Memory Of Darkness

...I knelt on the bed and slid my boner down his throat. The guy had a talented mouth. Within minutes he nearly had me blowing my load. I pulled out. I traced the outline of his swollen mouth with my leaking dick, then backed away when he tried to take me in a second time. He looked at me with glazed eyes. His own erection was swollen, pressing against his cock ring and the nubby blanket under him.

“Not so fast, kid.”

I propped my iPod on the bedside table. The Foo Fighters were playing “Best of You.” Talk about righteous.

Bunny jumped and clenched his ass when I shoved my fingers up inside him. He humped my hand, leg muscles bunching like wire cables.

“I got something a lot bigger than that for you.” I skimmed a condom over my leaking prick and slathered it with lube. He squirmed against my stiff fingers when I greased his fine ass.

I climbed onto the bed behind him and got an eyeful of his waiting hole. Easing in the head of my cock, I held his hips in an iron grip as I continued to slide inside him. Tight and hot. He groaned as I pushed my not-inconsiderable piece of meat all the way up his backside. I was breathing pretty hard myself. I licked the sweaty skin behind his ear and whispered, “Hang on tight. I’m gonna ride you till you squeal.”

I had my eyes closed, grooving on the moment, which is why I didn’t see anything until they burst through the door, into the room. I jerked away from the frenzied body in my arms and got a brief glimpse of two men wearing ski masks and gloves before one of them swung what felt like a tree trunk upside my head and sent me tumbling down into darkness. Dimly, I thought I heard someone screaming. Then there was nothing.

My head pounded. Pain played a savage tattoo inside my skull as I rolled onto my side. At first I couldn’t tell if I was crashing from the E or something more sinister. My face pressed against something rough. As consciousness returned in slow, painful increments, I grew aware I lay on the floor. The carpet under me smelled old and musty, like stale vomit. The other smells hit me then.

Metal. Blood. Shit.

I climbed awkwardly to my knees and gaped at the bed, not comprehending what I saw for a heartbeat or two. Memory flooded back. Memories of fucking Bunny’s delectable ass. Memories… Someone had broken into my room. What the fuck?

Someone had raided my Eastpak and had shoved my fattest butt plug up Bunny’s once-sweet ass. My massive black dildo had been rammed down his throat. They hadn’t been gentle when they did it. Blood pooled on the ratty bedspread under him.

His throat had been sliced open. The bed was bathed in blood, as were the walls over his nearly decapitated head. The stench of clotting blood and evacuated bowels filled my nose and coated the back of my mouth. Nausea welled, and the two beers I’d had earlier at Gay Pride threatened to come back up.

Outside, the rising wail of police sirens grew closer.

The sirens snapped me out of it. My clothes were everywhere. I hadn’t been paying attention to anything but fucking Bunny’s luscious ass, and I wasted precious seconds finding my jeans and the T-shirt that were now splashed with blood, like a fun-house, tie-dye job. I considered waiting for Five-Oh, to give them my side of the story, but got real. How likely were the cops to believe me that two complete strangers broke into my motel room and did this? I was a two-time loser in the California penal system. Third time and I’d be doing life—if they didn’t put a needle in my arm and save everybody the trouble. I didn’t have time to pack my bag. I had to leave it.

Halfway out of the room, I clung to the door and glanced back at Bunny lying butchered in the middle of the bed. Hieronymus Bosch written in new age blood.

Then I spun around and bolted down the stairs. My foot slipped, and I nearly took a header, catching myself on the iron railing, which wobbled under my frantic grip. I hit the ground running.

Luckily, I hadn’t locked the car. I clipped my head getting inside, and my hands shook as I jammed in the key. The engine belched and started amid a cloud of blue smoke. Bone-jarring Metallica bounced off my skull until I fumbled the radio off. I needed to think, and I couldn’t do it with that playing.

Staring unseeing out of the cracked windshield, I tried to focus my thoughts. Come on. Think.

But the only thing lodged in my brain was the endless litany: this can’t be happening. This isn’t real. It had to be bad E. Someone spiked it. If I ever caught the mother fucker, I’d kick his sorry ass to Bakersfield. Seriously, who would kill a harmless nobody like Bunny? I refused to even give thought to the next question: why had they left me alive?...