I found him hiding in a culvert in the far back, downhill end of my property. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find him there: the dogs had been barking overnight, and I’d heard helicopters.
I’d brought my shotgun, but I didn’t need it. The kid was in a bad way. He was covered in more-or-less congealed blood, twigs, dirt, and mud, and he wasn’t really conscious. His eyes were open, but I don’t know how much they were seeing. He looked up at me from about a thousand miles away, and made a noise that might have been “fuck’ and might have been “help”.
He was a skinny sack of shit and bones. Young kid, probably about the age of my own son when he died. Israel was driving drunk. I guess I’m just lucky he didn’t take anyone else with him. He was such a smart kid; how could he do something so fucking stupid? I never did forgive him for that.
I threw this kid over my shoulder and carried him, fireman style, back to the house.
Found his gun later on that same morning. It was in the mud, not far from that drainage ditch he’d crawled into. Nickel-plated Glock knock-off. The magazine was empty. There was still a round in the chamber. Jammed more than likely. The whole business went to the bottom of the lake, as far out as I could throw it.
Kid slept and slept like he never wanted to wake up. I wasn’t at all sure he was going to make it. He’d lost a lot of blood. Bullet had grazed his neck, just missed his right jugular. A fat chunk of shrapnel had lodged itself deep in his left gastrocnemius. He had a pretty high fever too, that just didn’t want to go down. I pumped him full of horse antibiotics. That seemed to do the trick.
I was jerking off when he finally woke up. Nothing unusual about that, for better or for worse. I was hanging out naked, just idly stroking, flipping through my stack of glossy old 1970’s skin mags, when I heard him croak out something that sounded like “water”.
My cock swinging back and forth like a pendulum, I brought him a tall, cool glass of water that he drank thirstily down. Didn’t say ‘thank you’. Didn’t say much of anything. I went back to what I was doing. I don’t know whether he watched or not.
Kid didn’t talk much. Even when I got him up and about, and on solid food, he mostly held his peace. Sullen, or just the quiet type, I don’t know. I never did learn his real name. Sort of didn’t want to, if you know what I mean. On the second or third day, a uniformed cop came knocking at my front door, asking if I’d seen or heard anything unusual in the past couple of days. Of course I hadn’t. On TV and the internet, the hubbub died down and faded into the usual background noise.
He walked in on me jerking off to an old VHS tape that Miriam and me had made way back when, years before she’d passed away, when she was still healthy and we were both young and good-looking. I heard him come in, but I didn’t stop. He was leaning pretty heavy on a cane; he’ll probably always walk with a limp.
“That you?” This was about as verbose as that kid got.
“Yup.”
“Shee-it.” On the grainy TV screen, Miriam is riding me cowgirl-style, bouncing up and down on my vertical cock. Her tits bounce in unison, her face is thrown back, pink and flushed with ecstasy. I’ve got to get around to converting those old tapes to digital.
I was about to tell him to pull up a chair and join in, but he turned away, went clunk-clunking off into the kitchen. I heard him open my refrigerator. Kid was on the mend. I returned my attention to the television and finished up what I’d been doing.
A couple days later, I walked on in on him. He was in the living room, trying to get my old Atari working, tangled up in a spaghetti mess of cords. I pulled the plug out of the wall, threw the console across the room. He didn’t say anything, but he gave me a filthy look.
I popped in a tape. This was one I’d shot myself, of Miriam giving me a blowjob. She loved to do that, and she was an artist when it came to fellatio, a true virtuoso. She could make me last for hours, blissful hours if she wanted to, bringing me off at the exact moment of her choice, and not an instant before. God, she had beautiful lips.
I pulled out my dick and stuck it in the kid’s face. “Go on,” I said, “Have a suck.”
“I have a girlfriend.”
“Used to have a girlfriend,” I corrected. I made the gun sign with my thumb and index finger: *pop* “Go ahead, it don’t bite.”
Well, he made it clear that he didn’t like it, but he had a go. I can’t tell you that he was very good at it either. Whatever else that kid might have been, he wasn’t no natural-born cocksucker. I ended up just jerking off onto his face. Which he just plain hated.
I took him that same night, in the upstairs bed I’d fixed up for him. He was asleep when I came in. I pulled the blanket off, and he stirred. He had a heavenly body, young and lithe, and the ugly mess of scar tissue on his leg and neck just made him all the more beautiful.
He was sleeping face-down in a pair of my old white-and-blue striped boxers. I cut them open, straight down the ass, with my deer-hunting knife. I thought for sure that would wake him up, but it didn’t.
I gave his plump ball sac a squeeze. That woke him up.
I went down on his asshole for a little while; as much to relax and moisten him, as for my own pleasure. He certainly wasn’t complaining. Kid was definitely a virgin. Holy shit, he was tight! I could barely get the tip of my tongue past his sphincter.
I probably should have worn a condom, but the fact is I just didn’t feel like it. Once I’d eaten him out a spell, gotten us both nice and hard, I climbed up on top of him and lay down. He knew what was coming.
He screamed when I penetrated him. For real. There was nothing fake about it, a long, drawn-out howl of pain and protest, insult and injury. Now, I don’t like to think of myself as a sadist or anything, but that scream was pretty damn gratifying. He grunted like he’d been stabbed every time I shoved my dick further in. His asshole gripped my cock like a fist. For me, it was pure bliss.
The kid may have been hating it, but his dick stayed nice and hard. “Go on, jerk off.” I whispered in his ear as I fucked him. I was going deep and slow, making every thrust count. “I’m not coming until you come.”
His face was buried in the pillow. He reached down between his legs and started frantically whacking off. I increased my tempo, pummeling his asshole with a literal vengeance. When he finally came, his whole body spasmed, and he cried out like a wounded animal, and it totally set me off. I shot off deep inside him, and collapsed on top of his prone body, kissing his head and the sweaty back of his neck, my penis still wedged up inside his twitching anus.
Back before, before the cancer had taken over Miriam’s body, she used to do that to me, now and again. I hated and loved it, craved and feared it. It was just one of those things that made our relationship so special. She used to call me a ‘sexual omnivore’, in the fondest way possible. I’m glad she didn’t live long enough to see Israel die.
I cut him loose the very next day. Drove him over to Union Station and dropped him off. Gave him a wallet with three hundred bucks inside, and Israel’s old driver’s license and social security card. It wouldn’t stand up to a serious background check, but for just getting by, it oughta do the trick.
I didn’t expect gratitude, and I didn’t get none. He looked at me, his big brown eyes utterly unreadable. “I done some fucked-up shit, didn’t I?”
“Yes you did. And now you get to live with that.”
I did some pretty bad stuff too, back in my wild days, but nothing on that level. He’d winged a cop, killed a pharmacist. I didn’t tell him that two of his stray bullets had killed a three-year old girl and put her mommy in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.
I watched him hobble off, leaning heavily on my old wooden cane, until he disappeared into the milling crowd, a pebble in the churning rapids. The kid’d be alright, I reckoned, so long as he stayed out of trouble and kept his head down.
END
So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie) 