by Jeff Gelb
“I want you to fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me hard!”
Just like real life, Billy thought. That’s what all the babes I date say. Fuck me, Billy. Fuck me hard. Wasn’t a one who ever said, Fuck me soft.
The blonde hiked up her skirt, showing a picture-perfect ass. She turned around and bent over. The cameraman pulled off an interesting shot right through her legs, looking back at the hairy dwarf-man.
“Fuck me!” she hissed.
He didn’t need any more encouragement.
Nor did Billy. He pulled down his fly. He heard the sound the zipper made, so loud. Billy looked around, at the other patrons. Most of them doing the same thing, he thought. Right? Why the hell else would you come here? This isn’t Fellini we’re talking about. Billy heard the cougher.
His zipper was down. His cock was half hard.
The hairy dwarf-man was slamming it into the blonde. There were a lot of close-ups now of her mouth, her lips curled in ecstasy, enjoying the ride, licking her lips.
While Uncle Billy had his favorite two characters out, sitting on his lap: Mr. Hands and the One-Eyed Wonder Worm.
And for a few minutes, all the other shit went away.
Even Bruno had to check out the action on the screen. Jeezus, he thought. I’ll probably have a boner on when I get up to make the collar. But hell, it’s so fucking dark in here. Who’ll see?
Bruno felt on the seat next to him, feeling for the flashlight. He had a flashlight.
Yeah, that blonde was sexy, so damn sweet. The wife was sure getting a workout. My week at the Adam and Eve Theater, and her little slice of shriveled poontang had been getting a nightly workout like no tomorrow.
Might need something else tonight though, Bruno thought. Maybe a quick run past the strip, check out some of the ladies, give them the once-over, grab some free action. Do some community relations.
Bruno looked over at his young partner, his eyes glued back on the screen.
Collins had asked, driving in the patrol car, “What’s the big deal?? Why do we have to hassle these guys?”
“Because,” Bruno said, “it’s against the law, Collins. Duh! Against the fucking law, and we’re lawmen.”
“Capiche?”
Bruno watched the guy to the side, saw his shoulder move, and Bruno knew—with an expert’s unerring sixth sense—that the guy was playing with himself.
Course, he thought, I could be wrong. Could be fucking wrong. Screwed up twice last week, two guys sitting there with nothing but the smiles on their faces. But that was no big deal. Just shut off the flashlight and slide back to my seat for the second feature.
No big fucking deal.
Got to move now, though. The guy could be a quick-draw artist. Might shoot his load too damn fast, zip up, and get out of here, without a bust.
It was time to move.
And Collins had to be there, to see the light go on, to witness the exposure. Had to have two cops, or the collar was no damn good.
You needed a witness to prove public indecency.
Bruno sat up straight in his seat.
There was a close-up of the dwarf-man. His face contorted. He was going to come. Gotta hurry, Bruno thought.
He coughed twice.
And now he moved with the speed of a TV cop making a billion-dollar cocaine bust.
Mr. Hand was moving into high gear now.
Billy Pratt didn’t want to spend any more time in the theater than he had to. Just grab a bit of something, safe moments in the dark, alone, watching this.
The blonde had the guy ready to pop, slamming her buttocks back into him, grinding away on his dong. God, it was a thing of beauty. He flashed on images of babes form his past, cute brunettes and stacked redheads who got off on making it with a kiddie-show host.
Mr. Hand’s pistons were burning up the road.
Billy opened his mouth. He tasted the hot air, hermetically sealed against the outside, against reality.
He nearly moaned.
When a small pool of light fell on his lap. His first instinct was to look down. He saw the light illuminating his cock. His hand frozen on it, locked to the stick shift at the moment of impact.
Then Billy looked left, just as someone said:
“You’re under arrest for public indecency. Please cover, er, yourself and stand up. You have the…”
There were words, words Billy had heard from cop shows. This felt like a script. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill anybody, I didn’t just eat a zillion dollars worth of crack.
“Cover yourself, you freak,” the cop barked. “And get the hell up.”
Billy nodded, forcing his prick back into his pants.
He flashed on Cave Boy, Marco, the toys, the little Uncle Billy Time Travel play tents, the Time Traveler ride-on toys, the millions of kids who tuned in.
Shit, he thought. I fucked up, I really fucked up.
He begged a god that he didn’t believe in to please be kind, to just let him get a ticket, or whatever the hell happens.
Just don’t let them find out…
They stood him outside and pushed him against a car, a shabby Plymouth, now looking like what it was, an unmarked cop car.
The young cop frisked him, while the older cop looked through his wallet.
Please, he thought, don’t let him figure it out. Make him a real stupid cop. Please…
But the cop looked at the driver’s license.
“Los Angeles,” he said.
Billy looked over at him. The fat cop rubbed his chin. He nodded. Then—oh, Christ—there was a sick glimmer in his eye.
The cop looked up, a smile on his face.
“Billy Pratt…” he said. He took a breath. “Billy Pratt…” Now the cop laughed, out in the cold, great gusts of human steam erupting from his mouth while the name exploded out of his mouth. “Uncle Billy.” The cop came close to him. Billy knew that it was as bad as it could be.
“Uncle Fucking Billy.” He turned to Collins. “We just nailed ourselves a celebrity!”
He popped open the back door to his cop car.
Inside, the movie was nearly over.
That was good.
Because now the cops were gone. Yes, the man though. The cops would be gone all day.
It helps when you can spot them.
They wouldn’t be here for the second show, for the movie that he really came for.
It was the fourth time he’d seen it. The girls got tied up and guys pretended to hurt them. It was pretend.
That wasn’t so good. It wasn’t real. But it helped him remember. Sitting in his seat, he could remember.
The theater was empty. Everyone got scared away by the police. There were just a few other people.
But now it was so safe. The cops were gone.
The movie began.
It opened with scenes of this girl whipping another girl. She wasn’t really hurting her. She was hitting her much too lightly. But she yelped nicely. She made nice yelping noises.
There were close-up shots of her buttocks. The man saw red marks.
Real, or makeup? The man didn’t know.
The man slowly tilted his head back. Just stretching, that’s all. If anyone were to see me, to give a damn. I’m just stretching. Then the man turned and looked at the nearly empty theater.
It was a ghost town in here.
It was perfect.
The man fumbled with his pants and opened his fly.
He was hard already. The whipping did that. That and the anticipation.
He slumped down in his seat.
He took a breath.
It was so exciting. Exciting, and safe…
Safe sex…
He dug into the pocket of his overcoat. He felt it, hard, forced to the proper shape. That had to be done quickly, before it turned rigid, frozen into some useless curl. He had moved fast, molding it quickly.
He took another big breath. The bright colors of the film, the echoing sounds of the movie, made bright lights flash
in his brain as if he’d faint.
He felt it in the pocket. And then—quickly, as if he were pulling out a piece of gum—he pulled out the hand.
It was dry…and cold. He had cauterized the end.
The fingers were thing. She had taken nice care of her nails. They had been pained a blushing pink, nice and long.
The man had repainted them once.
Soon, though, he’d have to get rid of the hand. They were good for only so long.
He’d have to get a new one.
And that was fun, too.
The woman had screamed when she saw his serrated saw. Then man remembered that, listening to the movie now.
The girl being whipped had her head buried between the legs of the other girl, and still the pretend whipping went on.
The man fit the rock-solid hand over his prick.
It fit perfectly. Of course, I measured it, he thought.
He made the hand dance up and down, while he watched the movie…with ever-growing interest…
Forever in My Thoughts
Don D’Ammassa
Toni felt the touch of eyes tracking her progress across the office. It wasn’t the first time she had attracted unwelcome admiring stares from a man, despite a body that was just a trifle too slender to be sexy, but they’d never previously affected her so strongly. There was a definite sensation of physical contact, a feeling of feather-light pressure up one thigh, over her hip, moving higher.
She stopped and turned quickly, caught the new clerk, Evan Something-or-other, abruptly dropping his head, pretending to be studying something on the desk. Toni’s mouth twisted into a quick, unpleasant smile. Dream on, she told him silently. Evan was slightly overweight—not grossly so, but with his pale skin, thin and undisciplined hair, narrow-set eyes, and puffy cheeks, he appeared unwholesomely swollen if not actually obese. And his lips were too full and wide for his face. He reminded her of another man, another face, one that had haunted her nightmares since high school.
“Hey! Earth to Toni. Anybody home in there?”
She turned, blinking, and found herself facing Marian Darby, her nominal supervisor and closest friend. “Oh! Sorry, Marian. Guess I was daydreaming.”
“Not about him, I trust.” Marian inclined her head in the new man’s direction. “I still don’t understand why Maggie hired him. His work experience is limited, and he gives me the creeps.”
“Probably works cheap. Didn’t you tell me Maggie’s running over budget?”
“So who isn’t? Look, I could use you for a couple hours of overtime tonight. You don’t have a hot date or anything, do you?”
It was a rhetorical question. Marian knew Toni well enough to understand that she never had dates, hot or otherwise; they’d been friends back in high school, when Toni had been abducted, raped, and beaten by an unidentified assailant. The conversation turned to the backlog of unfinished projects sitting on Marian’s desk and, for the time being, Toni forgot about her new admirer. But twice more before the day ended, she jumped at a sudden, phantom touch, and on both occasions there was hasty movement from the other side of the office, as though he had turned his head away at that precise moment.
Toni spent the rest of the week researching old product-cost standards in the records-storage area of Eblis Manufacturing, the company where she had worked since graduating five years earlier. It was the following Monday before she returned to her own desk, and during the interim, she had completely forgotten about Evan.
Her overflowing “In” box had just been sorted into three piles of successfully lower priority when a vague uneasiness caused her to raise her head and look around.
The office wasn’t quite right. It was still recognizably the same room, but it was somehow simpler. The paintings on the wall were mere blobs of color, lacking detail. The row of filing cabinets was recognizable, but the labels on each drawer were simply white rectangles. All the desks except her own were clean and orderly, empty chairs tucked neatly in place, and when she glanced down, she realized that most of the paperwork she had sorted was mysteriously absent. A pale moon shone pearly white through a window on the far wall; it was dark outside, even though it had been early morning only minutes ago.
“Sure gets lonely working here late at night.”
Startled, she turned and found Evan standing beside her desk. Except that it wasn’t quite the Evan she knew; he was still overweight and his clothes were wrinkled and threadbare, but he held himself with an air of assurance and his voice was deep and forceful.
“I don’t mind it so much now that you’re working here with me,” she replied warmly, even as alarms were ringing wildly in her mind. What was she saying? What was happening here?
“Do you suppose anyone suspects? About us, I mean.” Evan suddenly reached out and touched her shoulder, cupping it with the palm of his hand. A thrill of sexual tension heightened her senses even as her mind jerked with revulsion. Against her will, Toni turned in her seat, inclining her head back as his face descended and those too-wide lips closed over her own.
“Toni, wake up!”
She blinked as the office suddenly became brightly lit and crowded once more. Marian Darby was standing at her side, frowning. “What is it with you lately?”
“God, Marian, I’m sorry. I think I fell asleep.” She shook her head emphatically. There was a sour taste on her lips.
“Must’ve been one helluva weekend.” Marian dropped a new set of reports on the desk, already losing interest.
As soon as she was out of sight, Toni rose and went to the ladies’ room, where she washed her face so vigorously that she had to reapply her lipstick.
When she returned to the office, Evan was staring in her direction. She met his gaze levelly and he turned away almost immediately, but not before she saw him smile knowingly.
It happened again during the afternoon, shortly before the day ended. Two of her three piles of work had been disposed of and Toni was feeling rather pleased with herself. Her back hurt from leaning over the desk, so she pushed her chair away and stretched her arms, head back and eyes closed.
When she opened them again, she was no longer in the office. Or anywhere else that she recognized.
Toni rose from the couch as though bitten. Where was she? It was obviously an apartment, sparsely furnished; only a couch, floor lamp, and a television in the entire room.
“Here we go.”
She spun on one heel, eyes widening as Even emerged from behind a half wall that led to what looked like a kitchenette. He held two wineglasses, one of which she accepted.
“Cheers!” He raised his glass to his lips and drained it, and she found herself doing the same. It tasted like grape juice.
“Why don’t you sit down? You know how wine makes you light-headed.”
Toni knew no such thing: She had a remarkably high tolerance for alcohol, as a matter of fact, and it was the only vice she allowed herself. Nor was she convinced that this was really “wine” in any case. Nevertheless, she immediately felt dizzy and collapsed onto the overstuffed couch.
Evan took his place beside her, much closer than was necessary.
“Are you okay?” He leaned forward, staring into her eyes.
Within herself, Toni wanted to jump up and run from the room, preferably after using her nails to claw out Evan’s eyes, wipe out that confident expression. It reminded her too much of that other, the unshaven face that had smiled and smiled as he slapped her again and again, until she could no longer prevent him from removing her clothing.
“I’m just a little bit tipsy,” her traitorous lips formed works that horrified her. Tipsy, indeed. A ridiculous word. She might have gotten “pissed,” “bombed out of her mind,” or “blown away,” but never “tipsy.” “I feel like I’m going to fall right off the edge of the world.”
“I’d better hold onto you then.” And his arms were suddenly around her and she was pressing her face into his chest while his hands moved from shoulders to waist and then to her
buttocks. Toni wanted to struggle, scream at the top of her lungs, but instead she leaned back, pulling Evan down on top of her as she raised one leg and wrapped it around the back of his thighs. He shifted his own weight and brought his left hand around to cup her right breast, bringing a surge of ecstasy so intense the she arched her back convulsively, closing her eyes as the sensation burned through her nerve endings.
There was a sudden sense of weightlessness as she fell to the floor.
Toni opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, convinced that they had slipped off the edge of the couch. Except that the apartment was gone. She had, in fact, fallen off her chair and lay beside it, one leg folded painfully back, the other stretched out under the desk.
“Here, let me help.” Several people were standing around and one, Bill Eversole, had extended his hand down from what appeared to be an infinite distance. “Are you all right, Toni? You took quite a fall.”
Obediently, she grasped his hand and let him pull her up. Sharp pains lanced through her left knee and she rubbed the point of her right hip with one hand, still struggling to understand what had happened.
Across the office, Evan stared silently, his face betraying an awareness of power that mirrored Toni’s most nightmarish memories. She mumbled an apology and raced to the ladies’ room, where she crouched over a toilet until she could stop retching.
Toni agreed to work late again that evening, even though Marian had to attend a PTA meeting and would be unable to keep her company. Determined not to think about the unpleasant experiences earlier in the day, she concentrated on the matters at hand and cleared up most of her backlog by eight o’clock. She was about to page the guard and leave when a though occurred to her.
She rose and crossed to Maggie Lawrence’s work area.
The desks were all locked, but it was simple mechanism she had learned to circumvent years before when she lost the key to her own. It took only a few minutes to find Maggie’s copy of Evan’s employment application. She discovered that his last name was Wade and that he lived in Managansett, was twenty-three years old, unmarried, a high-school graduate, whose previous work experience was with several temporary-placement services.
