help it, he starts getting hard, not all the way, but he’s half-staff, which is enough. Tom clamps his hand over the guy’s mouth and I start working the pen up inside his dick. He twists away, and Tom leans his weight against him to keep him still against the wall.

Once the pen is past a certain point it slides in easy. He’s whining, high but quiet, and Tom pushes his head forward so he can see me push the pen halfway up inside his dick. Then I draw it out slowly, slide it back, slow-fuck his dick with the pen while he moans, while his balls jump around, and when I start seeing blood smearing on the pen I push it all the way in. It’s longer than his dick so I don’t know where the point goes. I push the last of it up with my finger, watch his piss-slit swallow it up. I go to hold his dick erect and the movement makes him squeal, tighten up all over, the muscles in his legs standing out hard. I suck his cock into my mouth. Taste blood. Suck him right in till my nose is stuck right in his thick dark bleeding bush. Tom’s cock is there now, and I
suck him in too, both dicks at once, noisy, hungry, my own dick rock-hard.

Tom pulls out, gets the roll of duct tape from the toolbox and tears off a couple inches, wipes Ed’s dick dry on his thigh and slaps the tape over the end to keep the pen in there. Then he takes my hand and leads me over to the bed. He lays me on my back, and he sits the dead boy on top of me, facing me, lowers the kid’s butt onto my boner, his still-warm asshole sticky with drying blood, then holds the boy up and pushes in next to me, the two of us doing a slow fuck, and I put a hand under the kid’s neck, support him while Tom lowers him, lowers his face to mine, and I’m frenching the dead boy, my tongue in his open mouth. I’m biting his lips, Tom’s big dick rubbing faster and faster against mine. “Not yet,” I whisper.

He pulls out of the boy, slumps the body face-up on the bed, picks his switchblade off the floor. He pulls me to the edge of the bed, pushes my legs up, drives into me hard, his cock lubed up with the dead boy’s blood. Ed is watching, squinting. Tom rests my legs on his shoulders, leans over, pulls on the boy’s smooth bag, yanks down hard on the balls. There’d be a great scream if the kid was alive. He cleanly slices the whole bag off. A quick moan from Ed, like we did it to him.

He’s thrusting in hard, rough, the way I like it. He holds the kid’s pink hairless bag over my face, my mouth is open, head off the bed, tongue out. I’m panting for it, panting for Tom’s dick filling me up. I suck the kid’s balls into my mouth. Ed is whining. Tom’s sweat is falling onto me, he lifts the ball-sac away, lifts it to his mouth, kisses it, tongues it, lowers it to me again. I push myself up to meet it. Tom leans down, we’re both tonguing and sucking the boy’s ball-bag he holds between us. I suck it into my mouth and his tongue is there, our lips on each other, the boy’s balls in my mouth. I reach sideways, feel for the kid’s limp dick, pump it in my fist while Tom’s hot cum blasts up inside me, a total fucking volcano, his breath hot on my mouth.

He lifts the kid’s bag out, dangles it there for my tongue, then drops it on the bed, pulls out of my ass and wipes his hand in my crack, slides some fingers into me and scoops out his cum, brings his hand to my face for me to lick, suck his slimy fingers, bite. He takes his hand away, he’s back in my ass, scooping out more of his cum, he smears it over my pounding dick, then kneels, deep-throats me, and I close my eyes, run my tongue around my mouth, taste the boy’s blood, Tom’s sweet cum. I run my hands through Tom’s hair, grab handfuls as I start to blow into his mouth, pump, pump, pump, arching my back, and he holds it there till I let go, panting, fall back on the bed. He slowly brings his head off my dick, keeping his lips tight, just my dick-head between his lips now and he opens them slightly, lets my cum spill down my stiff cock, and he goes down on me again, sucks, swallows now, puts on a damn fine show for Mr. Hamlyn.

We lay there a while, holding each other and dozing, and then he picks up the boy’s balls, starts walking to the can but then stops. He looks at Ed. And it’s great. He goes up to the guy, holding those boy-balls in his hand, and he wraps the end of the guy’s tie around them, knots it tight and fucking leaves them hanging there against the guy’s hairy abs. Then he goes into the can and takes a long piss. I roll the boy under the bed. Leave a foot sticking out as a reminder to Mr. Hamlyn.
“Why don’t I get cleaned up,” I say, “and go get us some supper.”

I find a fried-chicken joint and come back with plenty of food and four slices of lemon pie. I don’t bring anything back for Mr. Hamlyn.

Tom has showered, and we laze naked on the bed, eating and watching TV, which is kind of a treat because we don’t watch much at home. Ed just stands there, sometimes watching us, sometimes glancing down at the boy’s balls hanging from his tie, sometimes just looking at the floor, like he’s waiting for what’s next. What’s next is, we turn out the lights and go to sleep.



3
Tom wakes me with a kiss. He’s been out to get coffees and a box of donuts. Ed is awake and watching me. I stretch, kick off the sheets, hold my morning boner. Maybe Ed was awake all night trying to plan his escape. Tom strips and gets back into bed, and we watch Saturday-morning cartoons, stuff ourselves with donuts. Then he switches off the TV.

“Time for a dump,” he says.

We don’t have to plan these things. I know exactly what he wants our audience to see. I stretch out on the bed, and Tom stands over me and then squats, his beautiful pink hole puckering about six inch*es above my mouth. He has his back to Ed for a better view. I can’t see the guy, but I know he’s watching. The dark turd starts squeez*ing out. My mouth is open, tongue at the ready. We haven’t done this for a long time. It’s not my favorite thing. To be on the receiving end, anyway. My dad used to make me do this. It was a regular thing with him, though usually he’d crap in his pants and make me clean him up with not much besides my tongue.
Tom’s log comes out long and thick, like his dick, and I suck on it like it’s a dick, making horny noises, and as his butt pinches it off it breaks in half and falls across my face. I chew, grunting, and Tom moves back, craps on my chest, then squats over my crotch and pushes out the last of his shit. He picks up the turd next to my face, holds it in front of me. I open my shit-filled mouth and lick it, kiss it, suck it in and chew. He reaches into my mouth, scoops out shit, smears it all over my face. He sits down in the pile on my chest, mashes it around with his hard ass, then spins around, faces Ed, lowers his shit-smeared crack over my face, reaches forward and squishes shit all over my dick and balls.

Right then I let go hot and hard with my morning piss, and Tom rises just a bit, keeps his hand on my dick and directs the stream onto his crotch, lets my piss flow off his balls into my mouth, and then aims it right into my mouth, onto my tongue, then up in the air so it can splash down all over my chest. Then he lowers his ass onto my face again. Even though it’s not my favorite thing, I grow fucking stiff, my tongue in his stinking crack, and I’d totally love to take it all the way, mix shit with cum, but he’s lifting off me, standing up. He pulls me off the bed, turns me to face Mr. Hamlyn.

I grin. Walk up to him. Smile wide to show him my shit-covered teeth. Pull his damp briefs out of his mouth, cup his face in my dirty hands and kiss him, force his mouth open with my tongue, let him taste Tom’s shit, my piss. Listen to him gag and choke, feel him try to pull his face away. I press up against him, smear my lover’s shit onto him, push my boner up under his balls, between his legs, mock-fuck him slowly, bend down and suck one of his tits, pinch the other, bang his dick with mine and make him wince.

Tom’s hand is on my shoulder. He leads me back to the bed, sits me on the edge and drives his hard-on into my mouth, pulls out and pushes back in, his hand on my neck, his dick forcing shit down my throat, shit in his blond bush, I’m whacking off with it.
Ed starts yell*ing, loud. Tom’s there in a flash, clamping a hand over his mouth, punching his gut. I jump up and wad up the briefs, wipe them across my chest for good measure and shove them into Ed’s mouth till his cheeks bulge, his head jerking side to side. Tom gets the duct tape again and we plaster his mouth shut but good. Fucker keeps watching me. Like this is supposed to get to me. I wipe Tom’s shit across my chest, under my arms, wipe my hand across my face and smear shit up through my hair. Grin at him. Wipe my hand all over the top of his head.

“Nice toupee.”

I drop to my knees and suck on his dick, the duct tape rough in my mouth, his dick fake-hard with the pen shoved up it, and he’s not getting too stiff naturally, so I give up, suck Tom’s beautiful dick instead, right there in front of Mr. Hamlyn, suck Tom until his balls raise up. I pull off and jerk him, let him shoot his huge load all over my shit-brown tongue, then I quickly stand, face-to-face with Mr. Hamlyn, let him watch it drip off, white and thick off my chin, down my shit-smeared chest. I wipe my hand across my mouth, flick the cum and bits of shit into Ed’s face.

We go lay on the bed. I eat a sugar donut, finish my cold coffee, while Tom smokes. Ed still watches me. It’s like he’s watching a movie, paying attention to every move, looking for some clue. I notice he doesn’t watch Tom that much. Just me.



4

Tom and me go into the can. I don’t want to clean up; I kind of enjoy this mess, so I sit on the can while Tom showers. I kick the door shut to let the steam—and the stink—build up.

While he’s dry*ing off we chat about a few details, like how one of us should always stay here from now on—as if I’d be going any*where all covered in dried shit and blood and my lover’s cum, which right now I wipe up with a dirty finger and suck. And like how to stop the maids coming in. He’ll flirt with the girl in the office, tell her we’re a couple college students, journalism, we’ve got a makeshift darkroom set up so we can develop some photos, kind of ruins things if anyone opens the door, lets in daylight. She’ll fall for it, he says, wants to get into his pants anyway.

I tell him, times like this, a gun would come in handy. He just grins at me. I go lie on the dirty sheets, watch TV while Tom drops by the office, runs a few errands. Ed keeps his eyes on me. Real creepy. Gonna make me mad. I flick through the talk shows, then click off the TV. I go stand in front of Ed and we stare at each other like for ten minutes. Then I start pinching the tit I mangled earlier. Right away he winces, breaks out in a sweat.

“You know,” I say while I pinch and twist and pull, “I used to jack off in my little room thinking about doing this with you, or you doing it to me. Or you fucking me in the can, or me naked under your desk all afternoon slobbering on your dick while you listened to loser kids whine about how tough it was at home.” I bend in to suck and chew on the hard tit, mauling it with my teeth until I taste blood again and he’s moaning—when he’s not holding his breath. I look up him. “Make up for lost time now, huh?” I chew some more, and then I snap down hard, pull back, grind my teeth and bite his fucking nipple right off while he bucks on the ropes, yells behind his gag. I feel his sweat spray down onto me. I hold my tongue out of my mouth so he can see his nipple on it, see his blood. I spit his tit onto the carpet and sneer at him.

Then I go sit on the can till Tom gets back. Sweetheart comes back with beer, dark rum, trendy coffee from Starbucks, the L.A. Times, and a syringe. He sees the blood trailing down Ed’s chest, grins at me. “Guy’s a fucking hemo,” I tell him.

“Good.”

I gulp a mouthful of rum, break open a beer and swallow half of it in one go. Tom dips the needle into the rum, half fills it, nods at me and walks over to Ed. Eddie’s having a bird, his face red, eyes big, he’s squealing, shaking his head, eyes on the big needle—not on me for a change.

“Think the guy wants to tell you something,” I say.

“Maybe he’s not partial to rum.”

“Maybe he don’t have a choice.”

Tom hands me the syringe. He reaches into his front pocket, pulls out his knife, flicks the blade out and presses the narrow tip into Ed’s throat. “Feel that?” Ed nods, carefully. “You make one single goddamn fucking sound, and you’re gonna feel it a lot deeper. Understand, sir?” Guy nods, once, slowly. Tom reaches up, slowly tears off one strip of tape.

“One tiny solitary sound, one measly fucking whisper, and I kill you. Blood-bath. Sadistic. Carnage. Ten-o’clock news. You’ll feel it. For about six fucking hours, you’ll feel pain. For six long hours I’ll make you squirm, and you’ll know you’re dying. I’m a pro, Mr. Halpern.”

“Hamlyn,” I say.

“I’m a pro, Ed. Don’t doubt it. We understand each other?”

He doesn’t wait for a nod. He peels off the other strip of tape, keeps the knife pressed against the skin while he slowly pulls out the guy’s spit-soaked briefs. He hands them to me, and I wrap them round my dick, leave them hanging off my boner.

“Now,” says Tom, “you were saying?”

Ed’s eyes dart from Tom to me, back and forth, he’s breathing fast. It’s like five minutes goes by before he says, in a hoarse whisper, “Don’t use the needle.”
I straighten up. “He talked.”

He looks worried. I like it.

“Well,” Tom sighs, “I did ask him a question.”

“So the wuss doesn’t like needles. What is he, two years old?”

“Where’d it come from?” Ed says to Tom, ignoring me at last.

“Why do you care?” Tom asks.

“HIV.”

“Oh, fuck,” I say. “You won’t notice AIDS for what, ten years? You’re gonna be dead long before that’s a worry.” I lift his watch from the dresser drawer where we stuffed all his clothes. “Like with*in twelve hours.”

I drop the watch back in, slam the drawer shut with my knee. He jumps. But he’s watching Tom. Tom’s smiling at him. So maybe he figures if drilling his eyes into me doesn’t make me crack, then the old silent treatment works. I down rum straight from the bottle.

“Buzz can get nasty when he drinks,” Tom says. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Mr. Hamlyn, sir. You wanna give your old friend a shot of that, Buzz?”

The guy looks away, squints and whines while I stab the thick needle into the big vein in his arm. Within a minute his head is spinning. He’s smiling.

“Hey,” I say, “have to try that sometime.” I stand in front of him, wave my arms. “You’re my friend,” he drawls. “Buzz.”

I put my arm around Tom’s waist. “And who’s this?”

“Your friend. Mine too.”

“And what’s this?” I pull his briefs away and wag my shitty dick at him.

“Thas your member.” He chuckles. “It’s dirty.”

I drag the dead boy out from under the bed. “And who’s this?”

He looks puzzled at first, but then smiles. “Thas our friend.”

“Right,” I tell him. “You want a blow-job from our friend?” He’s not so plastered he’s not aware of what’s going on, which is good.

He half-laughs, then looks serious. Doesn’t matter, though, because I’m already holding the cold dead boy in front of him, kicking out the kid’s legs so he kind of goes down on his knees. Tom reaches down and rips the strip of tape off Ed’s dick. The guy sucks in air fast. I aim the boy’s open-in-death mouth right onto Ed’s pen-stiff cock. “Suck, boy. Suck Mr. Hamlyn’s big straight-man dick. Make him feel good. Show him what a good cocksucker you are.” I push the kid’s head back and forth a few times, but clearly neither one is having much fun, so I get my arms under the kid’s and hoist him up, shove him against Ed. “Kiss your cocksucker friend,” I tell him, and push the boy’s mouth toward Ed’s.

He quickly pulls away, grimacing, but Tom twists his head for*ward, and their lips connect, and he kind of screams, but Tom’s other hand is quickly around his balls and he warns Ed, “Shut up.”
“Neck with the kid,” I say. “Show him straight guys can be a good time.”

Ed’s squirming to get away, but Tom’s grip is too hard, and I’m really mashing the kid’s face into his. I step back, slump the boy against me, stroke his smooth chest and toy with a nipple while Ed watches. The kid’s head is flopped back on my shoulder, and I lean down and kiss his cheek.

“Hot guy, huh?” I whisper to the dead boy, though Ed can hear me, of course. “Yeah, I always thought so, too. You know what I really wanted, though?”

It’s all kind of awkward, dead-weight and all, but I get the boy turned around and bent over, his sliced-up asshole inches away from Ed’s dick. “Fuck your friend, Mr. Hamlyn.”

Tom lets go of his balls and bangs the guy’s dick up and down in the kid’s crack. He’s not gonna come too easy, but I want to see this, and I’m going to make it happen. I get Tom to hold the boy, and I spit in my hand and start jerking off Ed. When I feel his dick stiffen a bit I get down and start sucking. Now, I’m a champion cocksucker, and the fact that the guy’s tied up and his tit’s chewed off and he has a pen stuck up his prick doesn’t matter to me. Once he’s in my mouth, I’m going to make him come, even if it does take me all night. So Tom’s holding the boy and I’m sucking and jerking Ed’s dick, doing the best I can, taking him deep, using my tongue and my throat and my fingers, and slowly he gets stiff, his cock swells up around the pen, and I can tell from his breathing, from the way his balls move up, that it’s going to happen whether he likes it or not.

And then, when he’s real close, I twist out of the way. Tom shoves the boy up, I push the end of Ed’s dick into the boy’s bloodied ass*hole, jerk him until he shoots. The pen probably blocks most of his jizz, and I bet it stings like hell too, all that backwash. I keep his cock-head inside the boy and milk his dick to get some juice out.

Then I nod at Tom, and he drags the boy away, dumps him on the bed. I suck on Mr. Hamlyn’s cock again, just tongue it awhile, and then I go over to the bed, kneel down, let him watch me lick the boy’s ass, long and slow, tongue it like I would Tom’s ass, tongue the dried blood and the dribbles of cum.

“Get him down,” I say to Tom, and we pull the bed away from the wall, slump the boy on the end with his ass pointing at Ed, then un*tie the ropes that hold up his arms. I kick him behind the knee and he drops down, and Tom grabs his hair and pulls his head forward, presses his face into the boy’s ass. I go to the drawer and put on the guy’s old green jacket. Then I fuck him. Hard, dry. Rape him. My dick’s way bigger than his. I hear him shout muffled between the kid’s smooth bloodstained cheeks, tasting and smelling blood and death and his own cum, and I’m pounding in hard. Tom’s watching, smiling like he’s fucking too. I drop onto Ed’s back, fuck him fast like a dog, my face behind his head, close to the boy’s ass, and I say, “Tell me, Mr. Hamlyn, all about my anger.” And he whines, and I come, gushing into his ass, and I bite the back of his neck, push my*self up, grab his ass and shove my dick in as deep as I can, open my eyes to see Tom smiling at me.
5

I down some rum for breakfast, sitting up in the bed wearing Mr. Hamlyn’s jacket, watching him watch me. After I fucked him last night we tied him up again. Not that easy, he actually put up a struggle, even though his ankles were still chained to the base*boards, and Tom had to knee him in the face a couple times to quiet him down. Then he got to watch while Tom slow-fucked the dead boy, and after that I made love to the kid’s ass again with my tongue, licking and sucking out my lover’s wad.

I fell asleep immediately, but it doesn’t look like Ed got any sleep. I wonder how long he felt my jizz dribbling cold down his legs. Tom comes back from the motel office with a couple coffees. Then we share some speed.
“I’m very thirsty.” Ed’s trying not to look at the dead boy on the floor.

“Whine, whine, whine,” I say.

“Want, want, want,” chimes Tom.

“Me, me, me. Am I supposed to get you a drink, Ed? Is that it? You think all this is wrapped up with my dad? You think you’re my dad now? ‘I’m thirsty’ and Buzz goes running, gets you a beer? Well, Dad, guess what? Fuck you!” I realize I’m practically screaming. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re thirsty!”

Guy actually smiles. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Shout. Scream at Dad, Buzz.”

I glare at him. I say, real quiet now, “And fuck off with the shrink routine.” I reach down to my boot on the floor and pull out my knife. He hasn’t seen it before, and he keeps his eyes on it. I walk up to him, stand close, knife in one hand, bottle in the other.
“You just don’t fucking get it, do you.”

“There are people can help you, Buzz.”

I grin. “Tom helps me, Mr. Hamlyn.”

“I mean with your anger.”

“Who’s angry? I’m not angry. I’m only a little pissed cuz you won’t shut your fucking face.” I gulp some rum. I’m holding my blade to his throat, and he’s sweating, his bald head all shiny bet*ween the smears of dried shit. His nose is swollen purple from last night.

“But there are people can help me with that too.” I knead his dick and he whines. I milk it until the pen pokes out his slit, and I slide it out. I call out in a girl’s voice, “Help me! Help me, Tom, help me!”

He smirks, reaches into Ed’s mouth and pulls the guy’s tongue forward, all the way out. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

Too fast, maybe, I stab the pen right through his tongue, far back so already he’s sort of gargling, but at least now he’s quiet, he won’t be able to talk. He looks real surprised. He tries to cough the blood out of his mouth. I stand there drinking and watching, and when enough blood has dripped down onto his chest, I lick it up, make sure I get it all over my mouth and nose, and then I sit on the end of the bed, look at him.

“So tell me, Mr. Hamlyn, all about my anger.”
Fucker doesn’t even try to talk. I laugh so hard I start choking, and Tom has to thump me on the back. That leads into some rough, violent sex right there on the bed, right where Ed can watch it all.

Tom rips the guy’s jacket off me, throws me on the bed, handcuffs me, punches me while he fucks me hard, but neither of us wants to come right now, and in the end he kneels over me and pisses into my mouth. He showers and drives out for something to eat.

I fall asleep until he comes back with a late lunch, two BBQ chick*ens and spaghetti and a tub of chocolate ice cream. We don’t have spoons, though, so we scoop the ice cream out with our fingers, make a real mess, eat it off each other’s hands, lick it off our chins and chests and dicks. Which is when I notice that fishy smell on him.

But I get distracted, I’m looking at all these chicken bones, and I go get the garbage pail from next to the desk, start pulling out the bones from the fried chicken, make a little pile of bones on the bed.

“Someone’s getting nasty,” Tom says.

I take my time putting my Docs on, lacing them up to the knee slow so Ed can worry. We drag the bed up close to Ed again, untie the ropes from the rings and spread him out on the shitty sheets. We tie the ropes to the bed-legs, so now he’s spread-eagled on his front. I tug the boy-balls out from under him and lay them on the bed next to his face. He turns his head the other way. Then I start putting the chicken bones up his ass; a few round-ended leg bones first and then the fun stuff, the sharp breast bones with the ribs. It sounds like he’s fucking strangling, the noise he makes, head banging around on the bed, body all flexed hard as I pry his hairy ass open with my fingers and shove the bones inside. Tom gets two pliers from the toolbox and snaps some of the bones in half, beautiful sharp edges that I shove in on an angle, and the blood’s running, I wipe it up, wipe it on my tongue, a new flavor, man blood and chicken grease. I get all of them fucking up there, like the skeletons of four snuffed chickens shoved up his hole, and he’s squealing and squirming and if you’ve ever heard a grown man cry, well, he’s doing it. I look around, and it’s like Tom has ESP, he’s off the bed and up-ending the other one, the clean one, leans it against the wall and gets a strong grip on one of the bed-legs, starts unscrewing it. Ed watches him, chokes out some kind of words, but that’s all it is, chokes, he can’t move his tongue any.

“What’s that, Mr. Hamlyn? Can’t quite hear what you’re saying about my anger, sir.”

He shuts his eyes, lets out a long wail, cries. A fucking grown man crying like that, like a little boy. Pretty mind-blowing. I fuck him with the bed-leg Tom hands me, the end with the long screw first, dig it around so the bones can goddamn tear his insides open. Tom presses a pillow over the guy’s head to muffle the cries, though it’s weird, he’s already pretty quiet. It’s like he’s screaming in another room. I end up pushing the bed-leg all the way inside. Blood all over my fingers. I stare at my hand, at Ed’s dark hairy hole, not quite closing, open a bit like a mouth, blood trickling out, I look at Tom’s hard-on, my own, my head’s spinning, this is the moment, this is it, everything else was just build-up, this is where I lose myself, what I wait for.

I sit near the end of the bed and push the toe of my boot against Mr. Hamlyn’s gaping, bleeding hole. Yes. I see my boner, my naked leg, shit-smeared, blood-smeared, see the muscles stand out as I push my boot into Mr. Hamlyn’s ass, as the whole toe gets swal*low*ed up by his torn hole. Tom pushes down on the pillow as Ed screams out, long raw screams. Pre-cum hangs like wet spider webs from Tom’s dick. I fuck Ed with my boot. I push those fucking bones deep up there, lick the fresh blood off my hand as I kick forward.

The heel’s gone in, the laces scraping along his bleeding muscle. It’s like a fucking drug trip, my hand is down on my dick, just hold*ing, I’ll blow if I move, my leg out straight, he’s a fucking goner any*way. I push in like I’m stepping on a bug. I reach forward, touch the brown, torn, bleeding flesh where it stretches around my boot, his ass like a snake or something, eating up my leg, gulping for more. He screams; my whole foot inside him and half my boot, my hand on my dick again.
Tom lets go of the pillow, comes round the side, puts his hand around my wrist, says, “Ease out now,” and I know what he means.

I can’t pop my load now, I’m just getting started. He pulls my hand off my dick, steps away, presses down on the pillow again. It’s may*be worse coming out. I did this once before, seems the heel is the killer part, and so I jerk my foot around when his hole is stretched about as wide as it’s going to go. “Having fun down there?” I shout, and I start laughing, laugh quietly while the rest of my boot slowly slides out of his butt, smeared with all that ass slime and gallons of blood pulsing out onto the dirty bed sheets, smeared all over my black boot. And when it’s out, and his hole just kind of hangs there all open and loose, I can see a bone inside. It actually moves, it’s spooky. He’s all quiet, everything so quiet, and I get off the bed, wipe my boot with a corner of the sheet. And he starts crying again.

Tom stands close in front of me. I can feel the heat of him. “You angry?” he says, smirking.

“Fucking right. Fucking insane with anger.” My dick brushes against his thigh, it’s torture.

I grab the rabbit ears off the TV, fucking old-fashioned things, and start whipping the guy’s ass, but it’s a waste of time, not like I thought, flimsy like tinfoil and it just flops against him. I throw them against the wall. But Tom’s already got a lamp unplugged. With one big pull he rips the wire right out of the lamp base, crashes the lamp onto the floor and tosses me the wire. I ball it round my fist while he rips the cord out of the matching lamp, and then the two of us are whipping Ed with the lamp cords, his ass, his legs, his back, fuck even his head, and he’s jerking around like he’s having some kind of fit, these little high-pitched yelps, maybe that’s what ouch sounds like when you can’t move your tongue, when you’ve got a fucking Bic pen jabbed through it. We whip him till he’s striped all over with welts, till there’s blood, till I jump onto him, press my shit-dirty body against his, squirm around, make happy noises like boys in fuck films.
We get him tied up to the wall again, push the bed away, drag the dead boy out of the way, and start in on his front, whipping till the white cords are streaked red, till blood is splattered all up the wall behind him, till my fucking arm hurts and I collapse onto the bed, panting, staring at the ceiling, chuckling. I hear Tom at the other end of the room, and I look up to see him unscrewing another bed-leg, jerking his head at me and walking over to Ed. He kneels down.

I sit up on the end of the bed. I’m only a couple feet away anyway. And I watch my amazing lover screw that bed-leg up Mr. Hamlyn’s dick. It’s got like this three-inch flat-end screw at the top, probably three-eighths inch, thicker than the pen, anyway. I watch Tom slow*ly work it up the guy’s piss-slit, he’s quiet, not even breathing, but he’s crashing his head back against the wall big-time, his face all screwed up. Tom holds out his blood-stained fingers for me to lick.

“Guy’s gonna fuckin’ get us in trouble if there’s anyone next door,” he says. He stands up and Ed kind of notices, freezes, watches him, shivers for a second, tries to say something.

I’ve got my X-Acto knife from the toolbox, and I start carving lines across his belly, down into his bush. Not deep ones. He doesn’t make any noise, just watches, wincing. It doesn’t hurt much, after all, it’s like paper cuts, just longer. Tom and me both know this, from experience. I just want to see blood, that’s all.

I pick up the dead boy’s balls hanging from the end of his tie, wipe them through the blood, smear it around, let him watch me raise the boy’s bag to my mouth, kiss it, lick it, smear it around in the blood some more and press it to Ed’s mouth. “Tell me, Mr. Hamlyn, all about my anger.” I let the balls drop, and they swing for a couple seconds across his blood-smeared abs. Wish I had the camera.

I knot the end of the long lamp cord around the top of his bag, and take time out to suck those big balls of his, suck his hairy, musky bag right into my mouth, tongue it nearly gag, the bed-leg hanging from his dick taps my jawbone, I let his bag out, jerk the knot real tight. I start lifting the end of the bed, and Tom figures it out, steps in to help. When the bed’s upright he holds it there while I fling the cord over the top, leave a few yards slack and tie the cord to a bed-leg. When I step round front Tom’s smirking at me. “Beautiful,” he says.

But Ed’s twisting all over the place, pulling on his ropes, flexing, whining, tears down his face, trying to beg, trying to form just one word. I wait until he’s looking straight at me.

“This anger,” I say. He goes quiet. Then I step back, let the bed drop to the floor. Man, if only we had the videocam. I’d love to see that all over again, slo-mo, frame-by-fucking-frame. With the sound turned up high. But I was too close, it was too fast, I was kind of wincing knowing the bed was about to make one hell of a crash.

But Ed’s louder, letting out this amazing shriek as his balls get rip*ped right out of his insides. Then he passes out. His balls stay inside his bag, though. The skin is torn, bleeding, gashed pretty bad as the lamp cord ripped away. But I can tell when I feel them, move them around with my blood-wet fingers, that they’re not connected any*where anymore.

Tom cups them too. “Wow,” he says, real quiet. I press up close to Ed, feel the blood from his bag warm on my stiff dick up between his legs, and there’s blood trailing all down his hairy legs from his butt, two big brown puddles on the carpet by his feet.

“Get me that needle,” I tell Tom, and I start slapping the guy to wake him up. I have to slap a whole bunch before his head pulls away. He tries to lift it, his eyes open, he sees me and he looks away fast, the pain kicks in and he’s out again. I start slapping him some more.

“Easy,” Tom says. “Maybe take a breather.”

“You’re a softie all of a sudden.” I slap Ed once more, then step away. “But maybe you’re right.” I light a smoke, suck deep, share it with him. I butt it out on Ed’s thigh, and that kind of revives him. He moans, at least. “Was that long enough?” I ask Tom.

He shrugs, grins. “Okay, killer. Go for it.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

I take the needle from him, crouch down, stab it into the head of Ed’s dick. It wakes him up more, and he makes throat noises while I stab again. And again, all up along his dick, piercing it all the way through once I’m past the screw in the bed-leg. Stab his dick like it’s a fucking pin-cushion. Then I stand up. His eyes on me. He goes quiet. He’s breathing fast. His eyes flicker sideways to Tom. I smile. I raise the needle to his face. Tom holds his hand he’s flinching as he watches the needle slowly get closer and closer, and then I stab his eye, real slow. That’s really sick. I stab it again. He sucks air in his nose, even though his mouth is stuck wide open. I stab his eye five times, twice bull’s-eye on the pupil.

We unchain his ankles, let his stiff arms down. I support him while Tom ties his wrists behind his back with the lamp cord, and we twist his necktie round behind him, push the boy-balls through one of the rings that held his arm up, pull his necktie through and knot it tight. Then we hang him, simple as that. He’s been tied up too long to stay steady on his feet, so as soon as Tom bends him over to start fisting him, his legs are buckling and he’s swinging from his necktie.

In like one second Tom has his fist inside that loose hole, and he’s pushing his dick in. I’m sitting against the wall under him, smoking, looking up, his panicked eyes on me, off to the sides, he’s red in the face but quickly turning blue, gagging, he starts to piss and I roll onto my back, lay under him, yank the bed-leg right out of his dick, feel his hot ad still. I pull his eyelids apart with my fingers. His whining gets louder piss sprinkle onto me, watch Tom’s dick thrusting in next to his wrist, blood starting to spill out. I wipe his piss around on the dried shit and blood that fucking coats me.

I sit up again, my back to the wall, and I push up on his shoulders, ease the pressure on his neck. His face is deep blue and now he’s wheezing, trying to suck in enough air, his bulging eyes are on me, begging like the dogs when my dad beat them.

“This anger, Mr. Hamlyn. Help me with it.” And I let him drop. A quick gargle, a choke, he swings there while Tom jerks off inside him.

Tom says, “Get up.”

I slide out and Tom lets go of him, he spins around and crashes down against the wall, jerks around a bit, tongue big and purple. He’s scrabbling with his feet, trying to push himself up. Tom bends me over, my hands on my knees. He pushes his big dick into me and fucks me while Mr. Hamlyn quietly chokes below us. I shuffle side*ways so I can face him, so I can stand up and Tom can jerk my rock-hard dick and tug on my balls, and I reach behind me, grab his hard ass and pull him tight against me, pull him into me. I want to feel his dick deep inside me, filling me up.

Ed’s twisting on the floor, his face blue, or gray, depending how long you look at it, his eyes sort of not resting anywhere, and he’s actually fucking pushing up on one leg, pushing himself up the blood-splattered wall, the tie going slack. Tom shifts, kicks the guy’s leg out from under him. He drops hard and just stays like that, doesn’t look around, doesn’t twitch. Blood starts leaking from his nose, his ears. Tom drives in harder, twisting my balls and pounding on my cock, my head pressed back on his shoulder. I can smell his sweat, feel his breath hot on my skin, feel his muscles slam against me. I look down at his big hand wrapped round my dick, pumping. I look at Mr. Hamlyn just as I blast my awesome load right into his face, all over his chest and the wall behind him, and then Tom yells out as he starts coming, thrust after thrust deep up inside me. I can feel it, a gallon of hot cum, non-fucking-stop. I squeeze my butt tight, try to suck up every drop.
I stumble forward, Tom stumbles with me, holding on to me, still inside me, and I lean against the wall, wipe my stiff dick through my cum on Ed’s face, push my cock into his mouth, slide it slowly back and forth across his swollen tongue, and he shivers. I push all the way in, I feel him choke but don’t hear it, and he dies, my cum-covered dick slowly going soft in his mouth, Tom’s beautiful cock going soft inside me. We collapse onto the bed, lay there panting. Tom’s hands stroke me all over.



6

I’m about to doze off when he says, “We should clear out of here.”

“Aw. Can’t we stay and fuck all night?”
He laughs, pushes me off him. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll get our stuff together.”

On my way to the can I see the Bible on the desk. “Shit!” I hold it up, look down at Ed. “Never got to use this.”

“Never mind. I’m sure we’ll find another one somewhere.”

And then I notice Ed popped his wad, getting watery on his thigh, strands still hanging off his limp cock.

“Mmm, looks tasty,” I say. I put down the Bible, drop to all fours, lick the cum off his heavy dick, suck him into my mouth and tongue him, let it plop out, lick the puddle on his thigh.

I’m getting horny again, but Tom says, “Buzz, come on.”
I pick up the needle, stab it through the guy’s cock, leave it there. I have to scrub under the hot shower for like an hour to get all the shit and blood and stuff off me, but two minutes after I’m toweling off we’re in the truck. Tom drives. I suddenly remember. “Hey, the bill!” Guy’s got to be honest about these things.

“It’s looked after.”

“What do I owe you?”

It takes him a while to answer. “A fuck, I guess.”

I stare at him, look away, stare at him again. “You didn’t.” That smell.

“Did. Sorry to say. But hey, it got us a free room for two nights.”

“Jesus!” I look out the window at the dark highway. “Jesus fuck!” I look back at him. “Jesus holy mother of...” I look out the window again. We’ll drive all night, windows down, gulping air to stay awake, get home by noon. “Well, I just hope you used a condom.”