Monday, August 25, 2014

A New Definition of Hit and Run

Frank’s text message said Hide.  I rushed around the room, picking up anything that obviously didn’t belong to Frank: candy wrappers and my blue sneakers and the tuft of blond hair I’d have to kill him for tearing out of my head this morning.  If I was being forced to hide that meant company, and there was only one person it could be: Charlie.
Then I remembered that not only did Frank never eat candy, wear blue sneakers, or have white blond hair, he also wouldn’t throw his clothes around the room like he was trying to reupholster the furniture in black Armani.  I did another quick sweep of our hotel, tossed my dirty clothes into Frank’s duffel bag, took the deadbolt off the door, and crawled under the bed to wait.
For an hour.
By the time I heard them at the door I had perfected my plot of revenge on Frank for making me miss As the World Turns.  I would leap out from under the bed with no clothes on, thereby causing Charlie to die of shock on the spot.  Then I would grab the gun from under Frank’s pillow and shoot him in the upper arm where it would cause more inconvenience than injury.  He’d naturally be so upset about the old man’s well deserved demise that he wouldn’t even think to punish me for shooting him.
The sound of Charlie’s voice dragged me kicking and screaming from my fantasy when I remembered that as much as I would love to murder him with my nude glory, I didn’t actually want to be in the same room with the man, much less have him ever see me naked.  “This place is a dump, kiddo,” Charlie laughed. 
I scowled at his ankles.  As if I hadn’t just spent five whole minutes tidying up the place.  It was a dump, but a man who couldn’t even match his socks had no say in quality.
“It serves its purpose,” Frank said.  “Was there anything else?”
“Let me know when you want to do this thing.  I can—”
“I don’t need your help, Charlie.”
“You expect to just walk away from it?”
Walk away from what?  I took a deep breath, my heart starting to pound.  Frank stepped closer to the bed, as if to silently reassure me.  “I’ll manage, Charlie.  I always do.”
“If you say so.  Call me as soon as it’s finished.  I’d hate to leave you stranded on the side of the road somewhere.”
“Will do,” Frank said.  I knew he would be moping at that comment.  Charlie may have been his father figure, but that didn’t mean Frank needed to be babied.  And besides, if he did need help, I’d be there for him.  “I’ll drive you back.”
Drive him back?  That explained why I hadn’t heard Charlie’s beast of a car.  But why come to our hotel just to complain about the decor?  I waited several minutes after they left before crawling out from under the bed.  There was a set of car keys on the bed near where Frank had been standing, along with an envelope full of money and a photograph.  The keys were for a Buick, and probably and ancient one at that.  I couldn’t imagine a Buick driver being worth a hundred thousand dollars dead, and even if he were, Frank wouldn’t have his car keys.
I pulled some pants on and looked out the peephole just in case they were hanging out in the parking lot.  There was the white Buick parked in front of our hotel room, but Frank and Charlie were nowhere to be seen.  I went outside with the key.  The car wasn’t particularly pleasing to the eye and it smelled like mothballs inside, but it seemed to be in good working order when I started it.  Old lady car.  Very low miles.  The pink slip was in the glove compartment, along with a prayer card.  I went back inside.
Charlie had offered to help.  He was concerned about Frank being stranded on the side of the road.  I counted our money.  Four grand short.  So we’d paid for the car.  The weapon.  “Vehicular homicide,” I said to myself.  The drunk who’d killed my parents was charged with that.  Two counts.  I set down the keys and turned on the TV.  As the World Turns was still on.  Maybe it hadn’t been as long of a wait as I thought.  I wasn’t known for my patience.
Frank came home with a cheeseburger and French fries and a chocolate milkshake the size of my head.  I eagerly dug in, asking between bites, “Are you bringing me a peace offering because you expect me to be upset, or because I’m not going to get to do this hit?”
“You figured it out then?”
“Have you done this sort of hit before?”
“Why didn’t you mention it?”
“That I’ve killed someone the same way your parents died?”
“You’ve killed a lot of people a lot of ways, Frank.  And besides, it’s not the same way.  You’ll be in control of the car, not drunk.  And you were paid to do it.”
He sat next to me on the bed, stealing one of my fries when it became apparent I wasn’t upset enough to bite.  “I’ll need you to follow me in our car.  The Buick probably won’t be drivable when we’re finished.”
“Is this why you made me learn to drive?  For hits like this?”
“No, I made you learn to drive because you love cars and I knew you would enjoy it.”
“Not all cars.  And Charlie got ripped off if he spent four thousand dollars on that old thing.”
Charlie is not the one who got ripped off.”  He gave me a kiss, but I suspected he was really after my ice cream.  “Do you think the car’s okay?  It looks like a piece of junk.”
“What’s the mark driving?”
“A Corvette.”
I laughed.  “If you can actually catch it in that old Buick, the ‘vette’s toast.”
Frank raised his eyebrows.  “Really?”
“Yeah.  The Buick’s a boat.  Nice and heavy.  You’ll be all right.”
“Hmm.  That’s good to know.”
Charlie had probably told him the exact same thing, but Frank believed me.  I smiled to myself as I looked over the photo of the Corvette driver.  He was a walking mid-life crisis; earring, sports car, a leathery tan and highlighted hair.  He had the same cheesy smile as a lawyer I used to live with who liked to smack me in the face with his cock.
“Are you going to be okay with this job?  It might be difficult to watch.”
Teeth meet dashboard.  I handed him his new car keys.  “I’ll manage.” 

Guy’s night out was at a three story mansion turned brothel in the middle of nowhere.  There was a forty mile stretch of road to get there, which Mr. Corvette took at a speed that reflected his eagerness on the way there, and his satisfaction on the way home.  We’d get him on the way back when he was slower.
I sat in Frank’s BMW, waiting on the shoulder with my headlights off.  Frank was fifteen miles up the road doing the same thing in the Buick.  As soon as I heard the Corvette’s engine rumbling through the night I called Frank and started the car.
Our mark came tearing up the road and I peeled out behind him, keeping my distance with my lights off.  I was going forty so the mark had to be going at least fifty-five, and I switched on cruise control, tucking back my feet so I wouldn’t instinctively slam on the breaks when he slammed into Frank.  We couldn’t risk skid marks from a third vehicle and have the cops out looking for witnesses to the accident.
The Corvette flew past the mile marker and I turned on my headlights, flashing my high beams and honking my horn to get his attention.  The darkened back of the Buick suddenly came into view and he braked hard, swerving to the other lane to avoid hitting it.  Frank swerved along with him and I switched off my lights so I wouldn’t see it, my whole body clenching as I braced for impact.
The sound was horrific, like the death cry of a huge metal monster.  With all the accidents we’d caused during my driver’s education classes, it never sounded like that.  I turned my headlights back on just in time to see Frank stepping out of the car, no blood on his face and only metaphorical blood on his hands. I slowed to a stop beside the wreckage and ran to him, reigning myself in so I wouldn’t jump in his arms and kiss him all over.  He set his hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t know whether it was to steady me or him.  “Are you okay?”
“I am fine. Is he dead?” 
I bit my lip and turned back to the Corvette.  I’d run right past him to get to Frank, but I was right about the ‘vette being toast.  It looked like a snake that tried to swallow larger prey and choked on it, the front torn open around the rear of the Buick. I’d disabled his airbag while he was inside playing with Vietnamese youth, and the mark’s forehead was caved in from the steering wheel, blood pouring out his ears, nose, and mouth.  His smile was no longer cheesy.  It wasn’t there at all.  I glanced back at Frank to make sure it was okay before gently resting my fingers against his neck.  “He still has a pulse.”  Frank was already getting the gas can from the trunk of the BMW.  He was walking a little slower than usual, but he seemed to be all right.  I turned back to our mark, realizing that he was staring right at me.  “He’s awake.”
Frank came up beside me, affectionately resting his hand on my ass and peering into the car.
“What should I do?”
He shrugged, which looked like it hurt.  “Break his neck.”
I hesitated, not actually sure how to break someone’s neck.  “Just...twist?”
Frank smiled and said, “Sometimes I forget that you’re new at this.”  He held my hand and guided it from our mark’s pulse to his jaw, turning his head to the side.  Then he took my other hand in his and gripped our mark’s shoulder, pulling him slightly forward away from his seat.  The guy watched us the whole time, his eyes glassy and his pupils slightly different sizes.  “Push hard and fast.”
“Hard and fast,” I repeated with a slight grin.  “Just how I like it.”
He rolled his eyes.  “Push.”
“Urrrrrr,” the guy mumbled.  I shoved his head while Frank yanked his opposite shoulder, then POP and he stopped mumbling.
“There you are then.” Frank poured some gasoline on the grass, then splashed it up the side of the Buick.
“Can I light it?”
“You can throw a match from the car.”
I followed him back to the BMW, keeping an eye on him just in case he wasn't fit to drive after crashing the other car. Then of course I tripped on my shoelace and skinned my poor little knee.
Frank smirked and held open the passenger side door for me. “I've taught you to murder, shall I teach you how to walk?”
I rolled my eyes as I got in the car, unrolling the window and grabbing the book of matches. “You have to kiss it better.”
“As soon as we stop,” he said, as if he knew ahead of time that my knee was just the beginning and he didn't have time to really kiss it better.
He drove close to the car and I lit a match, practically bouncing with excitement when I tossed it out the window, eager to watch a fireball the size of and atom bomb explode as we drove into the sunrise. But the match went out before igniting everything. Frank stopped the car, turning his face a little so I wouldn't see his smile. I lit another one. That went out too.
“Shall I teach you how—”
I lit the entire book and tossed it, leaning my head out the window while Frank drove away. “Where's the fireball?” I pouted.
“You watch too much television. And speaking of, what happened on our show?”
As the World Turns?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
I glared at him. “Gee, Frank, shall I teach you how to text?”

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Killing the Competition

Some readers may have already seen this hit, as it was previously seen on the fabulous Boys in our Books blog, along with an author interview you can read here.

Frank slammed the door, which was a far cry from his usual ‘honey, I’m home’ and an even further one from ‘rise from your slumber, my beloved, it’s time for me to fuck you and feed you lunch simultaneously.’
“How’s Charlie?” I yawned, rolling over and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
He threw the envelope in the trashcan and sat on the bed with a huff.  He hadn’t brought lunch.
I draped myself across his back and put my arms around him.  “That good, huh?”
“Why are you still in bed?” he said accusingly.  Normally he wouldn’t care what I did while he was out with Charlie, but he was obviously looking to take his bad mood out on somebody and I was the only one around.
Back in bed.  I took a bath, got some breakfast, and cleaned the guns.  What have you done today?”
He flung me to the mattress, raising his hand to me but pausing before following through.  I hadn’t seen him this livid in some time, but a hint of light found his eyes when I smiled and tilted my cheek toward him, chewing on my lip.  He granted me my slap, then aggressively kissed his handprint to apologize.  I set my hand on the back of his head, turning my face away and urging him lower.  If he was going to be pissed off, he may as well channel his anger into something constructive.  Like bite marks.
When he stopped to kiss my scar, I realized what all the fuss must be about.  “Charlie mentioned me?”
Frank rested his cheek against my side, his face scratchy with stubble.  “He said the mark looks like you.”
“What?”  I sat up, flinging him onto my hip.  “I wanna see!”
“He doesn’t look like you.  He’s just blond and…pretty.”
I pouted.  “You think he’s pretty?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.  He has an attractive face.  If that’s what you’re attracted to.”
I held out my hand.  “Gimme.”
Frank rolled his eyes and slinked off the bed, retrieving the envelope from the trash.  I tore it open with a glare.  The mark looked like he was in his early twenties but I imagined he was older, definitely blond, with good bone structure and a thousand watt smile.  He looked cocky, which probably helped what little resemblance there was.  “Do you think he looks like me?”
He lit a cigarette.  I could see that his pack was nearly empty.  “I already said I didn’t.”
“Charlie obviously has a vision problem if he thinks we look alike, which means you never had to cut my fucking hair!”
He flung me to the bed again.  This time he was the first to smile.
“So what did he say about me?”
For a moment Frank didn’t speak, just staring at me like he was searching for something.  “He said that he hoped I shot you in the face because that was the cause of all your problems.”
I’m sure he saw me flinch at the cruelty of Charlie’s words, but lying there beside him I felt completely secure, unable to even think that it could’ve come to that in other circumstances.  “If that were the case you would’ve done just as well shooting me in the ass.  I get plenty of attention there too.”
He cracked a smile and leaned down to kiss me.  “Now that would be criminal.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t.  I left.”  Without even knowing I was alive, Charlie really knew how to press Frank’s buttons.
“Is that what we’re doing to our mark?  Shooting him in the face?”
“Do you want me to do it?”
He traced his fingers over my face, his eyes tracking the movement of his hands.  He smoothed his thumbs over my eyelids.  I could feel him studying me, knowing what he must’ve been imagining while my eyes were closed.  He quietly said, “Yes.”
“I’m okay, Frank.  Charlie was just trying to get a rise out of you.  Which is my job, by the way.”  I squirmed beneath him until I heard him laugh.
He took his hands off my face and I opened my eyes.  I had a feeling he'd be watching me sleep tonight.  “You look nothing alike.”
“But you do think he’s pretty.”
“He’s aesthetically pleasing.”  Frank put his arms around me, hugging my body to his.  “You’re heartbreaking.”
“What would you do if he came on to you?”
“He isn’t gay.”
I rolled my eyes.  “Hypothetically.”
“Shoot him in the face.”
“That would be personal.”
He held up our money.  “I got paid for it.”
Still hypothetically.  If you didn’t know me, and he came on to you.”
“Run away.  Or pretend I didn’t speak English.”
“I would.”
“Have you been hit on by a guy before?”
He blushed.  “Yes.  One of Charlie’s clients actually.”
If he hadn’t been on top of me I would’ve sat up, eager for information.  “Really?  I thought you never met the clients.”
“I was young and foolish.  And curious.  I went to talk to him.  He’s an English fop, old enough to be my grandfather.”
“And you didn’t kill him for seeing you?  I mean, if he was Charlie’s client then he knows what you do…”
“The situation was a bit…different.  But no, I had no reason to kill him.  Have no reason.”
I have a reason.”
He smacked me.  “You absolutely do not.  I told you, there could never be anyone but you.  There’s no reason to be jealous.  And honestly I didn’t even realize he was flirting with me until I met him again a few years ago.”
That wasn’t surprising.  Frank had barely realized that I was flirting with him, and I spent most of my time naked in his presence even before he started fucking me.  “I bet it’s happened more than you realize.”
“I no speak the English,” he said with a pronounced accent.
I laughed.  “You didn’t speak at all when we met.”
“Well I was mad at Charlie.  Now I’m mad at him again.  And we have no time with this job.  It’s to happen this weekend.”
“Good.  I wanna shoot that motherfucker in the face.”
Frank held my face in his hands, proudly admiring me.  “I love you.”
“Show me.”
He rolled his eyes.  “You mean 'blow me.'”
“Oh, babe.  You know me so well!”  He would also blow me so well.

I rummaged under the bathroom sink of Mr. Perfect-hair-soon-to-be-dead-stupid-asshole as carefully as I could, desperately trying to prove a point and reassure myself that he didn't have better hair than me.  “It's not natural.”
“He has no styling products in his bathroom.”
“It can't be natural.”
Frank shrugged, then turned at the sound of the front door.  “Keep looking, I got him.”
I nodded and slid aside some Comet, hoping to find the holy grail of hair gel hidden behind it.  No such luck.  “Son of a bitch.”  I glared at his blow dryer and got to my feet, angrily pulling out my gun as I headed after Frank.  “Tell me what you use on your hair!” I demanded to the terrified and not unattractive blond sitting on the living room floor.
He glanced nervously to Frank, then recited, “Nothing.  I just, uh, shaved it once.  When I was a teenager?”
I put my hands on my hips.  “That isn't funny, Frank.”
“Worth a try.  He said it was natural.”
“You asked him?” I pouted, taking Frank's inquiry as evidence of whose hair he preferred.
“I look more threatening than you.  I thought he'd be more inclined to tell the truth.”  He stroked my cheek.  “I was just trying to help, baby.”  I closed my eyes and leaned against his hand, feeling Frank sweep my far superior hair off my forehead with his fingertips.
“Uh, guys?” our mark asked from the floor.
My eyes snapped open and I shot him in the face.  “Uh, don't be rude, we were having a moment.”
Frank sighed and shook his head.  “I knew we should've used the hollow points.”
“So what if it takes a little more effort to achieve the right look?”  I shot him until it looked like we had used them.  Or replaced his face with steak tartar.  “Tell me I'm pretty.”
“His hair wasn't even that great,” he said, knowing what I was really demanding.  “And yes, you're pretty.”

Sunday, April 13, 2014

The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

The grizzled clerk sneered at me as I placed my purchases on the counter: a camouflage coat and hat, duct tape, and a hunting knife I grabbed as an afterthought simply because I wanted to see it in Frank’s hand. “What are you hunting for, sweetheart?” he laughed. He was missing about six teeth. If he’d bothered to look he probably could’ve found them in his filthy beard.
I really, really wanted to tell him who I was hunting just to see the look on his face, but he’d never believe me. Not even after hearing about the body, which was why I was the one buying camo gear and Frank was buying some innocent looking pajamas for my bait costume. “I’m hunting unicorn,” I lisped. “Only us gays can see them. You don’t even need a permit. And they’re fucking delicious.” I slapped some cash down on the counter and took my stuff without waiting for a bag. Or change. Then I saw our mark, standing right out in the open like a deer in a clearing.
He smirked at me, and I realized that he must’ve heard the entire exchange. “Don’t you sell ladies gear, Dwight?”
I scowled and pushed past him. He was so dead!
I stormed across the parking lot, somehow refraining from breaking in my new knife on the clerk’s pickup truck. But I wasted no time in showing my displeasure the moment I got home. “I want to shoot him!”
“Why’s that?” Frank asked from the bed, briefly lowering Sense & Sensibility. There was a hunting rifle on the table, and a set of red fleece pajamas with snowflakes on them.
“I’m not wearing those.”
He sighed and sat up, setting the book down on the bed. “Come here.”
I tossed my stuff on the table and curled up on his lap. “Fucking white trash rednecks around here.”
“What happened?”
“That stupid jerk made fun of me. In front of our mark!”
Frank’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You ran into our mark?”
“He was at the shop.”
He gave me a stern look. “And now you want to kill him?”
I knew how he felt about making things personal, but he knew how I felt about being treated like a little girl. “I’m a better hunter than they are.”
“Yes, you are. And one of the most important skills a hunter can have is the ability to go undetected. You’re better at it because they would never suspect you.”
“So can I kill him?”
“Absolutely not! It’s my turn.”
I couldn’t really argue with that, since the last four had been sniper jobs and therefore Vincent jobs. “Will you at least let me tell him that he’s about to die?”
“You can tell him whatever you’d like.”
“I told them I was hunting a unicorn.”
Frank pondered that for a moment, clearly not seeing the connection. “He got a good look at you?”
“You know what that means,” he said with a smirk.
It meant I’d need assistance becoming less recognizable. “I bought duct tape!”
He slapped me. I slapped him back out of habit, and then suddenly he was on top of me, tugging my hair out of my skull while he worked on kissing bruises onto my face. His book was digging into my shoulder and I flung it to the floor, only to get slapped again. He climbed off the bed, retrieving his book, and the duct tape.
I tossed my shirt across the room, squirming out of my pants while he set his book safely on the nightstand and got undressed. He laid his clothes out as if he’d bother putting the same ones back on again whether they were wrinkled or not, then grinned and knelt behind me, holding out the tape.
“Hands behind your back,” he ordered. I rested my stinging cheek against the bed and obeyed, crossing my wrists instead of putting my palms together so I’d have less leverage to pull free. He wound the tape around, then pulled me up by my arms so I was on my knees. Ripping a piece off with his teeth, he stamped it over my mouth before letting me fall back to the bed. “There. It’s perfect.”
I growled at him around the tape, but all was forgiven when he traced his fingers up the inside of my thigh. “He’ll take the tape off when he rescues you, and then you can talk to him.” I nodded, since anyone who met me would realize that the very first thing a kidnapper would do was put a gag on my mouth. The mark had only seen me for a minute and must’ve already thought I talked too much.
Frank reached between my legs, gently running his fingers over the underside of my cock. I arched my back, raising my hips to him and silently begging for him to be inside of me, a reminder that there could be nothing emasculating about something that felt this good.
He smacked me hard across the ass, his fingertips wet from teasing me. The tape tore at my lips as I gasped, my mouth stuck closed. “For my book,” he said simply, then shoved his wet fingers in me. The tape held tight while I moaned, grinding my ass against his hand. Then he cruelly slid his fingers out. “Also for my book.”
“Mrhmfrrf,” I grumbled, burying my face in the blanket so he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing me suffer.
Frank gripped my bound wrists one-handed, lifting my head off the bed and pressing the tip of his cock into me just enough to make me squirm against my restraints. He held me to him, pressing deeper but never deep enough, suspending me by my arms. I raised my head, craning my neck back and arching my whole body towards his. I could feel the strain in my shoulders and I groaned in discomfort as much as pleasure, trying to rear back against him only to have him painfully raise my arms and tilt his hips away completely.
The tape was tearing at the skin on my wrists while I struggled, as if freeing my arms would actually bring me any relief when he was refusing to fuck me. I dropped my head in defeat, my body aching for him. Frank laughed quietly and said, “Your new pajamas are adorable. Don’t you agree?”
I nodded in desperation and he finally forced his cock inside me with one rewarding thrust. I moaned, my arms trembling to support our weight as he shoved his body into mine, sliding his cock nearly all the way out before slamming it back in. The increasing pain was the only thing keeping me from coming and I relished in his power over me, knowing he would release me before it went too far.
Just as I felt like my arms would snap I started to come, and he dropped me to the bed, gently rocking his hips against me while I caught my breath. He leaned his body over mine, soothingly warm on my throbbing limbs as I lay there, spent and completely at his mercy.
I whimpered when he grabbed my cock, pulling me closer to him while he thrust so deeply it felt like I was utterly consumed by him. He raked his other hand through my hair, pounding me harder as he got close, squeezing my cock so I was moaning along with him as he came.
He relaxed onto me, panting but still not putting his full weight on my arms. But when he raised himself off and started tugging at the tape on my wrists, I urgently mumbled, “Hmrrhmhmmrhhm.”
He leaned over and very carefully inched the tape off my mouth. “What dear?”
I smiled at him and said, “Use the knife.”
He glanced over to the table where I’d left his hunting gear and hopped off the bed. I rolled over to admire his nude body while he struggled with the ridiculous plastic packaging. I was almost hard again by the time he used another knife to get it open. He sliced the tape on my wrists, holding me on his lap to rub my shoulders as I pulled the scraps off myself. “The pajamas are very similar to something his kid was wearing in a Christmas photo. That’s why I picked them. Plus you’ll be visible. And warm.”
“I love them.”
He rolled his eyes. “I bought them big. You can wear your regular clothes underneath.”
“Thank you.”
“You will look adorable.” He roughly squeezed my shoulders, then kissed my head. “Especially with the tape.”

Having my wrists tied behind my back wasn’t nearly as much fun when Frank wasn’t also behind my back. I kicked at the leaves and bounced around making noise, my throat raw from screaming through the tape. When I heard footsteps approaching I settled down on the floor of the clearing, the knees of my pajamas soaking up mud.
Our mark’s expression was almost comical when he saw me, and he ran through the dried leaves, bobbing over fallen branches and twigs with his rifle in his hand. He dropped to his knees at my side, putting his arms around me like his first concern was whether I were warm enough instead of the fact that I was bound and gagged in the middle of the woods. “Who did this? Who did this?”
“Oh,” he said dumbly, and ripped the tape off my face.
“Sorry.” He petted my head, then cut the tape off my wrists with his hunting knife. Needless to say it was smaller than Frank’s, and not at all exciting. I moved away from him and rubbed my poor lips as he continued bumbling, “Are you okay? Who did this?”
“Frank? Frank who?”
I shook my head in exasperation. Whoever paid to have him killed should’ve really let natural selection take its toll. The guy was bound to chase a butterfly off a cliff or something soon enough. “I have two words for you: Bambi’s mom.”
His throat exploded and he fell over, nearly landing on me.
“I wasn’t finished!”
Frank came walking out from behind the trees with his rifle still raised, as if our mark wasn’t already bleeding out all over the muddy fall foliage. “You said ‘two words.’”
“That was for dramatic effect,” I pouted.
He lowered his gun. “Sorry, baby.”
I shrugged and stood up. “It’s okay. At least I got the last word.”
Frank held my chin in his hand, surveying the damage to my mouth. He glanced at the corpse and released me, like he was satisfied with the man’s punishment over abrading my skin. “What did he do to her mother?”
I laughed. Of course Frank wouldn’t get the reference. “He shot her.”
“You’re kidding? No wonder she wanted him killed.”
“His mother-in-law. He shot her?”
“The hunter’s wife was named Bambi?”
“I thought I told you that.” Frank knit his eyebrows when I laughed at the irony, like he was no longer sure he knew what was going on. “Who were you talking about?”
In order to make any sense I’d have to start at the beginning, explaining Disney’s hold on most normal children before I could even get to what happened to Bambi. And I still had to explain the connection between unicorns and rainbows and gay people. Instead I just mashed it all together and started, “Once upon a time there was a gay unicorn named Bambi...”

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

My First Time…With a Woman

            Cici Weston wore a dark blue pinstriped pantsuit in her photo, with shoulder pads making her shoulders look wider than Frank’s despite how slim she was otherwise. Her blonde hair was pulled back so tightly it made mine hurt with sympathy, and her skin was pulled even tighter across her face, painted in the way that made children afraid of clowns.
Her estranged husband, currently engrossed in a nasty divorce, was Charlie’s client. Frank said that the client would usually be female when there was a female victim, as if men found it emasculating to have someone else kill their wives and girlfriends. According to Charlie the client was anything but masculine; a house husband who was accustomed to his soon-to-be ex-wife buying him pretty things to apologize after abusing him. But since she had the income for a better lawyer and all he had was a trust fund that was running out, he decided to use his limited means more wisely and have her offed instead.
“So how do we do it?” I asked, lounging in a bath full of more bubbles than water. I tossed her photo over the side of the tub. The idea of a woman being present while I was naked made my skin crawl, even if she was just in photo form.
Frank leaned against the bathroom counter and picked up the hairdryer. “Accidental suicide.” He swung it at the bathtub.
I watched impassively as it swung back to him, his fingers gripping the cord.
“You don’t even fall for it anymore,” he complained.
“Oh, eeek, Frank.” I rolled my eyes. “Like you’d kill me in the water.” He was so afraid of me drowning that he had to be the one to fill the tub for me, as if I’d somehow screw it up and draw a riptide out of the faucet to drag me under. “Or in the nude for that matter. Get in with me.”
This time when he swung it I actually did flinch. There was something about the murderous look on his face that lent authenticity to the action. He set the dryer back down and firmly stated, “No.”
“Are you ever gonna tell me why you’re afraid of water?”
“I had a bad experience when I was younger.”
“So let’s have a good experience. Get in.”
“Let’s talk about the job.”
I sighed and relaxed back, sending a wave of bubbly water cascading over my body. “I had to wake up alone, wait four hours while you were out with Charlie, and now all you wanna do is talk about work?”
“I fucked you the moment I got up. It’s not my fault you went back to sleep.”
I dramatically draped a washcloth over my eyes and tilted my face away from him. “Talk about the job then.”
“The client says that she always has a glass of wine and a hot bath at the end of her workweek.”
“Hold up.” I took the washcloth off my face. “You mean we really are gonna kill her in the tub?”
“With a hairdryer?”
He shrugged.
I glanced at the hairdryer, sitting innocently beside his hand. “So you’ve done this before? Killed someone in a tub?”
“Eeek,” he said dryly.
“Have you ever drowned anybody?”
Would you?”
“Of course.”
I reached my hand out to him, suddenly mad with desire at the thought of him utterly fearless in his work mode. “Get in.”
He stared at the bathtub. His expression was completely impassive, but I knew I was about to get my way. Frank took a deep, determined breath and stepped forward. I tugged his pant leg to stop him. “What?”
“You may want to get undressed first.”
Frank blushed, then tried saving face by saying, “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
I stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. He shrugged it off like a little boy being forced to do something he didn’t want to, and I nearly gave up on my attempt to molest him in the tub until I caught sight of his bare chest. Molesting him was definitely back on the table.
I ran my hand through my wet hair, then tackled his fly, dripping water down the front of his pants to encourage him to help me speed up the process. He glowered at me red-faced and stepped out of them, ready to pick them up off the floor and fold them before I grabbed his arm. “Get in.”
“You know I’m only doing this because I love you.”
“And because I’m naked.” I took a step back and held his hands to guide him. “When’s the last time you took a bath?”
He glanced around himself at the water like he’d never see his feet and shins again now that they’d been submerged. “As a child.”
I began crouching down, pulling him along with me. He tensed, and I started to wonder whether this was what it was like to bathe a cat. “Tell me more about the job,” I said, attempting distraction.
“The client is still the beneficiary of her life insurance policy. She doesn’t have family, or friends, so he should get everything.”
“Lucky him.” I sat calmly in the tub while Frank was on all fours in front of me, ready to spring. This was a new level of intimacy for us, and not just because the bathtub was so cramped. “Turn around.”
He eyed me warily and did as instructed, keeping his hands on either side of the tub like the water was icky. I pulled him closer to me, extending my legs around his body and wrapping my arms under his. He slowly leaned back against me, finally calming just a little when I used one hand to put some bubbles in his hair and the other hand to stroke his cock.
“Cici looks so charming and pleasant. Why on earth doesn’t she have any friends?”
“Works too much I suppose.” For some reason, Frank didn’t seem all that interested in working too much himself.
“We’re gonna have to see her naked if we kill her in the bath, huh?”
“I imagine so.”
“Maybe she’ll have bubbles.” I layered some more on his head. “Lots of bubbles.”
“Women’s bodies can be beautiful, you know.”
I stopped stroking him. “Gross. Don’t make me drown you.”
“That is not funny.” He gave less of a physical reaction than I had at the second hairdryer swing, but I could tell by his voice that I was coming close to being Frank’s first drowning victim.
“You know I wouldn’t kill you.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Or accident!” I smacked him. “Don’t say that.”
“Then stop pointing guns at me,” he laughed.
“The first one’s a blank.”
“For good reason.”
I got out of the tub, leaving him staring at me wide-eyed like I’d just taken the last life raft. I held my hand out to him. “I wouldn’t kill you.”
He stood up on his own, sloughing off some of the bubbles before stepping out of the tub. “Did you or did you not threaten to drown me?”
“You threatened me first by talking about naked women.”
Frank clicked his tongue and pulled me into his arms. “I just took a bath with you. There’s absolutely no need to feel threatened.”
I ground my bare toes against Cici’s photograph anyway. “Can—May I do this job?”
“As long as you want to do it for the experience and not out of some sordid idea of revenge because I said women’s bodies could be beautiful.”
I took a moment to consider my real motive, and decided that I did need the experience. If I just happened to imagine Frank’s ex-girlfriend twitching about in the tub with the hairdryer in place of Cici Weston, all the better. “Agreed,” I said, and knelt down. There was more than one way to get him wet.

Cici Weston had a car that cost more than her life, but she only ever had two destinations. Work, and home. Work was a building downtown where she had her very own parking spot with her name on it, security cameras throughout every level of the garage. Home was far less monitored, with a doorman who slept on the job and took no notice of anyone passing by. Apparently Cici had picked the place specifically for the purpose, since she was used to taking and receiving bribes as well as physically and emotionally abusing her husband. She obviously didn’t want anything to be recorded. Neither did we.
We hung out in her spare bedroom until she came home, knowing from the previous spying sessions that she never even went near the room. According to Charlie’s client, it was there for the sole purpose of having somewhere to banish him when he was no longer welcome in their bed.
She slammed a few things around in the kitchen, then the sound of water running started on the other side of the apartment. Frank glanced at his watch. We’d timed this for the past two weeks so we’d know when it was safe to enter. She thankfully had plenty of bubble bath, and it smelled so good that Frank bought me some of my own, lest I be tempted to steal from the dead.
Frank asked, “Do you want to point your gun, or shall I?”
“I’ll do it.”
He nodded and we headed to the bathroom.
Cici let out a shriek when she saw us, shrinking back against the tub and crossing her arms across her fake breasts. Then she seemed to remember that she was a super bitch and started screaming at us to get the fuck out of her apartment or she’d have us killed.
“Who do you think we are, lady?” I scoffed, raising my gun a little higher in case she hadn’t seen it. I may have been short, but I wasn’t that short.
Frank pulled his gun since she obviously wasn’t afraid of mine, and said, “Stand up.” Cici slowly stood, covering herself and never taking her eyes off him. The bubbles that had been graciously hiding what her bone thin arms couldn’t slid down over her wet skin, exposing the horror that was the female form. If I was born a woman, I would’ve had a ton of plastic surgery too. “See?” he said to me. “She looks fine.”
I rolled my eyes in disgust and smacked the hairdryer into the tub. The lights in the bathroom flickered and Cici danced a little, then fell with a splash that Frank and I both stepped back to avoid.
“I’ll have you know that you just scarred me for life by making her stand up like that.”
“It’s more convincing if she falls. Looks like she slipped and grabbed it by accident.”
“Oh, so it wasn’t out of spite then?”
“Not entirely,” he said. “Now you know where babies come from.”

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Mr. Muscle and My First Garroting

            We sat across from each other at the small Formica table, the remains of a large pepperoni pizza between us.  Frank’s quarter of the pizza was mostly still there, apart from the piece I’d snuck.  My side was decimated.
Frank glanced at the envelope he’d brought home from his meeting with Charlie, then back to me.  “Here,” he said, handing me the cash from inside the envelope but not the photograph of our mark.  “You can keep that.”
I didn’t take the money.  “But not do the hit?”
I did my best not to get defensive.  “Why?”
He looked me over with a slight smile.  “You’re too little.”
Now I took the money, and threw it in his face.  He grabbed me by the throat and yanked me from my chair, shoving me down to the floor.  He held my wrists against the carpet.  The cash framed my head and I grinned up at him, sweetly asking, “Too little for what, Frank?”
“Is it that hard?”
“Tell you what, if you can get free, I’ll let you do it.”
I set my jaw, not even bothering to try.  There was no way I could get my arms free with Frank holding me down.  Not unless I tricked him, which would defeat the purpose of the lesson.  I decided to do it anyway.  “Kiss me.”
“Absolutely not.”
I licked my lips.  He played tough, but I knew I’d win.  “Why not?”
“Because you will bite me, and then I’ll have to garrote two people.”
With the threat of strangulation I really wanted him to kiss me.  I squirmed beneath him.  “You’ll be right beside me while I do it.  What’s the worst that could happen?”
He released my wrists.   “You could get hurt, baby.  Garroting is very physical work.”
“You wouldn’t let me get hurt,” I said.  Frank sat back on his heels, my legs extended between his.  He reached to the table and brought down the envelope, pulling out the photograph for me to look at.  It was tough to say for sure just from a headshot, but his square skull and complete lack of neck screamed beefcake.  “How can you strangle someone with no neck?”
“Carefully.”  He got up, leaving me on the floor to writhe with desire.
“Come back!” I whined.  I pulled off my clothes in anticipation of his return, tossing them in his general direction.
Frank shook his head disparagingly, then went fishing through his duffel bag.  He came back with a coil of wire and his wool scarf.  I sat up to show him that he had my full attention.  This is a garrote.”  He held it up by the wooden handles and stretched the wire out a bit, turning it around at different angles as if there were more to it than met the eye.  He looked like one of the ladies in evening dresses displaying kitchenware on The Price is Right, but I kept that comment to myself.  “Hold out your arm.”
I did as I was told.  He wrapped the garrote around my forearm and gave it a squeeze.  I winced and pulled back, which only made it tighter.  I grit my teeth.  “Ow!”
“Garrotes hurt, so we’ll be practicing with the scarf instead.”  He unwrapped the wire, leaving a bright red line all the way around my arm.  The garrote looked like it just might’ve been long enough to get around our mark’s shoulderhead.  Frank tossed it on the bed and pulled me to my feet.  He handed me one end of his wool scarf and turned away from me with the other end in his hand, passing it to me around his neck.
I moved closer to him, carefully wrapping the ends around my hands.  I would’ve said that I didn’t want to hurt him, but after he’d maimed my poor arm I wasn’t feeling especially gentle.  “Ready?”
He laughed.  “Try me.”
I gave it a tug.  He casually reached over and pinched me where he’d garroted my arm.  “Ow!  Cheating.”
I pulled again.  This time he’d already gotten his hand between his neck and the fabric and yanked it away from me so fast I lost my footing.  Then I got an idea.  Ready?”
“Quit playing around and choke me.”
I used the scarf for leverage and jumped up on his back, nearly pulling him off his feet.  He steadied himself while I kept tugging, my legs wrapped around his hips.  His hands were between the cloth and his neck so I wasn’t really choking him, but his voice was a little strained as he said, “Interesting technique.”
“Was that better?”
“Yes, it was better.”  He bent forward, flipping me over his back and onto the bed.  “A little warning next time.”
“You said you were ready!”
“Not for you to put your full weight into it.  You just ate a whole pizza.”
“I did not!”
Frank smiled and knelt on the bed beside me.  “At any rate, you’re going about it the wrong way.”  He took the scarf from me and wrapped it gently around my neck, then crossed his hands before taking the ends again.  He pulled until it constricted.  “Like so.”
Somehow I found myself a bit distracted from the lesson, lying vulnerable to a man who not only could give professional tips on strangling people, but actually enjoyed strangling people.  “Go ahead.  Show me how it’s done.”
He blushed, though I didn’t think he understood the extent of my interest in our new game.  My eyes grew heavy as he straddled me, leaning his body over mine with his hands on either side of my head.  He gripped the scarf and slid his hands across the sheets, watching my face intensely as the scarf tightened.  I began to pant, instinctively trying harder for oxygen as my airway was restricted further by the scarf.  Then it was cut off.  I smiled at him, my heart racing even though I felt completely safe.  Blood pounded in my temples.  I was painfully hard.
Frank released the scarf and I gasped, but instead of letting me breathe he kissed me roughly.  I kissed him back, trying futilely to steal his breath.  My lips were tingling and numb.  The bed began to spin and suddenly I was hyperventilating, taking great gulps of air while Frank sat on my legs.  “Deep breaths, V.”
I nodded, inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth.  I was giddy with dizziness, grinning wildly.  “What a way to go.”
“I don’t think it’s quite as pleasurable for real victims.”
“Do it again,” I begged.  Frank laughed.  I grabbed my discarded pants, which had luckily ended up on the bed with us so I could get to the lube I always carried.  “Do it again.”  Now I had his full attention.  I reached between us, unbuttoning his pants and eagerly slicking his cock.  He hiked my legs up over his arms and retrieved the ends of the scarf, pulling it taut as he slid his entire length into me.  My mouth opened to moan but there was no sound.
He thrust hard, lifting my whole body upward, forcing the scarf to constrict against my neck.  It loosened as he reared back, only to choke me again when he plunged in.  I couldn’t catch my breath long enough to speak, barely able to groan when he reached deep inside of me, pulling out and hammering home.
Everything felt intensified, my blood pulsing in my ears, my body aching for release.  He stared into my eyes, his own eyes bright with fascination.  The smile on his face was wider than Mr. Muscle’s neck.
I started to come and Frank tugged the scarf tight, silencing my moans.  Darkness began speckling my vision and he gave just enough leeway for me to quickly inhale before pulling so hard on the scarf that his hands shook.  Then Frank came, groaning loud enough for the both of us.  His grip on the scarf became completely slack as we panted together, my breathing naturally more labored than his.  It was several minutes until either of us spoke.  “So, can I do the hit?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
Frank blinked a few times, like he couldn’t quite remember what hit I was referring to.  “Little Vincent…”  He stopped and chuckled to himself.  “You can do anything you want.”

I watched our mark lift weights bigger than me, as if he knew we were planning to strangle him and he was working to increase the width of his neck ahead of time.  He went to the gym three times a week, which meant we went to the gym three times a week.   I could’ve been luxuriating in the sauna, but instead I was working on increasing my upper arm strength by being pinned underneath a weighted bench press bar, trying, and failing, to lift it off my chest again.  Frank was on the treadmill, sprinting in place at full speed with his attention focused on his quarry.  I imagined that Frank would step in at any moment to spot me, but it was another gym member who came to my rescue.
“Maybe you should start lighter,” he said with a Day-Glo smile.  He had muscles on top of muscles.  His skin was Oompa Loompa orange.  His cock was right in my face.
“Maybe you should mind your own business,” Frank said from behind him.  Frank set his hand on the bar and leaned his weight on it, as if trapping me underneath it was the most efficient way to keep me safe from the man’s tangerine clutches. 
The guy smiled again and raised his hands defensively as he backed away.
“But Frank, he was gonna give me the keys to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory!”
He lifted the bar off of me one handed.  “Should I have any idea what that means?”
I sat up and wiped some sweat from my brow.  “No.”
Our mark started flirting with a female Oompa Loompa with brittle bleached hair, and we took it as our cue to leave.  Mr. Muscle was quite the ladies’ man, as long as said lady didn’t get herself knocked up.  Then he’d choke them half to death in their kitchen and cause them to miscarry his child.  That’s why he was getting strangled when it would be so much easier to drop him with an elephant gun.  His ex’s father was the protective type, and stinking rich.  If everything went according to plan, our mark was getting strangled tomorrow.  And I was getting strangled again tonight.

Frank turned a page, lounging quite comfortably on our mark’s sofa with a copy of Candide that looked like it’d been found on the side of the road.  I got to stand where I’d be hidden from sight, and I bounced up and down in excitement.  “Hold still,” he said without looking up.
“I can’t.”
He turned another page.  Then I heard the front door and I froze, gripping my garrote.
Our mark paused in the hallway, staring at Frank on his sofa.  He growled, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Frank held up his book, as if it weren’t obvious.  Our mark started to approach him, like a bull ready to charge.  I slipped the garrote over his head and pounced on his back.  He made a gurgling noise and stepped backwards, gripping first for the wire and then trying to swat me like a mosquito.  Frank stood, walking casually toward us as our mark stumbled further away in a panic.
Then the surprise wore off, and Mr. Muscle started getting angry.  He grabbed at my arms, which he could’ve probably ripped right out the sockets if I wasn’t dangling off of him with my full weight plus a big dinner.  I pulled tighter, holding onto him with my legs around his hips.  He gurgled some more and backed into the wall, slamming me against it.  I lost my footing and swung precariously off his neck.  He nearly tripped on the rug and we stumbled together into a side table.  There was a crash of something hitting the ground and I tried pulling myself up his back again but my arms were starting to shake from the strain.  He punched my arm hard, once, twice.  I didn’t let go, kicking off the wall to project us forward where I wouldn’t be squashed.
Frank slid behind us and put his hands over mine, giving a sharp tug that drew blood and would’ve brought all three of us to the ground if we hadn’t met another wall.  I panted, sandwiched between Frank and our mark.  He was still fighting it, bumping us repeatedly against the plaster.  Frank’s grip didn’t loosen, and our mark finally started to go slack.  We waited several minutes, holding onto him together before Frank released my hands.  There was no way I’d be able to hold him up on my own.  My arms were like Jell-O.  I let go of the garrote and our mark fell unimpeded to our feet.
I looked beyond the man’s massive form at the destruction we’d caused in his hallway.  The destruction caused to me was invisible under my dark clothes, but I could already feel bruises forming.  “I can’t believe you let me do this hit.”
 “I told you it was tough,” he said.  I leaned back against him and he wrapped his arms around me.  “Are you hurt?”
Frank rolled our mark over with his foot.  His mouth was hanging open, his tongue sticking out to the side. The garrote was imbedded in his flesh, a fine line of blood coated neatly around it, like his throat had been slashed after he’d already bled out.  I frowned at the mess of Mr. Muscle’s neck and sympathetically brought my hand to my own throat, the delicate skin rubbed raw from repeated contact with Frank’s wool scarf.  “But we really ought to switch to silk.”