Toon

I'm in my mid-30's - which is what guys usually say when they're 37. So be it. I came of age in during the height of AIDS paranoia. I never complained because I didn't know a different time...a time when men fucked each other without worrying about condoms or disease. My biggest fear since childhood was embarrassing myself. It became what most people considered a "shyness", but really I was just being phobic about making a fool of myself. There was this bar not far from where I lived called "1861" for no other reason than that was the street address. It really had no identity which is maybe why I liked it. They played loud music but there was no dance floor. There were leather dudes but not many. Retired guys, Latin guys, black guys, weirdos and a drag queen or two made up the crowd. I usually never saw the same people twice until I started going more frequently. That's when I got to be familiar with the bartenders and the regulars. I even managed to make some small talk here and there. There was one guy I kept noticing -- he was an older mixed-race male who usually sat alone at the bar and drank boilermakers. He was bulky and had a short beard and dark, dark eyes. I thought the bartender and a few passers-by were calling him "Vermin" but that's because the music was so loud. It was actually "Venom". Oh. OK. That's not much better than Vermin. One Sunday afternoon I went to 1861 for their regular Beer Bust. You pay five bucks and drink as much beer as you want from plastic cups. It's a cheap way to get really drunk which is why I usually never went. My younger brother had accumulated three DUIs over the past few years and I knew all about the headaches that shit caused. I mostly behaved, but that particular day I decided to loosen up a little. Monday was a holiday and I felt freed to get a little wild. I even downed a shot somebody at the bar had bought for us. When I asked the barkeep who had paid for it, he motioned his pretty head toward the pool table. It was Venom. Oh. He was standing there with a pool cue in his hand, looking fairly bored with the game. I moved down to a stool closer to him and watched him lazily pay pool and sip his boilermaker. He was a pretty big guy --more than I first thought. Big gut, thick arms & legs and huge shoes. Not a looker by any means, but also not a troll. He was just interesting. After the game ended, he wandered off. I sat and had more cups of lukewarm beer and was pretty content until the bartender plopped a boiler maker in front of me. I knew it was from Venom. I looked around to see him but he was already right there behind me. He grabbed the stool, spun me around to face him and said "Hi". Venom. For whatever reason, I couldn't look at anything but his mouth and beard. There were spots of gray there. "Th-thanks for the drinks, man." "You don't move around much. Are you scared or have a handicap?" Huh? "I just came for the cheap beer." Shit. I was dangerously close to embarrassing myself. "I been coming here forever. Let me show you around", he said with a smile as he hoisted me up off the bar stool. Possibly it was my imagination, but everybody at the bar was suddenly started whispering to each other. I followed him as he headed for the far North side of the bar where there was a glass door I'd never noticed before. He swung it open and there was a whole other bar there! Seriously? What was this? "This side is for dykes. The music sucks and don't you dare try to play pool or darts there". I made a mental note. Then he took me towards a staircase which I'd also never noticed before. He led me up to a platform that was almost completely dark. It was crowded with younger guys - many shirtless - and they seemed to be forming a circle. "Oh, Lucky You - you get to see a Daisy Chain. That;s where you fuck the guy in front of you as whoever's directly behind fucks you". Wow. This place was more complicated than I ever knew. We went back down to the bar and sat next to each other. The crowd was thinning pretty rapidly. Holiday weekend. The young guys wanted to go where there was more action, and before long, the daisies from upstairs filed out too. It was down to just me, Venom, the handsome bartender and a few seriously drunk guys who were close to passing out. Venom kept trying to offer me shots, but I declined. It was almost dark outside and I had already had pretty much all the fun I needed to have for one day. Venom and the bartender talked to each other in Spanish for a bit as I finished one last cup of beer. And then it was just the two of us. Sitting there. "I'm Rob. What's your name?" I'd never given my name to some guy in a bar. He shifted a bit and said "I'm Miguel -- but you probably already heard them call me 'Venom'". "Why do they do that?" "They're just hateful bitches who love to spread gossip". We sat in silence for a bit longer when he reached down and fished in his pockets. I thought he was searching for his car keys to go home. But no. He was undoing his zipper. In the blue light of the neon Budweiser sign, he pulled out his hard dick. It didn't look real. It was like a sculpture of a curved, granite python that he was holding in his lap. It didn't even seem like it could be part of a human. I was hypnotized by this amazing member. He glanced around briefly before asking me to kiss it. I didn't just kiss it, I took the magnificent head in my mouth and sucked on it for a bit. I had been shy for far too long. I reached down and felt his hairy balls. "Come on", he said as he grabbed me off the chair and led me toward the staircase, What? Were we going to have a two man daisy chain or something? I was really drunk. He helped me up the stairs until we were on that dark landing again. I tried to let my eyes get adjusted to the low light, but I could really make out were shadows here and there. I could hear him shuffling, but that was actually the sound of him undressing. I sensed and smelled his nakedness. Well, I guess I should strip too, but he had already started to pry off my clothes. Within less than twenty seconds, we were embracing each others' nude bodies. He was big and slightly rough, but I loved his big belly flesh press against my slight frame. And the feel of that hard, superhuman penis! Too much. He guided me down to the filthy floor and let me stretch out on my back. My head was swimming in alcohol and whirring and stars. Venom. "Just don't scream. If you scream or cry out, the bartender will come and we'll have to go". I wanted to ask him why in the world I'd want to scream when he lowered himself down on top of me. Man, he was a heavy guy. Then we were kissing. Seriously passionate kissing like in a movie. Then his enormous penis made an appearance between my ass cheeks. No condom. Just a bare monster. OK. I could do this. He pushed. It hurt so much that I scrambled away and whimpered in pain. I guess this was over. Where were my clothes? He quickly produced a boilermaker from who knows where and demanded I drink it FAST. I obeyed. It did the trick I suppose. I lied back again and let the world wobble by. Then his big, bearded face was in mine again and we resumed kissing deeply. I felt him go into me and it wasn't pleasant, but it also didn't hurt so severely. He groaned with pleasure and asked if this was my first time. I searched my muddy brain for a reply but he was beyond hearing it. He kept pumping like a maniac and I only briefly thought about his nickname. Venom. His breathing was heavy and sweat was pouring off of his whole body. It was wet and smelly and harsh. And then he slowed up a bit. "Ready for the venom?" "Yeah". He thrust one last time and stayed still. I kneaded his large buttocks and kissed him again. We stayed like that for nearly a minute before we were sitting up. He traced a fat finger over my lips. "Are you bleeding?" "Yeah. Or something." I didn't know what what was leaking down, but I suspected that blood was part of it. That and venom. By morning I was home with Miguel in bed next to me. We now live together. It's still new and weird at times, but he's been a good resource for HIV treatment and medical & prescription help. He knows everything and has been so good to me. I really regret nothing.

You know those commercials you hear on the radio or see on TV that promise to qualify you for a career in technology in only six months? Well, I was so desperate at one point in the early 90's that I actually enrolled at one of those places. I had a useless college degree and an almost empty banking account. Those places are almost as depressing as you'd imagine. This "university" was about fifteen minutes from my apartment, in long, one-story brick building next to a few fast-food places. I never once imagined it would really be my ticket to success, but I had run out of options. At least there was plenty of parking. The other guys in my class were formerly in the military and/or prison or just general losers like myself. And mostly unwashed slobs. I swear that whole building smelled of B.O. and drugstore cologne.On the first day we had a "meet and greet" kind of a thing. The instructor was this dumpy old bald guy who looked tired and defeated already. My classmates hovered around the room awkwardly, drinking from plastic cups of soda and just trying to make small talk. There was one group of about five guys laughing and talking loudly like they were at a bar or something. I headed their way when I noticed one student standing off by himself near the back of the room. He was insanely tall -- like 6'8", and he looked really odd and somewhat sickly. For whatever reason I walked up to him and introduced myself. He seemed relieved that someone had approached him and freed him from his isolation. "Thanks, man. I'm Todd. I never know how to make small talk with strangers. Are you scared? I'm scared." "Nah", I replied, "I just don't really have high hopes for this school". "I didn't either....until now". He flashed me a bright smile and I realized he wasn't so odd-looking. Just gawky and in need of some sun. "Are you wearing a watch?" he asked "Yeah", I answered, glancing at my wrist "it's 5:50 pm" "Shit. I gotta take my pills soon", he said as he fished a little plastic box from the front pocket of his shorts. It had been a really warm, windy Spring so I asked if he had allergies. "I'm a hemophiliac..among other things." I knew that meant his body didn't have the ability to clot. If he got a cut of any kind he'd just keep on bleeding. There was a kid in my third grade class with hemophilia and he never played at recess time -- he just sat on the steps and read a book or chatted with the playground monitor. I felt bad for him and I felt bad for Todd. No wonder he didn't interact with people very well. He took a few pills and gulped the rest of his soda as we made our way with the rest of the guys because class seemed to be starting. He sat right next to me because I guess we were friends now. I I was okay with that. He seemed harmless and genuine while everybody else seemed somewhat rowdy. I'm secretly a gay man and I've had plenty of friendships with straight males, but they were the shy, quiet sort. The teacher droned on and on about stuff I assumed everybody would already know. Programming, coding, etc. I took careful notes anyway -- mainly because if I didn't do something I'd doze off. As the boredom continued, I let my eyes wander over to my new friend Todd. His long, slender legs were mesmerizing. His giant tennis shoes fascinated me too. Where on Earth did he buy clothes? I'm really good at checking out men secretly, but I have to wonder if he noticed because through the corner of my eye I saw him stare back at me. Oops. Days and weeks went by and Todd and I didn't really move beyond being casual friends and classmates. We always sat next to each together and would even walk out to our cars side by side but he never asked to go somewhere for a beer or coffee, and I didn't ask him either. He was nice and all, but I really just wanted to go home after the four hours ended. I got bored, skipped a few classes and ended up falling behind in the reading. So one night I stayed late to go to the pathetic little library to make copies of the course outlines which were kept in file cabinet. It was an ultra-depressing, empty place in the basement next to the bathroom. Of course the copier was broken so I considered just stealing the originals and taking them home. It was quiet as a tomb, but I looked over my shoulder anyway. Todd. Long, lanky Todd was silently standing about five feet behind me. "Hey, Stranger", he grinned, "I been wondering where you went". "You found me", I sighed wearily as I closed the file cabinet. "Ready to go?" "In a minute" I answered, "I'm just going to go to the bathroom and head home. Hold on." I grabbed my stuff and left the library. The bathroom was a small room with just two urinals, one toilet stall and a sink. I stood to pee and heard the door swoosh open. Shit! Really? He followed me in here? I'm what they call "pee shy" and can't go if there's somebody near me. It's shameful, but I put my head down and tried to concentrate. He sidled up to the urinal next to me and pulled his shorts down. As much as I tried, I couldn't go. I looked over and at nearly the level of my chest was Todd's engorged dick. He wasn't peeing either I guess. His body might be thin as a stick, but his meat was fat, dark pink and super healthy looking. Well. I'd never go now. I flushed as if I'd already peed and turned to leave. I went to the sink and was about to mimic hand-washing. And then he grabbed me my the shoulder with both hands. Panic. "Wait for me," he said in a tone of voice I hadn't heard come out of him before. The smart thing to do would have been to be cool and slip away when he was unprepared. But no. I tried to bolt and he pushed me face-first into the tiled wall. I was pretty much helpless now. "I want to share my news with somebody and my ma ain't answering her phone". He forced me to the floor in a semi-kneeling position,and turned me around. Then his huge dick was right in my face. He didn't demand it, but I started kissing it anyway. It was just so beautiful and perfect, and I'd fantasized about performing this act on some dude many times. What I hadn't planned on was one of them forcing it past my gag reflex. My fantasies also didn't include me vomiting all over my chin and chest. I could feel him pulse and throb in my throat, and I momentarily feared he's start peeing. No way did I ever want anything like that. No pee came out. Maybe I could just go back to sucking him and this would end. But no. He pulled me up and turned me to the wall again. He was breathing hard and I felt my jeans and underwear being moved down. No way was this happening. I felt Todd's apple-sized penis head move between my ass cheeks. He was so skinny -- I could escape if I fought hard enough. With unexpected strength, he pressed his body into mine and I knew escape was out of the question. "My news..." he moaned directly in my ear, "is that I got HIV now". Holy FUCK! "I get injections made from the blood of strangers and at least one of them had AIDS". What the hell was I supposed to say? "Before it goes any further in my blood, I want to fuck somebody. Just once". I was thinking about that's not how it works when he quickly impaled me. The pain! It was just part of the penis head, but I could not take it. You'd think I'd scream, but only sobs came out of my throat. I was mourning for the life I had just an hour ago. He pressed closer and I could feel his massive tool slide all the way toward my stomach. Surely this was physically impossible. He found a rhythm and kept going in and out, He was either saying "Ssshhhh" or hissing. And then no sound except for his heavy breathing and the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. It was over and I was ruined forever. He waited while I went and sat on the toilet for ten or so minutes. Without words, we then got dressed and then he helped me walk out of the building.

I don't know why I'm changing the names in this story because no one was innocent. Not even me. 1994 I don't like traveling or airports or really anything that breaks up my routine and puts me in a situation where I could face something unfamiliar. But life had already rocked my world when both my parents dies within a year of each other. I'd graduated college, was working and living on my own in a nifty little apartment in a semi-big city. I was 23 and was slowly coming to terms with the harsh fact that I was gay. I'd known it all along, but the realization that it was a permanent state was hard to cope with. So I didn't. I just put it aside and went on with living life. Sure, I beat-off to a few overplayed gay porn videos I'd rented from the seedy little store around the corner, but I didn't dare move beyond the realm of fantasy. Things were fine just the way they were. But then my sister called and asked me to come take a trip with her. She was the first-born and 14 years older than me. She had a really important security job in Washington D.C. and was pretty rich I guess. She had a lot of rich friends too. One of them owned a condo on a North Carolina beach and had offered her up to her for a week during that Summer. My sister "Beth" and I weren't particularly close -- mainly because of the age difference and also because she was a total bitch. I searched my brain files for an excuse to not join her, but couldn't come up with anything believable. She was in security and could detect a lie from twenty paces. So a month later I took a flight to D.C. and stayed the night there in her impressive house. The next morning we drove all the way down to North Carolina. It wasn't a short drive but it was also not unbearably long. We talked about work stuff and safe topics like two strangers would normally do. Once I saw the condo, my spirits brightened considerably. It was gorgeous... three stories tall and surrounded by huge stretches of clean sand and ocean. I'd never seen the ocean in person before and was eager to go get a closer look. We unpacked fast and I told Beth I had to go down and see the Atlantic in person, so to speak. The waves were louder than I would have imagined, and the water was more green than blue. And the beach was completely empty -- maybe because of the time. It was after 7pm and the sun was headed for another part of the globe. I just plopped down in the sand and took it all in. Then two things happened: a really loud explosion came from the North, and a handful of gorgeous men came jogging by at the water's edge. They all had super short haircuts and they were all muscular as hell. And then another one passed. And another. More explosions and more hot men. After I'd gone back to the condo, I mentioned the booming explosions to my sister. She reported that there was a marine base near by. Oh. Well that answered the other question I hadn't asked yet. I was here on a beautiful beach with a bunch of hot, fit, young men. Lucky! We ate a simple dinner in the kitchen with the TV on. Beth had the next day already planned out and it was going to start early. She was already up past her regular bedtime and headed upstairs to sleep. I stayed alone in front of the TV for an hour until I was sure she was in a deep slumber. I was pretty exhausted from traveling and I knew she was too. I maybe stayed sitting for another ten minutes before going to clean up and change clothes. Why? I was going to sneak back to the beach. I just had to. Once I'd spiffed up a bit and dressed, I noticed a liquor bottle on the dresser. The liquid inside was brown. I really knew nothing about drinking back then except that it was good for calming the nerves. It was boozed belonging to a rich person so it had to be good, right? The first sip wasn't too bad, but hit my stomach like a freakin' atomic bomb. I took another pull from the bottle and then another. It was so much less hash by then. Like soda pop almost. One more sip and I was ready to go. I slipped silently out the door and made my way toward the water which was just as loud as it was earlier and I heard boisterous male voices. I could also hear an internal ringing noise -- a kind of non-sound that I attributed to the brown booze. I wasn't drunk or anything, just very excited. Well the beach had been deserted before sundown, but it wasn't now. I saw around six bonfires and assorted lights up and down the beach. The first bonfire I came upon had been abandoned and was gradually dying. There was half a six-pack in front of the fading embers. Just as I was thinking about opening one, dizziness hit me and I had to lie back in the sand. The stars were amazing! I forgot everything else and thought about how nice sleep would feel Yeah. A short snooze and I'd go back...there'd be plenty more men to look at tomorrow. I closed my eyes. "You missed curfew, kid". a deep voice said. Somebody was standing over me. A man. Had I sleeping? I didn't think I had been, but it took me a second to sit up and shake myself back to reality. The fire was still burning as I looked up to see a certified actual marine. Even in the flickering light I could see the telltale haircut. He wasn't as chiseled as some of the dudes I'd seen earlier, but he was tall and as thick as a tree trunk. 'Yeah", I answered back, "I'm about six years late for curfew". "Oh, Sorry. You just look like a teenager". "It's OK. I'm used to it". He dropped down to sit beside me. He reached over and took one of the beers that were discarded there. He handed it to me and then took the next one for himself. I popped it and took a greedy gulp because I was pretty dehydrated. Also a little chilly. The night had gotten cooler and the breeze had a bit of a bite to it. "You partying alone?" He sounded drunk. "Yeah, I guess you could say that". "I did say that, " he chuckled and then stretched out his super-long legs to warm his toes by the fire. Behind me, I was somewhat aware that lights were being slowly snuffed out up the beach. "What about you?", I inquired. a pause "I was WAS at a party, but it wasn't too much fun. Nobody really wanted me there. I could tell. I got sort of a reputation these days". "Why?" He stretched out his left arm and showed me the midget band-aid on his inner forearm where people usually get blood drawn. another pause "Drug test?" i ventured, knowing a little something about the military from a ROTC college roommate I had. "Yeah. But more like a general test for anything to get you kicked out." "Like what?" (I can be so clueless sometimes) "Like DISEASE, kid. Like AIDS", he answered. "Are you sure?" I looked him in the face for the first time. He wasn't what you'd call classically handsome. He had what I'd always thought of a 'fish face' and there were a few acne scars on his cheek that looked deeper in this light than they probably were. "Pretty sure. There's so many damn hookers in this state. If you pay more, you don't gotta use a condom to fuck 'em. I ended up paying anyway. Clinic in town already done told me a month ago". "Sorry". "Me too". We split the last beer and sat in silence for a bit. He looked around...focusing on something over my shoulder. I turned around too and saw only a moonlit beach. We were alone out here. "Let's take a walk," he said standing up. I was in the middle of a hundred thoughts when he reached down and pulled me up. I followed him as he lumbered away. It wasn't so much of a walk as it was a march. We kept going until we were in a little rocky cove right up next to the water. There was still sand here, but also mud and no light beyond what the half-moon offered. How in the hell would I find my way back? He stopped abruptly. "Here", he said with drunken sureness. "Here what?", I wondered. That's when his big hands pushed me down on the sand/mud. I was aware that the wind was knocked out of my lungs at the same time I was aware that the subtle ringing in my ears had started again. Then his giant shadow blocked out all light and I felt a soft something on my lips. It felt soft at least, but when I reached up to brush it away I touched his very hard penis. Holy shit! No way! He wanted me to put that in my mouth. The ocean roared louder. I was about to protest but he had worked into my throat quickly. I gagged and almost vomited before he pulled back a little. "Relax, bitch". He wiped the head of his wet dick across my eyes, cheek and forehead. I involuntarily moaned and he did it again. "You like that, little girl?" Girl? This guy was wasted. He started poking his meat into my right eye...harder and harder. Probably knocked out a contact lens. "OW!" I yelped. "Sorry, baby. Let me make it up to you". That's when he stumbled to his feet and adjusted himself a little. For no reason I had a sudden thought about jellyfish. They could sting you with their legs and put venom under your skin. Then I felt his full weight on top of me. He worked my shorts and underwear down with one hand. Was I even really here? This was not possible. My legs were crazily spread in the air as that slimy dick went right toward my own private butthole. Seriously? I didn't agree to that. No. This was not okay. If I screamed loud enough, somebody would come help. The planned scream got strangled by a cry as he plowed that marine meat deep inside me. "NO! NO! NO!" I yelled in pain. "Shut the fuck up, you fucking whore or I'll bust the teeth out of your mouth". Well I was being fucked just like I'd seen in all those porn movies I'd watched. It couldn't last that long. I just had to wait it out until he pulled out and ejaculated on my chest. That was how it worked. Right? But he broke the rules and started heaving, bucking and gasping as he shot that load directly into my insides. And then he was still. We stayed like that for a good minute or two. Just breathing and recovering. He pulled me up again and led me back to where he'd found me. That small fire had died already, but at least I could now see the condo lights again. It really couldn't be too late at night, could it? Maybe midnight, but no later than that. In what bit of light we had, he pulled off the little bandage from his arm and handed it to me. "Put this in your scrapbook". And then he was gone.

I grew up in the 1970's....when everything was fun and nothing was too serious. At least that's how it seemed at the time. I was living in a little nowhere town in a nowhere Midwestern state. It was the kind of place you'd drive through and not notice a single detail. But I loved it. My best friend Kenny and I lived only three houses away from each other and out parents were friends. We spent every spare second together - especially in the Summer. We'd walk all over town and tell each other outrageous lies and dirty words we'd heard. One of out favorite places to hang out was in a little park right behind this ancient old house that everyone our age absolutely knew was haunted. It was one of those Victorian three-story beasts surrounded by an iron fence and a completely overgrown yard. It had been empty since I can remember. It had probably once been painted white, but every trace of latex had long since weathered away, exposing old rotting wood. I swear, if you saw the Addams family on the front porch, you would not be shocked. Kenny and I used to get as close to that place as we could dare each other to, but we seldom got farther than the fence. A few years later we found ourselves in junior high with deeper voices, bigger frames and hints of facial hair. We barely got any braver, though. But somewhat. Some nights we'd share one of his dad's cigarettes and walk to that old house. I swear we once saw flashes of light - like camera flashes - through the top windows. We ran all the way home. A week or so later we ventured back after dark and one of us had the daring idea to go inside. !! We easily scaled the fence and found ourselves on the sidewalk leading to the front door. It felt terrifying but exhilarating. The second we set foot on the front porch, the structure made a creak that sent us scrambling away. Who knows what happened, but Kenny and I drifted apart in high school. I was more into art, drama and debate while he gravitated toward the greasy, pot-smoking crowd. Things stayed that way for years until I graduated and went away to college in the mid-80's. During one of my regular phone calls home to ask for money, my mom told me that Kenny had a stroke and died. I didn't know quite what to feel except for a small sadness. We hadn't talked in forever and now I guess we never would. I worked hard at school and came home that Summer with every intention of just sleeping late and eating my mom's pretty excellent cooking for three months. It was relaxing but also pretty boring. One late night I found myself going through my room and looking at old junk in my closet. I found so much stuff that reminded me of Kenny. So many things from my childhood were at last partially connected to my old pal in some way. I found myself staring out the window, wishing he were still nearby so we could go do something. It was almost midnight when I crept downstairs and went to the kitchen. I planned on raiding the fridge for leftovers, but grabbed a few of Dad's beers instead. I then silently went out the back door. It was a nice, warm evening with a symphony of frogs and crickets singing in celebration. I walked down a few streets, brazenly downing my beers in public. Who cared? Everybody was asleep and the only law enforcement this county had was one fat-ass sheriff who was probably manning a speed trap miles away on the highway. I got lost in my thoughts as I waked. I was changing as time as going by. I knew I liked guys more than girls. The more I would try to push those feelings down, the more they would sneak into my dreams. It was not a good time to think like that. A cancer had emerged and killed people who thought the way I was starting to think. I tossed my empty can and started drinking the next one when I realized I'd walked all the way to that same old house. Maybe my old pal Kenny had led me here. I climbed over the fence without even really worrying about it or feeling scared. I sat on the front steps and finished my last beer. After I heaved my empty can into corner of the meadow-like yard, I noticed that the night had grown strangely silent. No crickets. No frogs. Nothing. I just noticed it -- it didn't spook me or anything. I stood up, turned around and approached the front door. Well of course it was locked but I pushed anyway. And it opened as the ancient, rusted lock crumbled in on itself. I swear as I opened the door I swear I heard some scuffling from somewhere inside. Raccoons, probably. There was enough of the streetlight and the full moon coming through the ancient windows that I could kind of make out what I was seeing: A big, bare front room that smelled like old dust and mildew. No big deal. And suddenly a small blue light went on about seven feet in front of me. What the?.... "Hey Trespasser -- got a smoke?", a voice said somewhere behind the blue light. I pivoted on my heels and was heading for the door when the light got brighter. Yep. I was going to die now. "Don't go nowheres, ShitHead! Got a cigarette or not?" "No", was all I could manage in a voice that sounded like I was 10 years old all over again. I dared to turn around again. in this brighter light, I could make out the cigarette-wanter. A hobo obviously. In his underwear, shirtless and barefoot. He was a giant beast of a bum, covered with dark body fur. He was really fat and had a full, unkempt beard. "Yer the trespasser here -- I already been livin' here for three whole days and three whole nights". Well, I guess I was guilty then. But really? What could he do? Call the cops? I mustered the ability to say "Sorry, man. I was just checking things out. I'll just go now. Take care". I turned to leave. Suddenly there was an inhumanly-big arm around my neck. "You done busted my door, Trespasser. You gonna pay to fix it?" He wasn't actually choking me, but I was still finding it hard to breathe. I felt the rancid air in his lungs wash over the top of my head. He sniffed. "You been drinkin', little man?" 'J-just a few beers", I answered. 'Shit. I ain't had me beer in months. I thought I'd done been cured of wanting it while I was in prison out in Colorado. But I still want one almost every goddamned day". He spun me around to face him. I looked up and saw that we wasn't ugly at all. Maybe a little dirty with some serious bad body odor, but this fat giant was not without appeal. Maybe the blue light from his little lantern was making me see things. He was Bluto from the "Popeye" cartoons. "Come here and have a seat", he instructed as he drug me over to a pile of old blankets, ancient coats and a few dirty throw pillows. He plopped me down on my ass and then settled his bulk right next to me. He was still in his underwear and I could make out an arching hard-on pushing the fly to its limits. For a reason only the primal part of my brain knows, I reached over to touch the bulge. I wanted to see it uncovered. I wanted to see it really, really badly. "No no no", he said, "that fucker between my legs is poisonous as a rattlesnake now. You can keep going but it ain't going to end well for you. I ended up catchin' some lethal shit in a prison in California". I wasn't thinking of his words, I yanked down his filthy underwear and gazed in awe at the giant, magnificent piece of uncut meat now bobbing in the blue light. It didn't look diseased in the least. I bent down and took the big cock head in my mouth. THIS. This is what I'd secretly wanted for over a year now. i tasted every flavor and wasn't turned-off by any of them. I could do this for hours. But Bluto had other ideas as he pulled my head off his dick. "Uh oh, You went and done it now. Get ready." Huh? "It'll be easier if you kneel down on all fours -- like this". He flipped me over and I was suddenly posed like the Sphinx staring straight down at a granny-ish throw pillow with a toy poodle stitched on the front. I stayed like that for a few seconds while he adjusted himself right behind me. His big ol' gut was resting on my lower spine. Sex? Gay Man Sex was happening? Now? Really? All doubts were remove as I felt that big penis explored my ass crack. "I can try and pull out in time, but I ain't promisin' nothin". That made no sense to me. I mean, what? Then the tip of his dick poked into my bare hole and it felt like fire. SHIT!!! I was trying to form a protest, but his giant hand reached around and closed over my mouth. I distantly thought of the sheriff and semi-wished he'd come in here with his gun drawn and then help me escape. That didn't happen as this man kept pushing deeper inside of me. And then deeper despite the screams I was issuing through those fat fingers over my lips. A pause. He was all the way in and moaning with pleasure that I sure wasn't feeling. It starting hurting a little less with each thrust. And just when I was able to catch my breath, he stopped. Long pause as he groaned and then yelled "Oh Fucking YEAH!!". It was over? He collapsed on top of me and stayed there while my thoughts went everywhere and nowhere. And I could go nowhere with his mass still on top of me. But then he climbed off and sat against a wall as I put my clothes back on. My ribs ached and my ass was still burning. And leaking. My neck and shoulders were sore as well. I guess the batteries in his lantern were starting to die, because the blue light was dimming and flickering a bit. I wished I had some cash to give him because he needed so much. But I didn't have anything so I headed for the door. "Hold up", he called after me. "Yer probably going to get sick with the flu n a week or two. Take aspirin and drink water and you'll feel better soon." "OK. Gotta go. Take care". i wished my house was closer because it was hard to walk with the pain that ran all through me. I wished Kenny was walking with me with a cigarette we could share. I wished many things on that painful walk, but none of those wishes came true.

I live only a few blocks from one of the saddest, seediest gay bars in the city. It's only four blocks away so I usually walked there with no worries about how plastered I'd get. It was called "Silver's" for whatever reason and the patrons were a mixture of older gentlemen, drug dealers & users, and hustlers. I myself had been mistaken for a hustler because I always arrived by myself, played pinball for hours and never talked to anyone. It didn't help that I dressed like a bum and looked very boyish. Once the regulars knew I always came and left alone, no one ever bothered me again. I don't mean to, but I give off some very anti-soical vibes. If I'd get bored with pinball, I'd usually sit at a table clode to the pool table and watch the game while polishing off bottle after bottle of cheap beer. I would rarely strike up a conversation with anyone because I suck at small talk, flirting and stuff like that. I mostly listened to the men talking. I'm a freelance writer and find all people interesting. The old guys always had great stories, and if I wasn't so shy, I would have sat down on an empty stool next to one of them and asked questions. The dealers were all business and didn't chat with each other. The hustler and users were mostly interghangeable or else they were both. They had great conversations about pure deprivation. I'd watch them go and out to the parking lot multiple times an hour but didn't know if they were using or blowing somebody. Or both. For whatever reason, some silly. little guy decided to befriend me. His name was "Tweety", and he was a tiny, skinny, pesky little fairy who never shut up. He'd chatter on and on like canary while I tried to just ignore him. Eventually, I gave up and would talk with him. It was through my new friendTweety, that I started to meet some of the gang st Silver's and learn their names. We'd bum smokes from each other and buy rounds for the crew of low-lifes that I guess I was now a part of. No big deal. I was a bit more educated and way less experienced than they were, but we were all basically the same. Ome night, the pinball machine was dark and out of order so I just walked up to where Tweety was sitting and we started talking. The regulars filtered in and I couldn't help but notice that three or four of them had oversized bandages on their arms and hands. I assumed it was a drug thing and didn't ask questions. They all seemed flush with cash and bought round after round of shots. I loosened up quite a bit and finally their injuries. They looked at each other with small,secretive smiles but wouldn't answer me directly. It had to be a drug thing. Then Tweety pulled me aside and told me they let this one guy cut them for money. What the fuck? He thought I knew because I had so many cutting scars on my inner arm. He assumed I was in on the whole thing. I stood there, looking blankly at him. My scars were from a depressed period I'd gone through a decade or more earlier. Cutting my arms made me feel better for some bizarre reason. Once he was convinced of my cluelessness, he explained that there was a rich artist living downtown who hired boys to let him cut them a little snd then use the blood in his "work". "has he ever cut you?", I asked. "Only once. My body is too precious and beautiful to be ruined with a damn razor blade," he answered with a dramatic fluttering of his eyelashes. "What's his name?" I wanted to know because it sounded like the kind of twisted story I was always trying to write. "Carlos. I can't remember his last name, but I know it's hard to pronounce. Why? Do you want to make some money?" No No No. "I just want to interview him". "Well, I'll give you his number. I only keep it because he always has good speed". Tweety copied it down on the inside of matchbook for me. I was pretty blasted from all the shots so I headed home. "Be careful", Tweet called out as I weaved toward the door. I think I heard the whole group laugh at me. I stumbled home, fell asleep with my clothes on and dreamed of hospitals. I woke up groggy and slowly started to remember the previous night and the bizarre story of this "Carlos" guy. I stumbled nakedly to where I'd tossed my jeans and found the matchbook. I knew if I had a morning cigarette and a cup of coffee, I'd scare myself out of calling. So I just did it right away. "Hello? Carlos here," an exhausted voice answered, I guess he was a late sleeper too. "I'm sorry to wake you, Sir. My name is Tim and someone named 'Tweety' gave me your number". "Oh". he chuckled smokily, "Him. You need stuff?". "No. He told me about your ... art, and I am very curious to see it and talk with you." "Are you with a newspaper or tv?' "Neither. I just find it interesting and wanted to know more". (silence) "Hello?" "I'm still here.", he finally said, "Write down my address and stop by anytime after 8 o'clock tonight". Tonight? I wasn't expecting to meet this weirdo so soon. It was more my style to put off things until I forgot about them. I wrote the address and wondered if I'd actually go through with it. The day slogged on and on for an eternity before the sun even thought about going down. Around six-thirty, I showered, shaved and got dressed. I wore my new black Levis, my new white sneakers and one of my nicest shirts. Why in the world was I dressing like I was going on a date? I was going to meet some drug dealer "artist" who bled street sluts. Even as I struggled to understand my motives, I sparayed some cologne on. At 7:40 I just couldn't wait any more. Parking downtown is sometimes difficult so I figured just finding a space would eat up some time. I took off and found the place almost right away. What's amazing is that I didn't talk myself out of it. I looked up at the building. These were nice lofts that not many people could afford. I buzzed him at the doorway and waiting for an agonizing two minutes before he answered. and let me in. The interior was very elegant but also ghostly. I rode the elevator to the sixth floor. As I got out, two young guys entered. They both had bandaged arms and were whispering excitedly to each other. They didn't even notice me. I walked to his door and knocked. "It's open." a voice answered. "Come on in". Huh? What kind of rich drug dealer leaves his door unlocked? I walked in. The place was as big as a bus station with really high ceilings. It smelled strongly of paint thinner and there was giant sheets pf clear plastic on the hardwwood floor. Paint cans, canvasses, brushes and other assorted art crap were everywhere. What struck me first was that I assumed artists used oil paints in tubes, but these were cans of hardware store-type stuff that you'd paint your garage with. The second thing I noticed was how ugly the colors were...assorted shades of browns, greys and sickly yellows. It was like Easter in Hell. And it was all lit up brightly. Then I saw him in a far corner. It had to him. He was tall and exotic looking. He was not wearing anytthing but some way-short cutoff jean shorts. He was skinny. bearded. hairy and haad tiny spots of paint all over him. I didn't get a good look at his face because he was kneeling down next to some kid who appeared to be sobbing. He was speaking in a low, comforting tone. The young dude finally collected himself and sniffed all his way to the door with his shoelaces undone. He didn't see me but I noticed his arm left arm was wrapped in snow-white gauze. Busy night I guess. He padded barefoot all the way to me with a walk that made me think of a stage magician. Dramatic. He stood about a foot away and sized me up. "Hi. Are you Carlos? I'm Tim". I reached out to shake his hand and his expression changed. "You've been here before, haven't you?" "Um. No. I haven't." He quickly grabbed my arm in his big, bony hands and exposed the underside of my right wrist. "So where'd you get these?" He was referring to all my old scars from yesteryear. "Oh. Those...those are pretty old." He tilted his head a bit and I described who I was and reminded him that I'd called him this morning. "Ah yes", he said with a smile, "Come have a seat. But take your shoes and socks off first. If you're barefoot, you can feel when you walk in paint. With shoes on, you could track paint everywhere and not know it". Made sense. I did as instructed and followed through his cavernous front room to a couple of really nice easy chairs. "Watch where you step...and don't trip." I sat down but he remained standing. "I'm sure I have paint on my shorts so I can't sit down." he said. He looked at me for a bit and then added "Oh Hell with it. I've had a long day and my legs ache". He stepped out of his jean shorts distractedly and settled into the other chair with an audible sigh of comfort. He was completely naked. And maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like him it took him a second too long to strip because I got a good long look at his hairy ass and oversized dick. Shit. I needed to collect myself. "Tell me about your artwork", i said quickly. "Walk over to that wall", he said while gesturing towards the space near where'd I walked in. There was a row of fresh, glistening canvasses. And they were fucking ugly. Hoe was this guy rich? I looked closer at the first one and still found it hideous, but also intriguing somehow. I looked closer and suddenly he was directly in my ear. "What's the verdict, Mr. Curious?" I couldn't really answer. I also couldn't turn around because he was naked. I'm so glad I hadn't drank anything because I felt the need to be in control now. "Tell me about your process", I finally said. "why don't I show you my process". Oh. Okay. He was still naked as I followed him over to another corner. He was still naked and I walked on paint. Control. I needed to maintain some. There was a wooden stool in between a blank canvass on an easel and a small refridgerator. "Please sit." He rummaged in the fridge for a few seconds and then closed the door without taking anything out. "I'll be right back, Mr. Curious. Stay put." I of course watched his bony naked frame walk all the way across the room before disappearing through a dark doorway. He came back with a lighter and a glass pipe in his hand. I knew enough about stuff to know this was meth or crack or speed. "Hope you don't mind. I need to wake up." I watched, fascinated. "I'm out of special paint somehow." He lamented. With an arched eyebrow he asked me if I'd like to volunteer a tiny amount of blood. Hell NO. I had to get out of there. He shrugged. "I promise you're safe here. You won't be harmed." Well. "I'll give you five hundred bucks". Well! I sat silently as he picked up a little orangle box and opened it and produced a new, factory-sealed razor blade. He deliberately unsheathed in front of me and let me see it was completely new and flawless. "You can make the cut yourself. I usually like to do it, but we both already know you're experienced." Quick as a flash, his arm came around and he injected a syringe into my rib cage. Fucking what??? "Don't worry. It was just a litttle something to keep the cut from clotting too fast. And slso some....caffeine to give you energy". This was the point we all reach sometimes, and just let things happen without caring anymore. I could feel the caffeine working its way to my heart. Suddenly this all seemed okay. "How big? How deep?", I asked in a calm voice. "Very small. And just deep enough to get a good bleed going." I finally looked him in the face and noticed how handsome he was and how black his hair was. 'Dark Jesus' is what I heard in my head. He handed me the new razor very delicately and i pinched it between my two fingers. It was all so familiar. In my mind, I was back in the bathroom of my parents' house, sitting on the edge of the tub. I studied the underside o0f my arm and saw that same blue vein I'd hacked at as a kid. Too quickly and carelessly, I made a cut right on top of Old Blue. It was larger and deeper than I'd intended. I was gushing. "Strip!", he commanded, "You'll ruin your clothes". And I did just that. I stood up and let the wide rivulet of bright red blood flow out of me. It felt good. It felt like old times. The caffeine he'd given me was making me feel happy and excited. I volunteered to do it again, "Slow down Hot Rod", he admonished as he tried to capture my dripping blood in a tiny jar. I felt the blade drop out of my hand because my fingers were getting cold and weak. I stumbled a little, and he helped me settle on the wooden stool. I was grinning like a monkey as I heard my fresh blood spattering noisily on the plastic below me. It was loud. Did I really cut that much? I didn't mean to. I hoped he wasn't mad. It was suddenly important to me that I please him. He told me to hold the wounded arm above my head if I could. Sure. "You fucking better not pass out on me", he warned. "I won't," I promised as tiny streams of blood dripped down my neck, back and chest. "You've really got very vibrant red material in that arm". He showed the full jar he'd collected. I wobbled a tiny bit and grinned dreamily at him. "But I want to try the other arm -- just to see if it's a little more interesting than the other one." Well, that made perfect sense. He moved a standing lamp closer so he could see the non-bleeding arm I was holding out. He grabbed a blade that was already on his work tablebefore I had a chance to tell him I'd dropped the fresh one. Under the bright light he studied my network of veins. As I looked down I noticed his long bare feet below which were covered with blood and paint. Actually, the whole floor was flooded with red. Not my mess to worry about. "What did you say?" he asked as he looked at me tenderly. I hadn't realized I'd said anything out loud. For whatever reason I said "I love you". He didn't respond. Just made a fast, fresh gash on the untouched arm. He couldn't be mad at me now because his cut was even more severe than the one I'd made. The dam had burst and my blood was going everywhere. I felt so dizzy. I said domrthing about needing to lie down. Where were those comfy chairs? I could face them together and sleep on the cushions. I neede to get to them before I passed out. I'd better hurry. I stepped a liitle too quickly because the bloody, paint-soaked plastic cause me to slip and fall on my back. Ahh. This was as good as a chair. I almost drifted off. I almost didn't notice Carlos lower himself on top of me. I wanted this. I'm pretty sure he gave ne another needle to my ribs and say something about a substance that would control the bleeding. I guess it wasn't working fast enough for him because he kept muttering "shit shit shit". He straddled my chest with his long legs and was smoking that pipe again. I asked to try it and he held to my lips and flicked the lighter as I inhaled the fires of Hell. Now I was starting to come alive again. It made me so happy to see him inhale more as well because I wanted him to be happy. I started to try and ask him if he was feeling good, but he was lifting my bare legs in the air and positioning his long hairy prick up against my hole. Nice. That felt right. For a brief second I remeber he had some paint on the pointy head of his dick and that worried me more than anything. A strange dick with no condom was inside me but I was more worried about paint in my bloodstream. Not too worried -- just a little worried. He bucked those slim hips in and out of me as we slid all over the wet plastic. It was almost comical....like a 'Tom and Jerry' cartoon or something. But then he came audibly...and emptied his seed inside of my ass. Was I still bleeding? Was I dying? Both? I wandered some other things when Carlos covered me with a few layers of unstretched canvas. It was a little scratchy but warm. I drifted into dreams of colors and art. Would I wake up alive? Probably.

Remember 'yahoo groups'? I sure do. About a decade ago. I belonged to several dozen of them. There was a group for every kink and fetish you can imagine. I always thought of myself as deeply perverted and used to try find the most depraved folks I could to chat with. It was harmless fun until my whole world came crashing down. My mom died from a sudden heart attack and only weeks after her funeral, my dad was diagnosed with stomach cancer that had already spread to his bones. He was being moved into a hospice just as I had a mental breakdown. I quit my job, shut out all my friends and started drinking all day. Rum and Diet Coke was my only nourishment for weeks. At night I haunted those yahoo groups and finally found one that really stood out. It was for men (mostly gay I'd guess) who wanted to get the shit beat out of them OR who wanted to beat the shit of someone else. I was probably pretty wasted when I sent a message to this group asking if anyone would be willing to beat me to death. I wanted to die and didn't have the courage to off myself. It was worded pretty straightforward. I figured it was worth a shot because, I mean, there are so many weirdos online that I figured I'd at least find some leads or suggestions. Well, the normal dudes came out of the woodwork to express sympathy and urge me to get help. I was too far gone for help. I wanted to die. Then the replies dried up and so I moved on. I was working out a plan to get a double prescription of Xanax from my clueless doctor, when an email arrived from a guy who called himself "Joe". He lived one whole state away but was familiar with my city since he'd grown up here. He was game, but needed some inspiration. He wanted me to write out my death fantasies explicitly. He liked that I called him "Killer Joe" and I'm not a half-bad writer so he was pleased with the stuff I sent him. Even though I didn't ask him to, he sent long emails detailing his own murderous fantasies...most of which involved shooting up steroids, viagra and assorted drugs. He would wear big boots he'd use to flatten my balls before breaking my spine and stealing my wallet. It became a story-sharing email relationship that I started to get bored with. I blew him off and went back to wallowing in my private misery. And then he sent an email with the subject "See You Next Week". He was coming here! For real! I responded in a rare sober moment and asked him if we could really for real arrange my death. The answer was "yes", but I had to follow his instructions exactly. I had to find an isolated spot somewhere near an area with a lot of crime and be there just before sunrise with no phone or wallet on my person. I was also supposed to destroy the computer we'd talked on and leave fake clues all around my house. He suggested random phone numbers written on scraps of paper. He told me to buy maps of various states (not his) and draw arrows and circles in red narker. He really seemed to know his shit and I wondered if he'd done this before. ?? He would be here on Saturday night and told me to get ready for Sunday morning...my last morning ever. He said to wear a yellow sweatshirt and to put 300 bucks in my eight back pocket. That was his fee. After a few more emails we decided the best spot for this would be a rundown park just off an avenue where hookers were always going missing. I knew just where it was. I agreed to everything. The night before, I trashed my computer, poured a full rum and coke drink into the modem. I also squirted Super Glue into every open port. That was that. The sweatshirt I had was more orange than yellow, but I knew Killer Joe would recognize me. It practically glowed in the dark. I left maps and fake phone numbers all over my living room. I also left a note apologizing to a fictional person named "Lou". Fake leads to keep Joe safe. At 5 am Sunday morning, I made a very strong drink and put three crisp hundred dollar bills in my pack pocket. The sun wasn't up yet, but it was raining so the sky was misleading. It was a fifteen minute drive so I took off. I'd already given my dog away so there was nobody to say 'good-bye' to. I was on the road. I parked in front of a boarded-up nightclub on dead hooker street and made my way down a steep, muddy trail down to the sad, sad park. A headless child had been found here a few years ago. There were a few picnic tables there and a passed-out bum was lying on top of one of them. Still raining. I didn't care about getting wet, considering what I was there for. Despite the weather, a single ray of the ghetto sunrise broke through. I moved further down the path and the muddy puddles had soaked my shoes, socks and hems of my jeans. I suddenly felt stupid. There was no "Killer Joe" coming. He was just an internet kook who was probably a hundred miles from here now. I'm really dumb sometimes. The sun was almost completely up anway. As I started to turn around, I felt a horrific whack ot the back of my head. I staggered, tried to regain my stance but then slipped backwards in the mud. I looked up and saw a compact muscle guy gesturing wildly like a maniac. Killer Joe. He was blonde which I never would have expected.. A frat boy gone crazy. He hauled me to my feet and then punched me in the jaw so hard that I' prettty sure a couple of my back teeth were loosened. Pain. Bad, bad pain. He had a small bag with him and proceeded to pull some syringes out of it. It was still too dark to see what was in them, but I'm almost certain one of them contained blood. The phrase "Blood in the mud." appeared in my brain. Surely there was a band or horror movie with that name. He injected each needle into my neck while I did nothing to stop him. Then a big, black boot came down and stomped me in the stomach. If I didn't hurt so bad, I would have tried to escape. I just gave up and lied there helplessly. He straddled my chest and started pounding my face with his fists. My whole head was numb so I missed out on probably half the pain I should have felt. I probably have also noticed him pull down his pants and beat off. I might have enjoyed seeing him do that but just couldn't think or feel right then. He came into his hand and smeared the cum all over my bloody mouth. It was morning now. The rain had stopped. "I'm still alive", in a hoarse voice that sounded like something from a movie. He was spent and annoyed. He reached back into the bag his needles came from, took out a hunting knife and plunged it right into my heart. Or at least he thought it was my heart. Wrong side. But I was bleeding so heavily from the puncture that his mood instantly improved. He injected me with one more syringe and then decided to beat off again. This time he put the head of his cock directly into my chest wound as he came. Unbelievable. And then he was gone. Some walker or jogger saw me that morning and I was taken to the hospital. There are severe infections in my neck and it's hard to talk, I plan on staying silent as long as I can. The longer I say nothing, the further Killer Joe can run.

They're tearing down my old high school. I refer to it as "my high school" even though I only went there two years. I switched schools because I was bullied so bad. Bullied for being girlish, acting weird and finally --for being short. This was in the mid 80's when bullying was just a part of growing up and nobody reported anything and teachers looked the other way. I was called a 'fag' so many times that last year and shoved into lockers so often, it's amazing I didn't kill myself. I considered it often back then. At the center of it all was this guy I'll call 'Matt'. The fact that I'm changing his name to protect him is the ultimate in irony. His parents and my parents were old friends so I'd know him since preschool days. We lived in a farming area and were technically neighbors despite living nearly two mies apart. He was year older than me. My mom always hated him. He was trouble -- even as a little kid. He constantly picked on me and wanted to do tough boy stuff while I wanted to just have imaginary adventures where were explorers or astronauts or something. He liked to initiate fights of any kind and I just went along with it. He'd want us to throw dirt clods at dirt clods at each other or those little white driveway rocks. He was sometimes nice but mostlty mean. But he was like a magnet and I was drawn to him even though he was a cruel, cruel boy. None of this changed over the years. When we were in junior high, he showed me a dirty magazine and told me how to beat off. The year adfter that he taught me how to smoke and then eventually he got me drunk for the first time. And all along, he still wanted to fight. He'd get me in headlocks or twist my arm behind my back. He was also a bragger. His dad more money than mine, his house was nicer than mine, he was taller and stronger and on and on. Then highshcool happened and, Dear God, what a nightmare. Everybody changed. They all turned into adults and I still looked like I was nine years old. Plus. I had to get glasses which made me even more of an oddball. Even though it was a small school, Matt managed to disappear into his own crowd of tough guys who smoked and had learner's permits. I, of course,had flunked Driver's Ed. Driving terrified me -- which meant I was further isolated from kids my age. And like every rural town back then, all the kids were smoking weed which I'd never even seen or smelled in person. During all this, people started noticing my girlish tendencies and my high voice. Boom, I was a target. "Sissy", "Queer", "Queer Bait", "Homo", "Faggot" were among the things I was called. You'd think Matt would feel some tiny bit of kinship or shared history and stick up for me once in a while, but no. Most of my abusers were his pals. The very last time we ever talked he told me not to sit near him during pep rallies or assemblies. High school was going great for him and didn't want my association with him to spoil it. And then I dropped out. I did well at my new school and graduated near the top. I made a few great friends and then went off to college where I was exceptional in every class. I moved to a big city and landed a terrific job. My voice had deepened and my body filled out. Ny height maxed out at only 5'8", but that really doesn't count as "short" to the general poulation. Everything was going swell. Adding to my genral happiness was the reports from hometown I'd get during weekly phone chats with the parents. Mike S. had died in a car crash, Luke B. had killed himself, Mack J. was in prison. Each tidbit of news like that fed my soul. I won! On top of that. the whole town had gone to shit thanks to the sudden appearance of hard drugs. My folks are pretty square so they didn't know which drugs exactly except that5 they could be used with a pipe or a needle. That could have been a few different subtances, but as long is it laid waste to that rotten place I was glad it had arrived. When I asked about Matt my mom was all too eager to repeat rumors she'd heard from her friends. He was unemployed and still living at home. He was also fat and grubby-looking and, according to her, would hang out in a trailer with fellow druggies shooting up the drugs they bought. Ha! He stumbled and went down while I was completely happy and successful. I won! I hit my early 30's and the state had swarmed in and cleaned up that whole county. Lots of people were arrested and drug houses were demolished. The town tried to come back with new sidewalks and landscapes. And then they decided to tear down my old high school and build a new one. Oh how I wanted to witness the demolition in person! I went down that Summer to stay with my parents for a week of vacation. On a sunny, warm Saturday they were having a "walk through" of the school before they started auctioning off the light fixtures, toilets, bricks etc. My dad was excited about it because he loved auctions of any kinf and I was excited because I wanted to piss on the walls or vandalize a classroom or something like that. Yeah, it may seem emtionally unhealthy but that was the place that made me this way. So we went to town that morning. I expected to feel happy to see the boarded-up building, but just thw shape of it caused my chest to tighten up. I didn't breathe the whole time it took Dad to find a parking space. My legs were shaking. I had to man up. I was still a fag, but I was a winning fag. I was also pretty much unrecognizable from the kid I used to be, but that didn't stop me from petting my sunglasses on. I didn't want them to see me coming. We saw a bunch of older guys in overalls and my dad needed to talk to each one of them. The walk through had been going on for half an hour by the time we got to the entrance. It hit me the second we got in. It smelled exactly the same and even though there was no electricity, I could tell the walls were exactly the same stupid pale blue they'd been for decades. I had to take my sunglasses off because there were no lights and more than halfthe windows were boarded up. It was dark but you could still navigate down the halls. Everybody had moved to the second floor already. I guess that's where most of the valuable stuff was (computers, copiers, library books). My dad was in the middle of a bunch of other farmers he knewheading up the stairs and they were busy with their chatter. I found myself alone in the first floor hallway, right in front of the princepal's office. I wanted to go in there and piss on the desk of the man who did nothing to protect me. I would have done just that, but stragglers kept wandering in. I let myself into the gym instead. This had been a place of torture as well. I walked across the basketball court and wished I had to take shit. A couple of turds right on top of the achool logo would hace been a perfect farewell. I went all the way back to where the locker rooms were. It still smelled like dirty balls even though no students had been through there for six or seven months. It's that moment that I realized the structure itself wasn't my tormenter. The stupid kids were, and they had long since gone. The hate and the need for revenge drained out of my body. I just felt tired and bored. Oh well...maybe I'd just pee and go wait outside for Dad. Where the urinals always that small? That's when I heard "Looking for something special?" from somewhere in the shadows behind me. Emerging into a sliver of light was Matt himself. I barely recognized him. He was wearing dirty denim overalls that accentuated his huge gut and had a full, bushy red beard like a bootlegger from "Coal Miner's Daughter" or something. He wa a few inches taller, but didn't exactly tower over me like he used to. He looked completely different but not like how I imagined a drug user to look. Weren't they all skeletal? He sure wasn't. Just dirty and generally unhealthy. "I wouldn't have known who you were if I hadn't saw you walk in with your dad." I could tell from how he talked that he was missing a few teeth. I didn't feel all that scared like you'd think I would. I really didn't feel anything that could be named accurately. He moved closer. "Got nothin' to say to say to yer old buddy?" No. I didn't. I wanted to leave. He stepped even closer and I could smell his B.O. and a hint of alcohol. Then he was just a few inches away. God, his face looked like shit. The drugs hadn't made him thin but they had sure done their damage to his skin. I was searching for something to say when the last thing I ever expected happened. He was hugging me. Huh?! No. I was wrong. He was trying to get me involved in a wrestling match. Seriously? I was bigger and stronger and could fight back now. I pushed him off of me only to have him tackle me again. I landed ghard on the concrete floor and the wind was compltely knocked out of me. I couldn't breathe as he got me in a bear hug again, then lifted me up and carried me back to the shower area. Another fall on my back and this time the back of my head was slammed as well. I saw the edges of my vision blur as the pain overwhelmed me. He stood back a little and leaned against the wall next to the shower nozzles. I collected myself as quick as I could and started to stand up, but I stumbled and Matt actually reached with one of his fat hands to help me up. I was busy trying to fill my lungs with air while he pulled a pint of rum or something from his back pocket and took a swig. He offered me a sip and I shook my head. No. I stood up straight and tall and steeled myself for this. What in the world did I have to be scared of? This fat mess? "You got stronger. Been workin' out?" he said while thumping my chest with his bottle-free hand. "No", I said in a voice that was way deeper than he would have ever imagined,"but that was the very last time you'll ever touch me. Got it?" "No, but I got this," he drawled as he pulled a fat prick head out of the fly of his grimey overalls. I didn't move. I was frozen, and he must have taken my inaction as fascination because he pushed the whole organ out for me to see. A flood of weird memories back to me. His dick looked like a lightbulb. The shaft was short and skinny and the head was perfectly round and oversized. I knew that dick. I remembered right then that he hadn't told me how to beat off...he'd shown me. In flashes I saw us walking alongside a creek in his dad's pasture where he started wrestling me again. He'd sat on my chest and quickly stroked his little member up and down for a few seconds before squirting some stinky cream all over my neck and shirt collar. I also remember him guiding that thing into my underage mouth nearly a dozen times that year. I'd blocked it all out. I felt the hate and anger coming back in waves as he stroked his gross meat. I snatched the bottle out of his free hand and took a long swig of what I guessed to be whiskey, not rum. "Here's what you don't get, asshole. You lost and I won! I got out of this shit town and you didn't move an inch. Still living with ma and pa, are you? I have a career, a sweet car and my own home. What do YOU have?! Nothing! YOU LOST! I WON!" I was yelling with a force that was dug up from somewhere deep down inside me. "My, my, my." he said in a slightly slurred voice as he moved a little ways away before adding "I got something you don't." "What?? A drug habit? DUIs? Needle marks?". I barked. I grew bold and grabbed his left arm to inspect for tracks. There weren't any. Huh? That's when he swung his fist around and caught me squarely in the cheek. I didn't hit the floor this time. Rage was keeping me upright like a steel structure, but it sure fucking hurt. "I never shot in my arm. Cops look for that. Me and my girls always used the veins in our feet. Look..." he stepped out of his size 13 sneakers, peeled off the filthy socks and showed me his gross feet. A couple of toes were swollen and scabby. Infection lived down there for sure. As I gazed at them, he made quick work of unstrapping his overalls and lifting off his shirt. Then he stepped out of the smelly denim and was completely nude. His big fat stomach just bobbed there unashamedly. What the hell?? It would have been a good time to run, but he was still a magnet, keeping me close. It was with a bizarre sense of loyalty or intimacy that I knelt to the floor and wrapped my mouth around the fat head of his dick. I was just noticing how clean it seemed compared to the rest of him when he grabbed the back of my head and started a slow thrusting. It was all so familiar. He groaned and said a few things that I barely heard above the sound of my heartbeat. "Strip", he commanded as he stood there with his shiny, wet dick bobbing beneath his gut. I did so without thinking too much of anything. He sized me up and handed me the bottle. "I..." "Don't talk. Just drain that fucker cuz you're gonna need it in a second." I swallowed it all down and let the bottle fall from my numb hand. It didn't break, just bounced noisily into a corner. And then we had one last wrestling match for old time's sake. He had me pinned after he knew all my fight was gone. Then I was kneeling on the floor and he was on my back with his wet prick aimed exactly where I wanted him to aim it. It hurt like hell when he tried to get that fat head in my hole, but i didn't even have the strength to yell. The worst of the pain didn't last all that long anyway. After a minute, it was just me with my forehead down on the floor, feeling his blubber squooshing around on my spine and his little torpedo pivoting in and out of my guts. He was talking again. "You didn't win nothin' that I'm not taking from you now." Then he roared as he blasted his nasty cum deep inside me. He collapsed on top of me and lied there for about half a minute. He got up. I could hear him shuffling around and thought he was getting dressed. That's when a stream of hot, smelly liquid hit my back. He was pissing on me. Of course. He'd won and deserved his victory, I guess. I lost everything.

Don't mess around with the occult. Seriously. I know. I know... It's all nonsense and unscientific. I am with you on that for the most part. I was an athiest who laughed when members of my family tried to get me to ACCEPT JESUS and REPENT. I was also amused by those chubby women who called themselves "wiccans" and would burn candles at midnight or whatever the fuck they did. I also rolled my eyes at devil-worshipping dudes who wore black eyeliner and had had stupid pentagram tattoos and listened to crappy metal bands. Those people just had boring lives and wanted some daily drama. I didn't actively mock them because most folks need a hobby and I was of the "live and let live" school of thought. It's great fodder for horror movies but ultimately harmless. That's what I used to think back I had the luxury to be above everything. Now that I'm too sick too hold down a job, I'm quite a bit more humble. I did something 'supernatural' that ruined me forever. First, a little background: I graduated college in 1993. During my last year, I lived in what most people called "the student slums". I had a two room basement apartment in a big red house on a street right off campus. It was affordable and fairly nice except for an abundance of spiders. Spiders give me nightmares even though they're mostly harmless. Right across from my door was the other basement apartment. The only thing I knew about its tenant was it was a guy my age and that he listened to old ragtime music. I'd glimpse him from time to time at the mailboxes or in the hallway, but I was (and still am) cursed with a crippling shyness that prevented me from saying "hi" or even looking at his face. He was tall, pale, bony and had black curly hair that went down to the middle of his neck in the back. Imagine a blurry, young Jeff Goldblum and that's the image I had in my head. I kind of deduced that he was gay as well. He had a lot of effeminate male friends over to visit, and he just gave off a 'vibe' that I picked up on because I was gay as well. I was gay in name only though because I could never imagine doing anything with another man. But it was more the social interraction that terrified me. I've never been able to initiate conversation or even eye contact. Small talk with a stranger scared me more than any spider. His name was David H --------. I only knew that from reading the plastic lable on his mailbox. Looking back, it's amazing that I even managed to graduate (with very good grades) and soon find the job of my dreams. Working as an adult, around other adults slowly gave me some basic social skills. Hell, I even had a few 'friends'. I didn't go out much. I'd come home, play Nintendo, and go to bed watching gay porn videos from Falcon. Those were the days! I was young, healthy and slowly becoming a normal person. After a year or two, I discovered the internet. I got a computer from Best Buy and had a dial-up connection. Back then, it was so basic. You mainly had to go to "bulletin boards" to interact with people. Not surprisingly. I was able to "talk" with people with a keyboard much better than I could in person. I didn't go to my little city's only gay board out of pure embarrassment, but I went to a couple of hetero places that were "naughty". I found out their names from the stripper/hooker who kived in my building. One place was for swingers and one dealt exclusively with orgies. There's where I met Lacy Beth. She had a wonderfully foul mouth and a huge personality. She sometimes chatted with me when the room was dead or she was just bored. Because of my age and general naivete, she referred to me as her son. We talked about everything under the sun -- including her deep involvement in the occult. When I told her I was a confirmed skeptic, she was almost offended. It's like she thought I didn't believe in her as a person. As I stumbled to explain she told me she could prove it to me. Proof is an excellent concept for people like me. That's when she told me a certain ritual she did to contact her dead grandmother and it worked the very first time. She had stopped cussing now, so I knew she was being serious. I asked a bunch of questions...here are the main ones: "Is it scary?" No. We talk all the time and she's the same as I remember her. "Does it only work on the dead or can you contact living people too?" It works with the living, but in a very different way. It's much better with the deceased...as long as you know where they're buried. Well I was definitely intrigued. It took a bit of pleading, but she eventually told me how to do it. The skepticism crept back into me because it was so simple. She sensed this abd told me to try it that night if I didn't believe it. I promised I would. And then she warned me to be very careful. She had a few specific warnings though: "Don't use it to contact someone you don't know or if you don't know where their final resting place is." and "Don't use it while high on anything or with bad intent." I asked what would happen if I did either of those two things and her response was simply "You'll be fucked". After a bit more chat we said our goodnights and I logged off. I didn't try it that night, First of all, I couldn't think of a dead person I'd known. I'd never even been to a single funeral. All of my grandparents had died before I knew them. I figured I'd have to use it to reach a living person. But who? It ocurred to me to find one of those hung Falcon stars, but I didn't "know" them so that'd be breaking a rule. Hmmmm. I woke up the next morning knowing exactly who I wanted to find. You guessed it -- my former college neighbor, David. Despite not really knowing him, we'd practically shared a living space and I certainly wouldn't consider him a stranger. I mean...you know?.... My computer at work was way faster than my own. I used it to find David. The internet had grown fast since I first started poking around online. You could go to this place called "Yahoo" and search for people. David's last name was pretty unusual and I even knew his middle name thanks to a screw up with the mail. There was a letter for him in my mailbox. It was from his bank in a little town near my own. I could take it to him and finally get a look at his face, but instead I just opened it. He'd bounced a check. Anyway, it took 20 seconds of searching this Yahoo thing to find him. The first link went to an obituary. No! He had died the year before at the age of 27 and was buried in the same dinky town his tight-ass bank was in. I'd been there as a kid. Maybe a county fair or some tractor pull my dad was always dragging me to. I think we'd even been by the cemetary. According to the obit, he'd moved to Germany nad worked for a bank there for about a year. And then moved back home for awhile before dying. They played Scott Joplin music at the funeral. Ragtime. The next link led me to a photo of his grave stone. It was one of those flat.gray granite boxes with a grand piano illustration carved on the top surface. There was an option to leave a virtual flower there or write a message, but I did neither. How did he die? Well, of course I had a pretty good guess. The virus had spread all over the country by then and even the straight "sexy swingers" in the chatrooms were afraid of it. Maybe it was a car accident, though. I had no way of knowing even though I knew. I just knew. The rest of the day was a blur as I was lost in my thoughts. I decided to get drunk that night. I played Nintendo all evening while drinking beer after beer after beer. My stereo was tuned to public radio because that seemed like the only station that might possibly play Scott Joplin. It didn't. I popped a few Xanax before bed. My doctor had prescribed them for anxiety and I could take one every eight hours "as needed", but I usually saved them up for night when I would take two and fall right to sleep. That night I took three on top of all the beer. It was Friday anyway and I could sleep until noon the next day if I wanted to. I wanted to. Well, sleep didn't come as swiftly as I expected. I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling. I was as awake as if I'd downed a triple espresso instead of a controlled substance. Well...I could try the ritual now. I felt shadowing fingers across my brain trying to massage that thought to life. OK. It was a short, simple thing that might even help me to sleep. So I did it. I tried it to contact David in his piano grave way down in the Southern part of my home state. I had a brief mental flash of Lacy Beth's horrified face begging me to stop. But I wasn't breaking any of the rules. Not really. Bending them maybe, but not breaking. And then I was done. I'll share the ritual with you at the very end of this story, There will be some plenty of blank space and words of caution before you see it. Just read my tale and decide for yourself if it's what you want to do. Don't pass it along please. That night was strange in more than one way. First off, I lived in a pretty crummy neighborhood with Section 8 apartments on both sides. There was usually a lot of yelling and loud music with lots of glass-shaking bass. Not then. And no honking or sirens either. My bedroom was quiet as a tomb. Well, it was quiet except for what sounded like little drummers near the floor. I slid out of bed to turn on the bathroom light so the room wouldn't be totally dark. I felt my eyes close involuntarily. I started to half-dream about piano music until I heard the little drummers again. Seriously? What the fuck WAS that? I woke up a little and saw a small band of spiders in the sliver of light from my bathroom. They were the same arachnids from my old apartment building in college expept a little bigger and fuzzier. And when they walked, they made little marching noises. Like drums. I'd call the landlord to spray tomorrow. I rolled over and let the beer and tranquilizers pull me into sleep. No dreams. The next morning I hopped out of bed at 6 am. Why so early? Well, I'd forgotten to turn off my alarm clock for the weekend, and there was a lot of sun creeping in from the next room where I'd also forgotten to close the blinds. I was wide awake. I guess I could go do laundry. This was the best time for that chore because the laundry room in the basement was always deserted. I looked around for spiders but didn't see any. I grabbed my pill bottle full of quarters, detergent, my full laundry basket and took the elevator down. Ding. Again, it was empty. I loaded two machines with just socks, unders and t-shirts. My work clothes had to be drycleaned, and the jeans I'd worry about some other time. Usually I'd stay there until the cycle was over, but I hadn't brought a book or a magazine or my portable CD player. I just decided to say "fuck it' and go back upstairs for a quick nap. I was suddenly exhausted. ..almost as if a tranquilizer dart had been fired into the back of my head. I barely made it to the bed. I lied on my back in just a pair of shorts and a holey t-shirt. I settled into my too-soft mattress and drifted off just as it started to rain. I was snoozing for a bit when I heard two things: thunder and the little drummers. Oh God. I still had my eyes closed when I decided I'd go down to the landlord's apartment and request an exterminator in person. I opened my eyes and saw David. THE David. He was standing at the foot of my bed in a black suit that didn't seem to fit his tall, too thin frame. His tie was red and there was a flower in his lapel that looked fresh if not slightly "alien". I couldn't make out his face because he was standing in front of the illuminated windows. "David?", I asked in my waking-up voice. "Yesss." He answered. "I remember yoooo". His voice was strained as if he wasn't getting enough air. The rain picked up and made the natural light in the room shift and yet I atill could not see his face. It couldn't be a dream. Any time I'd had a dream where I knew it was a dream I'd try to start flying or something and wake up immediately. I got off the bed. I was aware of gravity, temperature and everything mortal. I was for sure not dreaming. I inched towards the light switch. "Can I look at you...in the light?", I asked. "Yess", he answered. I flipped the switch and there he was. I'll try to describe what I saw there. I was looking at a slender young man who could have just come from a Shakespeare audition. He was bizarrely handsome even though his skin was extra, extra white with tinges of green and blue around his neck and forehead. There was a small red slit in his neck and he was barefoot. His feet were long and bony and the nails were too long. "I never got a chance to look at you before", I admitted. "You were too afraid to let anyone love you." He swallowed some air and I watched his blue-ish adam's apple slide up and down. A loud clap of thunder. "Can I hug you? I always wanted to." "Do it." I walked over and wrapped my arms around him tight. He smelled like chemicals, like a science lab. But I didn't care once his long arms embraced me too. It was so perfect for a few seconds until his suit started to slide off. It was cut all the way up the back thanks to the mortician who dressed him. I wanted to feel embarrassed for him, but I was too busy looking at his naked body. They didn't even try to put underwear on him I guess. I couldn't help but notice his penis. It was long, skinny and the same weird color as the rest of him. I dared to touch it. It wasn't as cold as I would have guessed. Just as I looked up to see the expression on his face and his eyes, but never saw them becuase he used the strength he had to throw me back on the bed. More thunder. David's breathing sounded even more strained than before, but he managed to squat on my chest. He pushed the pointy head of his long dick past my lips and let it sit on my tongue. I didn't figure a dead man's penis could get hard but I was wrong. It grew heavier and bigger in my mouth. How? I tried so hard to please him with my untested skills. I reached and grabbed his skinny ass to pull him forward and farther down my throat. He was breathing hard and gulping for more air. I let him set the pace, but I kind of wanted to stop sucking because of the chemical taste of his dickhead. He didn't have mind-reading abilities because he continued face-fucking me...for a really long time. Finally he pulled away and waved his arrow-shaped wet dick over my face. He lowered himself down and put his whole weight on top of me. We kissed with what felt like passion to me. I was in love...and didn't mind the rotting taste of his mouth. My dreams were coming true and didn't want to spoil anything. Lightning. Louder thunder. He stayed on top of me and pushed his naked hips down harder to part my legs. Then that pointy dick found my anus. I helped things along by adjusting myself so that my legs were practically in the air. He guided himself into me. I'd always heard that sex hurts for a gay bottom, but it didn't feel too bad at first. It was nice and intimate but grew increasingly uncomfortable -- especially when he went in deeper and bucked harder. I wanted to slow things but didn't have any options available to me. I had to take it. He thrusted and thrusted as he gasped for air, and I felt completely violated. He suddenly stopped mid-thrust and sucked in all the air from the room. There was no oxygen left for me as he orgasmed inside my body. I needed a break from this supernatural fuck scene so I nudely hopped out of bed and went to the kitchen for a smoke. I felt a tiny rivulet of fluid leaking down the back of my left leg. Blood? Dead Man's Cum? I didn't check -- just wiped it away with a paper towel and threw it in the trash without looking. I went back into the bedroom and David was gone. I'd forgotten all about my wet laundry downstairs, and just went to sleep. David came back and the scene was repeated every night for a week. The last night he wanted me to eat his ass and I did. It was by far nastier than you're imagining. It was then and there that I told him to leave and never come back. That was the end...or so I thought. I got super sick later that month. After that cleared up, I got sores on the inside of my mouth and had pretty severe night sweats. The doctor confirmed that I had the HIV virus and outlined some treatment options. I have mostly tried to not think about it and pretend I'm fine. Now I'm sick all the time and can't work. I'm fucked. And now I'll share the ritual even though it led to my destruction. Please don't try it. WARNING! GO BACK! DANGEROUS INSTRUCTIONS: Do this at night...as close to 3 am as possible. Don't be under the influence of anything. Lie in bed or on the floor or anywhere you can fully stretch out. If you're lying North to South. it's even better. Close your eyes. Now think about the person you're trying to reach. Imagine their face and mentally picture where they are buried. Move your eyeballs back and forth, left to right under closed eyelids. Do it hard enough to hurt. Once your eye sockets are fatigued, stop. Go to sleep and picture your contact. It usually works within hours.

Possibly, there is some true stuff in this story. Possibly, there is not. Winter of 1991, somewhere in the Midwest I had just finshed my first semester at an unremarkable state college where I'd made grades that were anything but great. I've always been called "smart", but never really did well in achool. Is there a name for nerds who suck at academics? I really had no pride left. I mean, I'm just slightly below average in every way with barely any social skills and maybe two people on the planet I could call "friends". Look at my avatar and subtract 25 years and add some glasses along with some unsexy facial scruff. That was me in this story. The opposite of hot. I was due to go home for Christmas with my parents. It was a three hour trip due South on the turnpike. My mom had called the night before and told me to keep an eye on the weather because a possible blizzard could hit. Is it bad that I secretly hoped it would? No offence to my family, but they are as boring and deflated as I was. Staying at school would only mean I'd have to temporarily bunk in the dorm for international students. How bad could that be? Well I payed the price for my wishes because the sky was only a tad gray when I woke up on the morning I was due to leave. Of course. It was a short drive to the turnpike where I got my ticket to enter this joyride through a boring, flat landscape that was dead for the Winter. Radio reception was iffy in this region. Even FM. I fiddled around with the dial and eventually found some odd sort of talk show where two old guys were talking about how the moon landing was all fake, and the government always lied to us about everything. Is it bad that I really didn't care? I mean, one way or the other, there was nothing I could do about it. I barely noticed that I didn't see any other travelers on the road. As the radio crackpots blathered on, it started to snow. It wasn't too bad -- it was just cemetary snow. Well, "Cemetary Snow" is what I called it because they were just tiny flakes. They looked like the kind of snow you'd see in a dramatic movie where there's a Winter burial and the snow is just there for a melancholy effect. Does that make sense? Well, anyway -- it was minor and didn't even seem to accumulate on the ground. After about 70 miles, I was nearly convinced that no man had ever actually set foot on the lunar surface...and the snow had gotten heavier. The flakes were still small but they were coming faster. I just kept my eyes on the road and felt a rod of alertness move straight up my spine. After 100 miles, I couldn't get the station anymore and the snow was getting worse in every way. The flakes were so big and so fast that they were alost a blur...a sideways-moving blur. I could also feel the wind picking up, moving my crappy little tin can car at its will. Uh oh. I was feeling a little panic, and thought briefly of trying to tune in some Christmas music to calm myself. But I didn't dare touch the radio so I could fully concentrate on the disappearing road. The speakers sputtered out static white noise as the storm got worse. Right up ahead I saw a blue Rest Area sign on the right. Good timing. I pulled into the small parking lot where there were no other cars or even any big semi trucks you always see in these places. Well, sure. They all have access to weather reports we tin can car drivers do not. I parked and considered the situation. I hadn't smoked at all that day because my mom hated the smell, but now seemed like the perfect time for a cigarette. I cracked the window a bit and let that steel rod up my back soften ever so slightly. I used my mostly-empty can of Mountain Dew as an ashtray and tried using my mind to soften the storm, but that of course didn't work. Thinking I just needed some extra time for my will over the weather to work, I opened the car door and made my way toward the restrooms. After a piss and maybe another smoke, surely this would all but be over with. I trudged up the mostly obscured sidewalk and noticed drifts had piled up the concrete box of toilets that had probably been here since Eisonhower was alive. It was obvious I should have worn heavier clothes because the freezing air went through me like an x-ray. Once I got inside the men's room on the left of the building, I felt a little less vulnerable. It was ugly, smelly and lit only by bare lightbulbs in ancient fixtures on the ceiling -- but it was about fifteen degrees warmer than the outside. I thought I'd probably take a nice long pee and smoke break, sitting on one of the toilets but two of the stalls were 'out of order' and the third one was clogged with massive turds. Never mind. I went to one of the urinals which were not seperated by any kind of partition. Even though I had the whole place to myself, I still hesitated about which urinal to pick. I finally chose the one furthest down the line away from the door and unzipped. I tried to pee, but my whole body was shivering and I was severely stressed out by the weather. My dick shrunk up like snai; and wouldn't let me vacate the contents of my bladder. Without zipping back up, I backed away a little and put a cigarette in my mouth. If I just kept standing and relaxed a bit, the pee would find its way out eventually. So I tried again. As the wind roared outside, I aimed at the drain and was almost there when I heard a loud creak as the door opened. Shit! I had no idea what to do. NO idea. Maybe it would be a capable state trooper who'd escort me safely home in his warm patrol SUV that had a plow attached to the front bumper. No. It was just a very regular-looking guy, not much older than me wearing sweats under a bright orange ski jacket. And flip-flops...in this kind of weather. I wasn't shocked or anything because I went to college with dudes who would wear shorts and sandals on the coldest days because they wanted to seem eccentric or else they just didn't have the money to do laundry ona regular basis. He didn't seem very collegiate. He looked like a guy who would repair combines or something. Whatever the case, I was determined to empty my water no matter what. I'd go back to my car and sit there with the heater on and maybe pray, Of course he lined up at he urinal next to me...which meant no pissing would happen soon. Goddamn him. I was going to pee despite this idiot. I let the cig tumble put of my mouth intp the drain below me. The guy pulled his sweats down and unleashed his dick right there where I could see. For Christ's sake! I stared straight ahead at the concrete tiles and focused on my own business. I didn't hear any flow on his side either. Nothing. I ventured a look and saw him holding his fat pink penis in his left hand. I wasn't too impressed with his member, but I noticed his hand for sure. It was a rural hand. A working hand. I'm so stupid. What if he saw me staring and why was I staring? Whatever. The world was ending out there and I wanted to look. I couldn't help but notice his nails. They were jagged - as if he cut them with a dull handsaw. And they were so black. Most people think that dirty nails are caused by actual dirt, soil. But it's mostly dead skin cells, body oil and food. There's a word for this, but I don't know it. I'm a lousy student, remember? As I'm mesmerized by the dude's dirty nails, I noticed his dick was getting erect. It went from 'average' to 'above average' to 'very above average' in ten seconds. I had to make myself look up at him, and of course he was watching me watch his stuff. Oh fuck it! I was so far beyond embarrassment eight then that I just said "Hi.". We turned toward each other with our dicks hanging out od our flies, He was taller and cuter than I'd noticed at first. What to say next? "Nice hands", I said stupidly. "Huh?", he really sounded confused -- I guess because he thought I was going to compliment his dick. "Well. I mean. Nice ... big hands. And the. The dick is really nice too, I'm sorry," He laughed and I looked at the floor. I'm so dumb. He'd probably beat the hell out of me now. This stranger. I waited for it. "what he hell are you doing here, kid?" My words were still formless, but I tried to say that I was going home. All that came out were sudden loud sobs and a few words like "Christmas" and "Mom". And then I collapsed under the weight of my own panic and hit the floor. "Stay here", he said and bolied for the exit, his flip-flops clicking urgently as he scurried away. I was all alone. In a bathroom. In a blizzard. I've never had a passion for life, but never thought it'd end like this. Seconds later, the guy came back with his arms overloaded with army-green blankets and two orange sleeping bags. He busied himself making a little green and orange nest in the back of the cement room where there was once a stall that had been removed. "Come get warm", he said with chattering teeth. I was confused. "Here??" "What? You want to camp outside?" I felt like I was nine years old. "What if somebody comes in? What if help comes?" He looked at me like I was a total idiot. "The whole turnpike is shut down. Get it? There's no going North and no going South". "Meaning?" His face softened and his eyes were figuring out how to now see me. "Meaning...we've got the whole middle of the state to ourselves". And then he smiled and came over to help me up off the floor. He led me back to our makeshift suite of blankets and sleeping bags and layed me down like my mom would. The fluffy sleeping bags were our mattress and the blankets made a comforter. It was amazingly nice and cozy. We were both laying on our backs and having our own thoughts without talking. I didn't figure we'd talk anymore the whole night. I was alost relaxed until he spoke up. "What did you say about my hands again?" Oh man. I guess there was no being shy at this point. "I just noticed how nice your hands were...and your fingers...and your fingernails". I didn't stumble on a single word. SILENCE Then he kaughed a little and held his left arm out straight above our heads to catch what little light we had. "Jeezus, dude. My fingernails are filthy as fuck! You didn't notice that?" I reached out of the warm blanket and pulled his hand down to my face, I licked the palm and made it a point o suck each fingertip. I guess I'd made my point. "Wow. Thanks, man. Did you notice anything else?" I scanned my useless brain for something I'd forgotten to mention. "Check it out", he whispered as he twisted his arm to show me the underside of his thick wrist. There I saw a biohazard tattoo. I knew what it was from visits to the doctor's office and seeing that red trash can with the same symbol on it. That's where gloves, needles and bandages went. It was a hospital thing. "Are you a doctor?", I ventured. "Yes. That's it. I'm here to cure you of yourself. Get it?" I didn't. But as I wondered what he meant, he was on top of me. OK. I was thinking I was ready for this step. He pulled my jeans off and ripped my underwear . He was kissing me and I tasted him. As I searched for a description of his flavor, he stuck one of his dirty, nasty fingers in my asshole. He was scratching in there on purpose. Then there were two dirty fingers inside. Shit. I was going to get an infection of some sort. I needed to put a stop to this shit, but as I pre-formed my protest my hero was suddenly higher on top of me and the head of his dick was inside my hole. GOD! How can anything hurt that much? I'd broken my arm when I was ten and it didn't hurt like this. But it was sex. Right? Man Sex is supposed to be like this? I had so much to think about and so much pain to process, but I was forced to deal with Hero Man's rapid thrusting and animal grunts. I wanted him to look at me, but his eyes were shut tight as he made one last thrust and growled. I sure wanted to talk about all this, but he just tunbled into sleep. I wasn't tired at all until suddenly I was. I wormed my way down into the pile of blankets and felt sleep attack me like a grizzly bear. Merry Christmas, I guess.

This happened just a little over a year ago, but I can't definitely say for sure. It was perfect and so much like a filmed porn fantasy that I almost think my brain made it up. I write novels and short stories, but you likely haven't seen any of them. I'm not very successful even though my agent Rachel had doggedly tried shopping my work to publishers everywhere. She suggested I write something lighter that would appeal to women. My usual stuff was mostly dark, macho and veered ever so close to what you might call "homoerotic". I knew my writing had a very narrow appeal. I would sit in the darkness with only my laptop and a pack of generic cigarettes. I was almost broke so I decided to break the routine. Shake things up. I got up at 8 am (way early for me) on a Friday morning and made the decision to get out of the apartment and go get inspiration somewhere scenic. I lived just up the street from a famously beautiful cemetery that predated the Civil War. The trees were lush and wildflowers were blooming like crazy everywhere. Scenic as fuck. I sat at a small wooden table, polled a notepad out of my book bag, and started scribbling right away. Maybe a cemetery wasn't the best idea because I immediately started thinking up zombie stories ( and I'd already attempted a least a dozen of those. I tried to think of what a woman would want to read, but that led me to think up stories that were too "Twilight"-ish. I resorted to my old trick of doodling instead. It's just to keep my pen moving and see if inspiration could find me instead of me chasing after it. Birds were singing and there was almost no traffic noise. I got into somewhat of a trance and felt so mystically receptive to ideas. It was a tranquil state that i'd only rarely experienced when trying to create. Then the lawnmower started. Goddammit. I know cemeteries need to be mowed, but I was still pissed off. I mean. the grass all around me and around the stones was very groomed...so why mow it again? Just so I'd always be poor?? I swiveled around, looked behind me with a scowl and saw there was a guy mowing the ditches and hills along the edges of the property. Oh. He was on one of those mowers where you have to stand up. You know the kind I mean? I was no longer pissed once I noticed he was a young, light brown young guy with a decent build and had strikingly handsome facial features. He was scenic all on his own. Screw the wildflowers. So I moved to the other side of the table and just watched him work. I guessed that he was at least partly Latin. I maybe tried to write a little in case he looked over and saw me staring, but he was just so mesmerizing. I can't tell you how long I was looking. It was possibly 10. 20 or 30 minutes before he finished. He left the mower right over the spot where he stopped. He took of his baseball cap to reveal gloriously black hair that had a little curl at the edges. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a red hankie and stretched his long arms above his head after twisting his neck a few times to work out the kinks. It was a nice show and I almost felt like applauding excep thst he was now walking in my direction. There was no way I could keep my gaze fixed on him now so I started writing in my pad again. I think I wrote "Oh My God" about seven times before he reached the table and sat across from me. Oh My God, indeed. He opened with "Pretty hot, isn't it?" with no trace of a latin accent. "It's nice", I replied even though I did suddenly become aware of sweat dripping down my back. "You're some kind of writer, right?" I said nothing. I just gazed into his dark brow eyes which almost had a bit of an asian slant. "A lotta creative people come here with their notebooks and sketchbooks and shit", he said with a knowing smile. His teeth were perfectly white. "I..I just came here for inspiration. I'm trying to write something for women". "Oh I could tell you some stories about women, my friend". "Now that you mention it, it is a little hot out today". "Well let's go cool off then". He stood up instantly and I noticed how tall he was. 6'3" at least. We led me toward what I assumed was a tool shed. I was thinking that it that wouldn't be much cooler in this aluminum death box. He produced a key from his front pocket and unlocked the metal door that led to pure blackness. He disappeared into the dark right behind him. I inched along ynril I heard a click as he flipped a wall switch that power up a very small, industrial over head light eith a long cord hanging from the side. It wasn't all that bright but enough to illuminate a bunch of gas cans, rakes and huge white sacks of what I assumed was fertilizer or herbicide or something like that. "People get murdered in places like this", I thought to myself. Then, with another key, he unlocked another metal door that led into what looked like a small. old, but well-kept motel room. It was carpeted and there wasn't really much in it except a made bed, a dresser with a tv on top of it and one of those little refrigerators. There was a tiny window air conditioner that the cemetary man immediately switched on. It gurgled and clanked but a little wave of cool air soon wafted over us. Suddenly he leaned over and his handsome face was close to mine. "This job pays shit, but I can stay here for free with no bills. Plus it even has an address and I can get mail." He seemed really proud of the place. I tried to convey that I was likewise impressed but I think my facial expression showed only confusion. He laughed warmly and then sat on the edge of the bed and took off his giant black work boots and white socks, He stood and I couldn't help but notice how massive his bare feet were. I mean, they looked even bigger than the work boots he'd taken off and I couldn't imagine how he got them on. I didn't ponder sbout that very long because he started taking off his t-shirt. I can't day for sure but I think he took it off deliberatrly slow -- like he was in a movie or something. His torso wasn't toned and muscled so much as it was just "bulky". He wasn't fat, just BIG. Also hairless. Naturally hairless except for the black, black tufts of armpit hair I could glimpse. "Get undressed", he said in a tone that was suthotitive but friendly. I made slow work of unbuttoning my shirt as I watched him remove his jeans. I had to turn around so I could focus on the basic motor skills it took to take my clothes off. Somehow I ended up naked all under my own power. I turned back to see his fully naked body spread eagle on the bed. It was a sight to behold and I took a thousand mental snapshots for my brain to hold forever. Forever. His cut dick was full, hard and healthy-sized. It pointed straight up at the ceiling and visibly throbbed a little (though that might have been my imagination). "There's pops in the fridge if you want one", he said as he vaguely gestured with one arm. I didn't respond because I was frozen and unaware that my mouth was hanging open. He laughed again and them rolled over onto his stomach. "Give me a backrub. I been working since 8 and I'm sore all over. Please?" Well, sure. I climbed in the bed next to him and started kneading his shoulders. I'd never given a massage before and was only initating what I'd seen in movies and stuff. He nade grateful noises so I guess I was doing an okay job. While most his body was hairless, there five or so tattoos on his back. I guess there was a theme going on. Oceanic. There were stylized tides, a dolphin and s few others like that. And there was one more right above the crack of his beefy round ass: a biohazard symbol. I briefly thought it might be a statement about water pollution, but I secretly knew what this tat meant. I grew lightheaded and it was mainly because I'd forgotten to breathe. I moved down to massage his huge feet and he made mad groans of pleasure. "Sorry my feet are so gross", he said with a small voice that was muffled a little by the pillow his face was buried in. "They're fine", I answered. But actually they were a tad gross. His callouses were hard and yellow-ish. He was for sure a working man. I could feel my hands getting tired and wanted to stop, but then, what would come next? What would cpme next with the biohazardous cemetary man? I mustered a casual voice and asked "Are you a surfer?" "No. Why?" "Oh, I just noticed your tats and it seems like you like the ocean alot". "I do. I definitely do, but I got those back when I lived in Hawaii. My mom is a native Hawaiian and my dad was white." Oh. Okay. He talked about it a little bit more and noticed that whenever he said the word "Hawaii", he added an accent and an extra syllable. Kinda hot, actually. But the biohazaed tattoo was still on my mind. }So are you worried about pollution?" "I used to be". Huh? But not any more? What did that mean? He lifted his head,turned over and started jacking his fully hard dick. He motioned for me to get back next to him and I did. We embraced and I could smell the cemetary on him....grass, pollen, gasoline, assorted chemicals and sweat. It was almost overpowering. As if he could read my thoughts, he announced that he needed to shower. "Don't you dare" I responded. With that, he climbed on top of me and kissed me so hard. I tasted the Pacific islands and couldn't get enough. The worrisome tat was banished from my hrad, forgotten. He pulled his mouth away from mine and straddled my face with his crotch. With his hands on the wall, he thrust that big member of his past my lips and mouth and a little way into my throat. I couldn'y really breathe and was afraid I'd maybe die or vomit right there and then. Hw pistoned in and out of my face for a few more seconds. He got off of me and I was noticing that I was still alive. He was standing on the floor at the foot of the bed with that big intruder between his legs looking wet, red and ready to continue. He pullled me down to him and raised my legs and spread them over his shoulders. I'd fooked around before, but never gotten around to having actual butt sex. I always found the idea of it embarrassing and was afraid of the pain. And the STDs. But here I was. I almost wanted to warn him that I probably wouldn't be able to finish this, but at that moment the naked head of his dick rammed into my hole. I screamed. It hurt like broken glass was being forced into me. This had to stop. I tried to use my words to tell him I couldn't do it. I'd promise we'd try another time and that I was so. so sorry. But all I could do was cry. I tried again to say things when I realized he was he was still inside of me and further inside. I looked up through my tears and saw his eyes closed tight , squinting with pleasure. He was miles away, over the ocean somewhere, and couldn't hear anything I said anyway. It was way too late for words now. I knew this for sure when his breathing got faster and the thrusting of his wide hips got more intense. For reasons only my primitive knows, I reached around, grabbed the fleshy mounds of his butt and pulled Cemetary Man closer to me. It was an erotic gesture that came almost too late because he was suddenly done without so much as a groan or an "I'm coming". He was still inside of me but not moving. His big, friendly brown eyes were open and dmiling. Another ocean was polluted. I left he cemetary about ten minutes later with a new kind of inspiration. I went back for more inspiration almost every week that month. Early last year, the doctor found something inside me that was definitely not a story. Or maybe it was.

Remember the last time AOL chat rooms were a thing? A long time ago? I do. It was the mid-90's and I was a young punk who had some severe depression issues. Pretty sure I inherited it from my mom who hung herself when I was eight years old. I had some pretty major self-destructive tendencies: I chain-smoked, never exercised, drank all night, ate crappy fast food ,and would quite often slice my bare skin with a razor blade. I never cut deep enough to do anything but give myself some gnarly scars. Where was I? Oh yeah -- AOL chat rooms. There were tons of them back then. One of the first ones I visited was called "POZ AND RAW PIGS KC". I mean. Hell. Why not? I wasn't all that attached to my life and was not afraid of getting infected or dying. Not many people chatted with me -- mainly because I had no way of posting a pic of myself. I lacked a digital camera or a scanner or anything. I felt so left out, but one guy decided to start talking to me anyway. He was super-friendly and kind, and had full-blown AIDS. He didn't care about my missing photo. I was smitten because he paid attention to me. Sometimes that's all it takes. Ya know? We mostly made pleasant chat that I enjoyed except for the long pauses on his end, I knew drugs were the reason because of his profile which mentioned "PnP". I was stupid back then but still smart enough to know that probably meant cocaine or meth. It was meth. He confirmed this a few minutes later. He also sent me a photo and I waited to open it until his next long 'smoke break'. He wanted to hook up even though he had no idea what I looked like. Before we made any plans, he took another break. I checked my inbox and saw the two pics he sent. The first was a torso shot that showed a pink, skeletal body covered with bizarre tattoos. The second was a dick shot (the first I'd ever received). His cock was probably a tad smaller than average in size, but the fat, pink head of it was pierced with a large steel ring. We set up a time to meet the second his break was over. He picked me up outside my office. I had a real job back then, but knew it was only temporary because I was such a huge fuck-up that I never worried about getting fired. I thumbtacked a note to my chair that said "Be Back in 15 Minutes". Yeah, right. We drove away but immediately my guy slowed to a crawl because there was a cop car behind us. He had meth on the pocket of his camo shorts. We eventually made it to the scummiest gay bar in the city. It was known to be a haven of hustlers and dealers, but I didn't care. Beer is beer.I'll describe his looks: He was a few inches shorter than me and had no body fat whatsoever. He had a shaved head and a scruffy goatee. He wore a right army green t-shirt that showcased his amazing array of badly-done tattoos. We played darts. I innocently asked about the tats and he proceeded to tell me that they all meant something personal to him. He tried to explain each one, bit they still made no sense. I drank a whole pitcher of Miller Lite after we settled at the bar, but he had no desire for alcohol. His mind was on the glass pipe and stash he carried everywhere. Well, I guess we should go. He "owned" a house in a really iffy part of midtown. It was a pretty shitty-looking place behind a padlocked fence. Big surprise that he couldn't remember the combination to the lock. We jumped the chain link fence and hurried up the front door. He fished some keys out of his pocket and, of course, none of them worked in the lock. I should have bailed right then. But I had a belly full of beer and the image of his pierced cock in my head, so I followed him to the back of the house where he had to break a kitchen window for us to get in. I was worried some busybody in the neighborhood would call the cops and report us, but my host wasn't concerned. Once inside the house, I was astonished at what a mess it was. The kitchen was a mess of dirty glasses and greasy pans and, weirdly, a pile of dirty laundry. In the kitchen. As we moved further into the house, he warned me not to take my shoes off because of all the broken glass everywhere. No kidding. Smack dab in the middle of the living room floor was a full window with all the panes shattered. A few feet away was a an old player piano that had been harshly disassembled. I had the thought that this dude did not have his life under control. But his balls full of venom and the brutal piercing kept me following him up the stairs to his bedroom. It was almost too much. Seriously. There was more broken glass on the carpet (from where?) and a huge stack of VHS tapes and more dirty laundry. He stripped off his shirt and lit his pipe. There was bright sunlight in this room and I saw red sores dotting his mouth. I came right out and asked if he had herpes. Credit to him that he said they were just burns from the hot pipe, and that if he really had herpes, we wouldn't be doing this. I guess I had to believe him. He offered me a puff and I didn't hesitate. Taking a hit of meth felt like sucking on a blast furnace. But I felt good. Really good. After he put a porn tape in the VCR and pulled down his shorts, I got a good look at that steel ring through the head of his cock. I thought those things were permanent like tattoos, but he unscrewed it and let me look at the hole it left om the underside of his penis. On the TV, I saw a young blonde twink getting fucked on a bail of hay. His modest cock was really red because he jacked off pretty much all the time. I was sitting on the mattress and decided to get things going by bending forward to suck his somewhat deformed dick. It grew. Boy, did it grow! I thought he was too full of drugs to get it up, but I was wrong. He was steel hard. He wanted to go at it right then, but I told him he needed to put the ring back in first. He shook his head "no" and tried to climb back on top of me. I was insistent. So he screwed the thing back in and then mounted me like he was my groom on our honeymoon. Maybe I should have been smarter because it felt so painful that I cried out. My screams settled all over this mess of a house and all the shards of broken glass everywhere. He pumped and pumped and made noises like he was cumming, but I can't be sure he really did. Anybody who jacks off that much probably has nothing left to deposit. But maybe. And that was it. Never saw him again. Am I poz now? I don't care about my life enough to get tested.

Most of the details in this story were relayed to me through a chat buddy. I doubt it's true, but I'd like to pretend it is. When I first moved to the city in a different state from a hick town in Kansas, I didn't have much money. I needed an address so I could put out my resume and interview for jobs I rented a studio apartment in a crappy part of midtown. It was a beautiful old building but the interior looked like hell. We're talking walls that had not been painted since the early 70's, dirty carpeting and the slowest elevator in the universe. It smelled like a combination of curry and mold. Not Park Avenue by a long shot. The only somewhat positive thing about it were my neighbors on the sixth floor. They were an interesting mix and mostly friendly. There was Jodi, a 20-something stripper at 'The Pink Garter' - a club right down the street. She always had weed so we bonded right away. She confessed that she had several boyfriends who paid her rent, bills, etc. And then there was the beautiful, young ballet dancer who was always in tights and could't take a single step without stretching or strutting on his toes. At the very end of the hall was a guy who was always carrying electronic equipment in and out of the elevator. I'll always remember him, hauling car stereos down to his place, cords and plugs trailing behind him. Most of all I can never forget Alex. Alex. Remember I was just a dumb-ass from the Midwest and I'd never seen a dude who wore wigs and makeup. I he wasn't quite a girl and certainly not a man. After we got to know each other a little, he told me "I'm not a girl or a boy -- I'm a sissyfag". He was also a serious drug addict. He did meth pretty much all day and then disappeared at night. He kept offering me a puffs from his grody glass pipe, but I always declined. I already had issues with weed and alcohol and didn't want to further add to my own decline. I didn't visit Alex often, but at some point we exchanged email addresses and he flooded my inbox with messages that were mostly nonsensical. I usually deleted them without reading even half of what he'd typed. One thing I noticed was that his screen name ended with '99'. He'd never mentioned anything about the occult or Sarah Palin so I questioned him about it the next time I saw him. He was unusually sober and lucid at the time and led me by the arm to his shitty place that was even smaller than my studio apartment. He kept looking over his shoulder and darting his eyes back and forth. He told me a tale that I'll tell you now as if he were writing it: "I didn't have any jobs that day and was running low on my "medicine". I was bored and horny as fuck. So I went on Craig's List and answered an ad from some guy that said he liked cross dressers. I'm NOT a cross dresser, okay? I'm a sissyfag. There's a difference. But I could tell he was a freak so I answered the ad and gave him my address...my address HERE. I was prepared to be let down because CL has always been a bust for me. But hours later, there was a knock on my door. I was in a wig, bra and panties -- in full makeup of course. I opened the door and saw a beautiful, buff blonde frat dude. I felt so hideous in comparison to this Adonis, but summoned my sissyfag will to invite him in. I was prepared to make a bit of small talk and offer him a beer, but he just grabbed me forced me down to the floor eight away. He peeled off his t-shirt, jeans and sandals and got on top of me. He didn't take off my panties so much as he ripped them with no real effort on his part. He bent his head down and kissed me so hard. His tongue snaked its way into my mouth and it tasted like a lead pencil. It was a powerful tongue and seemed to expand in my mouth as he swirled it around. I thought I'd missed something because suddenly his dick was in my throat. Did we switch up all the sudden? No. His tongue had become a cock, I swear. As I was doubting my own sanity, he pulled off my face and, yes, there was a huge, weird-shaped cock jutting proudly out of his mouth. He waved it in front of my eyes and I spotted a small stream of precum leaking from the head -- and it was black. Black precum, I swear. As I tried to make sense of everything, he plunged it back in my mouth and it grew. And grew. It went all the way down to stomach and I was unable to breathe. He must have shot it there because I could feel him shake and hear his groans. I felt nauseous, and my throat and chest ached so bad. I propped myself up on my elbows and gasped for air. I saw him standing naked over me, and, I swear, his body grew bigger and bulkier. Right before my eyes. And here's the craziest part -- his dick had become TWO dicks. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. They were long and fat and twisting around each other like two pythons in love. It gets a little hazy here, but the next thing I knew those two snakes were inside my ass. I'm not tight or anything but this fuck was intensely painful. It might have lasted for hours because it was sunset when he finally came. I could feel it dripping out of my hole. He was already dressed when I finally stood up. There was black, bubbling sperm pooled on the carpet -- like somebody had spilled hot motor oil. He looked fairly normal again and demanded that I walk him back to his car. I was afraid to refuse. I was naked from the waist down and still in a bra & wig. I obliged and escorted him down to his expensive-looking car which was luckily very close to the entrance. He didn't say a word. Just drove off. I was exhausted and sore and really felt the need to throw up. And I did. For a good hour. I lied on my mattress and shivered violently. I had a fever all night and had bizarre nightmares/hallucinations about scary birds. I was sick the whole week with what felt like a super flu or something. After a week, I could crawl to the sink for some water. It was another 48 hours before I could stand, and another day before I could walk. Now I'm super skinny and none of my sissyfag clothes fit anymore. I'm sick as hell every other day, but still can't help but think of that guy/creature from Craig's List. I never could find him there again. So I started haunting Satanic chat rooms and asking online strangers if they'd experienced anything like I had. Nobody would talk with me so I added '99' to my screen name and tried again. Nothing really came of my quest even then. There's a bit more to tell, but I need to go puke again. "

This story is slightly true, somewhat fictional, and not at all an endorsement of good or bad decision-making. There used to be a website called Bareback City and I was there all the time...reading, browsing, beating off. You know. I once found this guy who was my age (mid-30's) and was a poz top -- only about twenty blocks from me. I'll call him "Lee" . Turns out he was not only was HIV positive, but had advanced to full-blown AIDS. I found that out when we chatted on cam and I was amazed at how thin and muscular he looked. Yes, he was thin, but the musculature that I thought I was seeing was only because his body was wasted down to nothing but a frame around the basic organs, bones and muscles nature gives all humans. I could have shut the window and blocked his email. I could have turned back. But then, still on cam, he fished a giant, slimy dick out of his shorts and bragged about only being able to wear Magnums. Well I didn't go back. I wanted to touch it and suck it. but wasn't sure I'd let it near my neg ass. We agreed to meet for dinner at a local pub. I had no desire for food, but knew I'd need a drink or two to calm down. Lee was even thinner and taller than he looked on camera. I watched as he wolfed down an entire cheeseburger in under a minute. I kept pounding back beers and having so many thoughts. Too many. You know how when your brain gets overcrowded with stuff and you just act on auto-pilot? That was me. So I wasn't really thinking when he offered to drive me back to his house in his red Miata. We walked out of the pub om that warm July night and I saw my car, parked innocently in front of the lights of wedding store next door. I could have just made a quick right and driven myself home. I could gone back. But Lee drove me back to his place with the top down and Pet Shop Boys blasting on the stereo. His neighborhood was way nicer than I expected and his house was beautiful. I'd never asked what he did for a living because, for some reason, I always thought that was a rude question to ask someone you barely know. He led me through the door and immediately kicked off his sandals and stripped down to nothing but his long, super-skinny nakedness. That dick was just as massive as I saw that time on cam, and it was growing as he groped it. I must looked scared and nervous because he immediately produced a joint, lit it and handed it to me with the words "It's fortified -- go slow". I was so stupid back then that I thought he meant it had B-12 vitamins or something like that in it. So I inhaled and blew beautiful clouds and the next thing I knew I was stripping down as well. That's when he suggested we go out to his patio and sit in the hot tub. I had a cold bottle of beer in my hand that I don't remember having before. Whatever. Fine. I followed Lee through the sliding glass doors as he situated himself in the bubbling, glowing blue water. I didn't know anything hot tub protocol so I sat directly across from him, sipping my mysterious beer.\ I think I remember us talking about the nice Summer weather and how beautiful the stars looked. Lee's voice sounded like a movie idol's. Deep, soft and so,so seductive. Then he stretched one of his feet out and pinched my right nipple. I grasped the foot and rubbed it. Lee had the longest, skinniest feet I'd ever seen. And then his toes were in my mouth. What the hell was I doing??? He moaned with pleasure and put the the other foot up on my neck. I massaged it and put those toes in my mouth as well. I had the faintest thought that I wasn't myself at that moment., but the warm bubbles gurgled my doubts away. Eventually I noticed this giant erection poking out of the water like a periscope. That's where my mouth went next. More moaning. After an amount of time I couldn't estimate then or now, we decided to get out of the tub. \What happened to that beer I had? Lee had forgotten to bring towels and went running back inside to get them. his huge dick bobbing all the way. I got out and stood naked on the concrete patio. A breeze hit my nude body and a brief minute of reality came back to me. This wasn't a good idea. None of this had been smart. I could go back inside, grab my jeans and shoes and sprinted home to my safe life. I could have. I could have turned back. Right then though, Lee walked back out with an over-sized green towel wrapped around him. Except for his stick-thin legs, he looked like a normal dude. He handed me another green towel and I was grateful for its shaggy warmth. He also had another lit joint that he offered and I accepted. Was it also "fortified"? No idea. It was a short walk back to his lush,massive bedroom. It was so perfect and seductively lit that I knew I was just one of many men who had been brought here. For a slight man, Lee had no problem overpowering me and pinning me on my back. He let me have one more puff of the fortified joint and then it was gone. Where did it go? Did he put it out safely? I was wondering all this when his penetrated my ass with his outrageously large dick. No Magnums or any other kind of condoms were used that I was aware of. The pain was real and unreal at the same time. For whatever reason, I couldn't quite tell you what "real" was. Before I could figure out what I was feeling, Lee's pumping had quickened in pace and effort. I do remember looking up at his face and was trying to say something when he let out a long, loud moan that I was sure could be heard by the whole neighborhood. He was sweating like a farm animal and I could feel salty drops from his forehead fall on my lips. Lee didn't ask me to leave, but it was implied by his quick descent into sleep and snores. I dressed and walked back to my car at the pub, feeling my ass burn and leak a little. I had so many thoughts and conflicts happening in my head. The first and last one were "I could have gone back".

That was a favorite that I had bookmarked, but it's gone now.

I always beat off to that tale. Where did it go??

So glad this is back. It's the hottest vid I've seen in years.