by V Vee
And my cock...
Well, it was so hard it could probably lift the kettlebell by itself.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I couldn’t be gay.
Could I?
“Hey,” a deep voice interrupted my thoughts and I blinked while turning. I opened my mouth to respond only to freeze because HE was standing behind me.
“Uh. Um. Yeah?” I stammered.
He smiled gently at me and ran his left hand over his hair, the muscles in his arm flexing, veins bulging almost obscenely against his tanned, olive skin. He looked a bit like Joe Manganiello. Built. Buff. Tanned.
Gorgeous.
What the hell was I thinking?
“So um... my name is Cesar. I was wondering if you could spot me?” His voice was hesitant. Shy. His hazel-green eyes flickering up to my face and then away. He pointed to the bench press with his right hand and my eyes traced over the intricate detailing of the forest and... woodland creatures... tattooed as a sleeve on his right arm. I wanted to reach out and touch it. It looked so real I would have sworn I could hear the wind whistling through the trees and hear the scurrying clatter of creatures moving through the human-less forest. I was certain that if I touched that tattoo, I would be sucked into it. Become a part of it.
And yet... I had to blink away an image of me licking it.
I nodded at him. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course, man. I don’t mind spotting you. Name’s Roman.” I smirked when he quirked his eyebrow at me. “No joke. My name really is Roman. That’s why I thought it was weird—but cool—that your name was Cesar,” I confessed. Or at least I WOULD have thought that. If I hadn’t been... you know... drooling all over him.
“What a small world,” Cesar laughed. “Well, guess it was just meant for us to meet then, huh?” He patted my shoulder before turning to walk over to the bench press where he’d laid his towel.
I shivered from the delicious touch of his hand on my shoulder. My skin. Seeping its way into my blood. My nerve-endings. This was going to be interesting, but I would get through it. I would spot him. We would talk—maybe—then I would finish my workout. Go home. Pay the babysitter. Play with my daughter. Have dinner with her. Give her a bath. Read her a bedtime story before putting her to bed.
Then I would go online and try to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.
How, after twenty-five-ish plus years of knowing who I was, what I wanted, and who I was attracted to, did I suddenly, just months after turning twenty-six, start to fantasize, dream about, and become attracted to another MAN?
Why was he the one who made me question my sexuality? And was I questioning it or had it just... changed? Shifted?
I needed answers and there had to be someone out there who could help.
Unfit (The Undesirables)
Prologue
The halls of the House of Congress of the Mass States echoed quietly as Sherman, one lone intern, scampered down towards the double doors halfway down. A secret meeting of those who stood in positions of power in the country was even now being held and Sherman had learned of it only moments before. He was not usually in attendance at such meetings, but there was something about this particular gathering which caused his stomach to churn.
Perhaps it was the current state of the nation. Daily there were reports of new protests, riots, and marches upon the Capitol, it was the source of much fear and anxiety among those in positions of note. Sherman had more than once overheard conversations between representatives and leaders as they struggled to figure out exactly a way to bring an end to such devastation. There had been those, of course, who spoke of religious matters, stating this was a sign of the “End Times” but their voices were quickly silenced because they brought no solution. For weeks and months, the whole of the government had waited on tenterhooks with bated breath for the President’s course of action, they were all disappointed when he called only for “dialogue” and “open communication.” Sherman was sure the conference being held between the members of Congress and the Senate was due to that particular decision by the leader of the country.
Sherman stopped outside of the door to the meeting room and pressed his ear against the dark, maple wood paneling. He heard murmured voices and words being shouted before a gavel was banged upon the desk. Realizing this was the perfect moment for him to find out everything that was going on and then being able to alert his coworkers, Sherman calmed his breathing and listened carefully.
“So it is decided then? We shall send out the military to slowly gather those who fit the criteria we have set forth. This is the best thing for our country, ladies and gentlemen. Once the military has collected everyone, they will all be sent to the Southern hemisphere and left in the country of Zaul. As they are being rounded up, we will continue with having our borders secured against immigrants and others seeking to enter. The wall will be finished as we dispense with those who cause problems, those with no education, those in poverty, those who lack morals.”
Sherman’s breath caught in his chest. Surely they were not talking about what he thought they were? Disposing of millions of people, sending them to a land whose terrain was rough because they did not meet certain standards? Was that legal?
Sherman turned to go and alert his co-workers and fellow interns but came up short when he found himself face to face with four security guards. They smiled grimly at him even as Sherman pressed himself back against the wall, seeking a way of escape.
“In short, we shall finally rid our country of the undesirables and see ourselves returned to the glory and greatness we were once known for,” the speaker continued.
One of the guards pulled out a pair of handcuffs while another leveled his shotgun in Sherman’s direction. Sherman trembled, wondering why he was being targeted. He’d been valedictorian at his high school and salutatorian at his university. His parents did not live in poverty, and he served his country by serving those in power. Why would he be a target?
“Look, guys, we get to make our first arrest. Sherman Hemlock, educated, comes from a rich in both wealth and sophistication family. Hard-worker,” one of the guards read from the handheld device in his hand.
Sherman nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “So why are you looking for me?”
“You appear to have a very low moral compass, Mr. Hemlock. You are currently involved in a relationship where you are not married and yet you live with this person.” The guard sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sherman, but you are an undesirable.”
Sherman opened his mouth to speak, to point out he was unmarried because not only was his partner in the military and hardly home, but in their home state, same-sex marriages were still illegal. He never received the chance to make a defense. The door opened behind him and as Sherman turned to see who was exiting the room, a blow came to the back of his head and he gave into the darkness.
Shattered (Never Destroyed)
The bass from the music blaring in the club thrummed and vibrates throughout my body. The vocals of the songstress singing of heartbreak and cheating, of her lover ignoring her unless he was drunk or horny, wailed through my veins, flooded the air, and pulsed through the night sky until it drowned out the blaring of horns, the chattering and shouting of the people on the street, and...
Completely eliminated the sound of my screams and pleas for help.
No one could hear me.
And even if they could, no one would risk their lives to save me. I fought as much as my alcohol-infused brain allowed me to. Much of the liquor had been burned off by my anger, my tears, my screams, my flailing limbs...
My terror.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening to me. I was a good woman. Had been a good girl growing up. Never got in trouble. Never talked back. Never did drugs. Had two boyfriends in my entire life. My high school boyfriend, and my college boyfriend who’d become my fiancé.
They were the only two men I’d ever slept with. The only two men I’d ever had sex with.
Until now.
I prayed. I prayed harder than I ever had before. I screamed at God. I pleaded for Him to help me. I sobbed for my father—who’d died five years previously—and I cried my mother’s name—who was currently in hospice, preparing herself to see my father again.
My limbs grew heavy. My body was one massive lump of pain. I wanted to keep fighting but I just didn’t think I could.
Not anymore.
And so I stopped fighting back. He was waiting for my surrender.
I lay there. Sprawled on the dirty, filthy, needle-ridden ground, outside the club where my friends were inside, drinking, smoking, and hooking up. And I cried.
Softly.
What was the point of having a voice if no one was going to listen?
And as he violated me—over and over and over again, until my mind had checked out completely and my body no longer felt as if it belonged to me—I prayed for the very. Last. Time.
It wasn’t a prayer for God to save me from such a horrific fate. It was a prayer, a plea...
That He would let me die.
But of course... He didn’t answer that one either.
Evil’s Midnight Kiss
I want to be greater than Jack the Ripper, remembered more than the Zodiac killer, feared more than the Son of Sam. I want to be whispered about in the halls of academia by young adults with fear in their voices. I want to be a course in Criminal Law, lauded as the serial killer, the murdering mastermind who made the world tremble in fear for years… and was never caught.
I want to be a movie. I want websites created in my honor, to study me, to accurately portray my movements and law enforcement’s efforts to capture me. I want to be memorialized on television and film. I want singers to sing of me, children to make me into a monster and to whisper my name three times into the mirror as if daring me to appear. Oh, children of America, how foolish you are.
I want actors to audition to portray me, for police officers, FBI agents, detectives, and soldiers to obsess and lose their minds in their quest to find me. For them to lose their families, their children, their jobs. It will be my own way of killing authority… when I’m not actually killing those in authority.
This is not my manifesto. I do not need one. You will not hear me speak of those who have wronged me, of abuse or a heartbreaking childhood here. No, this is my promise, my vow to you, those of you who are wise enough to be cautious, to be aware, to watch the signs of evil around you…
Midnight is coming and it’s time for the human race to give evil a kiss goodnight. Tell Agent Thompson my first letter is coming, and if he has any hope of saving any lives, then he needs to stay sharp, stay aware, because I will be watching.
Let the games begin.
Sincerely,
Malum Umbra
