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Original Fiction
Written by Juxian Tang (juxiantang@hotmail.com)

This story is for Phillip


DEAD MAN


Part 1 of 3

He was 6' tall, slender and muscular. He had nothing on but baggy black pants hanging loosely on his narrow hips and a tiny sleeveless t-shirt that left his straight beautiful shoulders bare. It outlined his firm pecs and hard stunningly small nipples. His curly dark hair was cropped very short and it gave him both sensual and savage look. There were small round tinted glasses set casually on the bridge of his nose that sparkled red and blue when catching the spinning lights.

He moved like a strong light animal, enjoying his own grace. His lids were half-mast over an absent, introspective look and his chocolate-colored arms flew in the air as if he was letting a bird loose.

I couldn't take my eyes from him. Wasn't he stunning? My nostrils flared as if I smelled his scent. I downed my vodka in one gulp and walked into the dancing crowd. He was with his friends there, I suppose, but they didn't keep together too closely. I pushed somebody and shrugged apologizing - and then I got in front of him, joining his motions.

It took several seconds before his eyes looked at me over the rim of the glasses. I smiled to him showing it was not an accident that I was there. My heart jumped sweetly when I recognized the measuring gaze he gave me - and then he smiled back.

Jesus, how I loved it. It seemed blood sang in my veins. This feeling - it alone was enough to make me hard. The moment when I understood that an exquisite male I liked, liked me, too. I knew he was interested - the same definitely as if there was a thread drawn between us. His eyes became dreamy again when he submerged in the dance - but he felt I was near, I was sure.

The music changed non-stop to "Sash!" newest composition - and then he looked at me once more. I leant to him slightly and said:

"You dance superbly."

I had to scream and even like that I was sure he didn't hear me but guessed my words on my lips. He chuckled and answered:

"Thanks. You too."

I meant it, he didn't. But it didn't matter. He took the glasses off and hooked them on the t-shirt. The crowd drove us closer. We were face to face, propped to each other by somebody's backs and sides. I licked my lips; I felt light-headed - as if I was drunker than I really was. He looked at me all the time now and his soft pale mouth curved in a stealing smile. Now I could see he was older than I supposed at first - maybe, 26-28. A man, not a boy - and this man was what I wanted.

The composition died away - in the moment of silence I could hear the hum of hundreds of voices in the hall of the disco - and then Tory Amos started her slow gentle song. I saw some people leaving the dancer-floor - and some breaking to the pairs. I waited - I didn't know what he would do - and when he reached his arms around me, I laughed happily tossing my head back.

His skin was smooth and warm and his long limbs enveloped my ribcage while we swayed under the sweet music together. He was 3" taller than I was and I could feel his breath on my temple. He held me firmly and tenderly, with his long strong fingers playing along my spine. I leant to his shoulder and lay my cheek on it, sensing how silky it was and how hard his bones were under it.

He whispered something. I felt it by the flow of air on my face. I had my arms around his waist and I tightened them as if showing that I heard him, even though I didn't know what he said.

My cock was hard. I knew he could feel it because our pelvises were pressed to each other. And I could feel something, too, it made me smile lazily and happily - his prominent bulge - he was not soft, was not soft at all. Then he rubbed it against mine and I moaned.

"Little whore," he whispered it right in my ear and I heard it. "Little horny blond whore."

We nearly stopped. The only parts of our bodies that moved were our bottom bellies dancing against each other. I pressed my mouth to his shoulder, letting him feel my teeth through my lips. He gasped - but it was not with pain. His palms slid over my back and lower, under my ass, squeezing it tightly, then letting go.

"Do you want it, pretty slut?" he whispered and I heard him again. I felt everything inside me swinging. It was just what I could dream about. "I know you want it," he went on.

I nodded. He could feel it because my face was pressed to his shoulder. His arms unlocked around me and at the same moment his steely fingers clasped on my upper arm. He walked out of the crowd, dragging me behind himself, even without turning back to me. The chill went through my body when we were out of the heated hall. I didn't know where he led me - to some corridors, lit and unlit, through the doors that seemed locked but were not.

It was a storage room. He groped for the light on the wall and when it switched on, I could see the heaps of paper boxes and wire boxes piled around, some empty, some full of cans and something else. The temperature was so low there that I noticed the white cloud of exhalation when I breathed out.

He pushed me to the wall and a short smirk, almost evil, distorted his lips. It was weird how our roles changed - now it looked like he was a pursuer and I was a pursued - and, boys, did I like it! I met his eyes with a defiant stare and he took my face in his palms, raising it to himself. His lips touched mine and I felt dizzy.

His hands wandered over my body as our tongues explored each other. I shut my eyes - I was floating away. His scent was exactly as I imagined it - light and poignant and I couldn't get enough of it.

I caressed his shoulders and pecs while his hands slid under my t-shirt and found my nipples. His fingertips were rough in comparison with smoothness of his palms. He rubbed my nipples into nubs and then squeezed them almost viciously, making me whimper slightly into his mouth. He caught my lower lip between his teeth and sucked it in.

"Oh God," it sounded mumbled but I guess he discerned it. His tweaking of my nipples became even crueler - but I loved it. I didn't care if it hurt - I wanted more of it. My cock was throbbing with blood, itching madly, and I tried to do something with it, to stick my hips forward so that I could touch his pelvis.

He let go my nipples but not my lips - and then I felt how he rolled up my t-shirt. I raised my arms obediently. He left my mouth only for the moment when he pulled the t-shirt over my head.

"Pretty smooth whore," he chanted. His forefinger traced down my sternum to my navel, poked it violently. Then he yanked the buckle of my pants.

I gasped when I realized he was stripping me naked. It was a chilly feeling; oh, sure, I had quick ones in the places that were not supposed for it - but I was not absolutely nude then. He pulled my pants down together with my jockeys. His palms were so hot on my thighs that I forgot to feel the cold of the room.

He kneeled in front of me - I kicked off my sneakers and he tugged my pants down from my legs completely. My socks stayed and he didn't take them off - maybe, he didn't want me to stand barefoot on the littered floor. He closed his face to my hard member and quickly licked the drop of pre-cum from its little mouth.

"Sweet little dick," he whispered hastily and buried his fingers in my bush of fair wispy hair. His other hand cupped on my balls as if weighing them. I whined. I was so overwhelmed with arousal that I thrust my hips forward as if in the hope that he would open his mouth for me.

"Nope, sugar cunt," he chuckled softly - he noticed it. "You will get it my way."

Oh do you think I minded? He touched my perineum and slipped further, finding my hole. For a second I felt how my abdomen muscles drew in - but he didn't care about it. He just stabbed his finger into my opening, ruining its resistance. I tossed my head back mewing pitifully. I reached for my cock. He brushed my hand off easily. His finger danced in me, thrusting and rotating.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, oh yes."

He stood up yanking his finger out of me painfully and tugged his zipper down in a slow fluent motion. I looked at his crotch obscenely. He reached inside his white undies and my mouth formed in "oh" of amazement when I saw this emerging dark huge tower. I couldn't see his balls, just two shadows in the verdure of black soft curls - but his cock was something that mesmerized me. I didn't know how long - 10"? 11"? My own prick seemed boyish in comparison with it. I guess he had the same thought because he chuckled and patted the head of my cock swiftly.

The rubbers he had were black. I looked intently how he rolled one of them over the head of his cock - a stunning sight - this sleek dark film covering the dark fleshy tube of his member. He pulled it to the end and took me again.

"Here it goes," he breathed out softly reaching his hand between my legs. For a moment I didn't understand how he was going to do it. Then he set his palm under my thigh and raised my leg. It was a strange pose, an inconvenient one - my knee was as high as it could be - and then he pushed it aside until I yelped with pain in my groin. He supported me with one hand - and the other one guided his immeasurable shielded cock to my anus.

I had to tiptoe to let him in. The pain when its head passed my anus ring was exquisite. He shoved inside me with long powerful motions of his strong hips - inch by inch, until my anus gripped around the base of his cock and I could touch the floor.

I felt impaled. This long thick thing stuffed me fuller than ever. It seemed I could sense the tip of his cock in my belly. My chest was heaving. He pressed me to the wall; one of his hands held the ankle of my raised leg tightly and he was going to use it for leverage. The other hand lay on my forehead, smoothing my hair.

"Take it, take it, little white boy," he repeated pulling his member out of me. Pulling it long - as long as it had to take - until only its head was inside me - and then sending it back.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't be silent - my breath was loud and broken and I tossed my head from side to side inadvertently as he pumped into me with brutal forceful thrusts. He didn't make any sounds - but his body spoke itself.

My cock was squeezed by the iron buckle of his pants that hurt me every time when he drove in and made it impossible to touch it - but it was unimportant. I was so hard that I couldn't get any harder. The feeling of being stuffed with his horse-like cock deleted everything else in my mind.

He spoke again when cumming:

"Come on, whorish beauty, get it, you slut, you slut, take what I give you!"

And then I felt his hot and wet cum even through the rubber deep in my intestines. I groaned exhaustedly - he was still in me but it was over. He let my leg go and when I stood on both feet his cock started slipping out of me. Even though it was that long there was too much place for it when it got limp.

He stroked my hair. His other palm found my cock now - and without a word he lowered on his knees and wrapped his full tender lips around my shaft.

He took it all in two attempts - his lips, his tongue, his throat were so apt that I felt faint with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving me. It didn't take a minute before the bliss became unbearable and my balls contracted spurting the jet of sperm into his mouth. He swallowed it - and licked my cock clean and then, still on his knees in front of me, he got a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the trickles of his sperm from his own cock, flabby but still huge.

He smiled before standing up.

"What is your name?" I whispered.

"Johnny," he said. His voice lost the hoarseness of passion, became mellow - not a voice of a savage any more. He was not a savage, of course. Suddenly I thought that, maybe, tomorrow he would put on his tailored suit and would become a smooth strict manager in some respectable company.

Well, I was right - only tomorrow never came for him.

"What a nice name," I said.

"And yours?"

"Jesse."

"What?" he laughed. "Jesse? I am going to love it."

We walked to the bar-stand together and got our vodka. Then danced again, then had another vodka and another - until I saw the lights swirling and dancing everywhere around me and I couldn't help laughing, even though there was no reason for it. Then, in the tiny pause between the songs, Johnny bent to me and asked:

"Let's go, won't you?"

"Of course I will," I said and we left.

In the taxi he kissed me. I lay down on the seat and he leant to me, raised my t-shirt and covered my chest and belly with the pecks of his hot succulent lips. His fingers unceasingly tugged and pinched my nipples that were already puffy and extremely tender. My lids seemed to be very heavy and I couldn't keep my eyes open. I had my palms on his head feeling as he moved his mouth over my body. I purred with pleasure slightly and heard him chuckling into my navel.

He nearly carried me to the elevator. I came to myself a bit there. The mirrors showed us - him, so dark and strong, and me, with my tousled soft fair hair, pink and white face, giddy eyes and swollen with the kisses lips, clinging to him.

"I can't wait for it," he said in a low voice - and I recognized the resounding tunes of passion in it again. "You little white whore, I am going to fuck you to your heart and through it."

"You'll do. Sure, you'll do."

He nibbled the back of my neck while I unlocked the door. The flat was dark and silent and I hit the switchers turning the light on everywhere, pushed "play" on the music center. I slid away from Johnny and walked to the kitchen. We had a bottle of "Smirnoff" vodka in the fridge and I poured it to the shaker, then threw a handful of ice in it. I didn't take the glasses - I went to the room right with the shaker where the squares of ice melted softly in the crystal liquid.

Johnny was dancing. For himself, the same as he did when I saw him first - I could hear him repeating the words of "Cultured Pearls" song. He was topless now - his meagre t-shirt lay in a rumpled heap on the board of the bookcase, right at the framed photo there, the one where Elmor had his arms around me. For a moment I looked at it feeling the urge to turn it away. Then I curved my mouth in an evil grimace and whispered:

"No, you will look at it, old fool."

Johnny stopped dancing when seeing me and I walked to him holding the shaker as a full goblet on the level of our mouths. He laughed when he saw it.

"Right like that?"

"Yep, right like that," I said, stumbled and nearly fell on his chest.

His strong chiseled hand supported me.

"Drunk little slut," he whispered sipping vodka from the shaker. I made a swig, too. His hands were like cuffs on my wrists.

"Put it away," he said about the shaker. "Let's go."

I just smiled. I walked with him when he brought me to the bedroom. A thought that it was not okay - to make it on our bed - came to my mind and was gone even before I registered it. I felt him yanking my clothes off from me. He was right - I was drunk, really drunk. I would fall if he didn't keep me.

"Dumb whore," he laughed at it and there was some irritation in his voice. At last he dropped me on the bed. The spread, I recalled, Elmor will get mad if we foul the spread - but then I realized that Johnny managed to pull the spread off.

"You are... deft," I mumbled with a chortle.

He stripped hastily, fumbled with the rubber and then I felt his warm wiry body covering me.

I was so tipsy I could only giggle. I didn't get hard - not because something was wrong, I loved Johnny, he was the best one and in my mind I was cat-like horny. But my cock remained soft whatever he did.

"Oh shit, you naughty boy," I heard him whispering when he was not kissing or biting me, "come on, I know you want it!"

"I do, I do," I muttered but nothing helped, neither his fingers tweaking my huge and throbbing nipples, nor his ample lips around my cock.

At last he stopped trying. He raised my thighs instead and I understood he was setting his cock in the position.

"Yes, do it!" I approved his actions and he thrust in. More smoothly than for the first time - well, I was still opened there.

I moaned when his member filled me once more. I pressed my palms to my belly as if I could sense it inside me. He rose over me, so warm and heavy, and when I wrapped my legs around his waist he whispered rejoicing:

"You are going to love it. Oh you will, I know, my white bitch."

His headlong assault was melting my body. It seemed I lost the possibility to feel for myself and felt only for him. I merged with him and with his long gorgeous cock stabbing me. I was hot in the ring of his arms around me and I felt his swift breath on my face.

He was panting loudly now - he was drunk and tired, too, it took more strength from him now than it did at the storage room of the disco.

"Johnny," a couple of times I said his name - and it made him batter me even more violently. I could feel the smoothness of his belly on my hands and eventually I put my arms around his neck pulling him closer to me.

"You little prince whore," he dropped between sharp inhalations, "you little fuck-toy, pretty white boy slut."

His words and his panting didn't let him hear it when it started. But I heard it. I heard it very definitely - and at the very moment I realized what this sound was. The key turning in the lock.

It couldn't be! My mind raced in disbelief - but my body already believed and responded in horror. My heart, my stomach, everything inside me clenched - and my anus, too - and it made Johnny yell in delight:

"Yes, bitch, yes, do it again, clamp it!"

He didn't hear. He still didn't hear what I did - and I couldn't deny I heard it. It was what had to follow the turning key - the steps on the floor - familiar steps - the ones I knew so well.

What did I have to do? Perhaps I had to stop, to push Johnny away - it wouldn't help but I could try. Only I didn't do anything. I was petrified. Literally. I couldn't move a limb, couldn't move a finger. I just lay and stared. At the door. Where Elmor had to appear.

Then I saw him. The thoughts ran through my mind so swiftly. Jesus, he won't survive if he sees it. It will break his heart. What have I done, I would give anything to roll it back, not to inflict him such pain. But what I saw when he stepped into the room were not his pain-stricken eyes. It was one round eye - black hole of a gun's muzzle.

Everything was hugely unreal. I lay pinned to the bed by the weighty body of Johnny and he continued to drill his hips against me while Elmor stood with the gun in his hand pointed at us and tears trickled in two flows down his cheeks.

"I didn't go to Toronto," he said.

His voice reached Johnny even in his abandonment. Two or three times he thrust into me by inertia and then froze. With his cock still in me he turned to Elmor.

"I didn't go to Toronto," Elmor repeated, his lips were trembling and the tears were not only in his eyes, they were in his voice, too, making it thick and shaky, like a resented child could have. "Nope, I didn't go there. You thought I did but I didn't."

"Elmor, please..." my words were slurping. The tipsiness passed at the moment when I heard him opening the door - but my body still didn't obey me. "I can explain you! It was by chance!"

"It is not what you think it is," he said in a steady manner, as if quoting something. He turned his head to me slightly but his gun didn't jerk. And when he looked at me I sensed real, singing horror coursing through my body: because even though the tears leaked abundantly from his eyes under the rim of his glasses - Elmor's eyes themselves were void and dull - the eyes of a dead man. "You have to say 'It is not what you think it is.' Always say it in these situations."

"Sorry, man," it was Johnny speaking - and some part of my mind wondered again how sane and intelligent his voice could be. "It looks like I am one too much here. I didn't mean to get between you guys. The only thing I wanted was a good fuck. Oh come on, we are all consenting adults, aren't we? Wait a moment until I get out there and then solve your problems in privacy."

He was freeing himself from me while saying it. One of his hands was raised in a pacifying gesture towards Elmor. He sounded very calm and confident - but I felt he tried not to make any sharp motions - not to provoke Elmor. Over his hand I could see Elmor's lips moving - as if he was praying or cursing. His gun bounced finely - a black hole dancing in the air.

"So, maybe, you'll take it away for now," Johnny continued, "your pistol. And you'll speak as a man to a man with him..."

He was on his fours over me when the gun in Elmor's hand bounced once more, much greater than before - and simultaneously I heard the huge, sweeping bang of the shot. The stunning force threw Johnny on me.

He fell face down. I think I screamed. I didn't hear it, however. The shot still rang in my ears. I saw how a horrible ripped hole blossomed on Johnny's smooth brown back - about where his right kidney was. It was swelling with dark-purple, almost black blood, slowly and thickly.

But he was still alive. He wiggled on me as if trying to crawl. His forehead pressed into my belly. Bang. Bang. The gun in Elmor's hand shot twice more, every time Johnny's body jerked - and two new ugly crimson flowers appeared on his back. He stopped moving after the second shot, the third one tossed up his limp body. Then Elmor paused.

It was horror. At that moment it seemed to me there could be nothing more horrible in the world. The room was misty with the smoke - and the smell - it startled me - of powder and hot steel - and something else, I didn't know what it was then - but I got to know soon - the smell of blood. In the silence that followed I heard my own tiny yelps:

"No! Elmor, no!"

He raised the gun a little bit. Just enough to point it at me, not at Johnny who lay across my legs now. He seemed to weigh more than a center and I knew I wouldn't able to shift him - even if I tried. But I didn't try. I couldn't move. I just lay and felt how wet was Johnny's blood leaking from his wounds on me - and I also felt I was wetting the sheets myself. I pissed myself. But I couldn't do anything with it.

"Please don't do it," I croaked at last; my words were hopeless, I understood it, but I couldn't stop saying them. "Please don't do it to me, Elmor. You don't really want to do it to me."

"I am so tired of you," Elmor said and I saw how his forefinger squeezed the trigger smoothly.

A hot wave hit me under the ribs: a moment later I heard the shot. There was no pain at first, just heat and heaviness of the blow. The gun twitched again.

He is really killing me - I remember I thought it when I felt the second bullet tearing my belly. It threw me flat on the bed and suddenly I saw immaculate white ceiling above me. I was like a stone - heavy and immovable. As if a huge marble plate was put on my chest. I couldn't breathe. My ribcage was too heavy to raise it. I stared at the ceiling and my mouth was open but I didn't inhale.

"You are dead, Jesse!" I heard Elmor crying out while shooting once more. The bullet hit me bluntly - but I was no more than a thing by then.

You are dead, he said, I thought. But I could hear him. I could see. Was it the death? Was I to be like that - conscious in unmoving body, realizing everything and able to do nothing? And what if I would feel everything like that - always? When they cut my body in the morgue. When they put me in the grave. When it rot and fell apart.

I was scared. It was the deepest horror I ever felt. And then I heard Elmor's voice again, saying:

"You are dead, Jesse... and I am, too!"

And I heard one more shot - but this time it was not fired at me.

Then I felt pain. It started in my chest and grew hugely, filling my body completely - wild inhuman pain burning inside me.

* * *

I didn't die. My heart stopped twice - in the ambulance and later, when they were taking the bullets out of my body. I lost two thirds of my left lung and the spleen. And all through that time the pain was with me. It was me - and it seemed I was never unconscious enough to stop feeling it.

But I was lucky in comparison with two other participants of that night's affair. Elmor chucked out his brains with the last bullet - he enveloped the gun muzzle with his lips. Johnny - his name was John Aaron Taylor, 28 years old, an elder son of a big real estate company owner. He ran a department in it and had brilliant perspectives, in everybody's opinion.

His father visited me while I was at the hospital. He was a hugely tall man, 6'4" at least, with neat moustaches and tousled curly hair. He sat at my bed and looked at me - and I tried to say something - but what could I say besides that I was sorry, awfully sorry, that I didn't want it to happen.

"God is your Judge because you will have to live with death on your conscience," he said at last.

I knew it, of course.

I stayed at the hospital for two months and then returned there after a little while for rehabilitation. I got the addiction to the painkillers they used to shut off the pain and had to get rid of it little by little.

This story made a bit of stir in the newspapers - not in the serious ones, certainly, but in local tabloids. "21-year-old former hustler brings his elderly lover to murder," it was, maybe, the most courteous one. "And gains his money," they added after a while.

Because there was one very ironic thing there: I inherited Elmor's money. He had the testimony written on my name and no relatives to argue it. Well, I knew how it happened. He bequeathed me everything half a year ago, when he was going to have the surgery - and since then he didn't come to change it. That night he was so sure that he would kill me that he didn't do it again - or, maybe, he was already past caring about these things.

I accepted it. You can ask how I was not ashamed to use his money. I was. But what could I do? I had to pay for my treatment. I just didn't have any other source to live - and, besides, even if I refused the inheritance, I would have to pay the taxes anyway. I lost my work while I was ill, naturally, and they were never too keen on me to take me back. Okay, who would want to employ an invalid and with such a scandal in the past, huh?

And when I put my hand into this money - what was there to stop me? I used it to live - and I used it to buy a place for me where to live - because I couldn't live in the flat where it all happened, of course.

That's how I bought a cottage in the city outskirts that was called "Sunny II".

It was the beginning of April - exactly half a year since my meeting with Johnny Taylor - when I carefully drove my car full of the boxes into the yard. The day was lovely. Last week was nearly as cold as it could be in winter - but yesterday the sun showed for the first time and shone brightly. The cottage looked jolly with it and even the naked jasmine and lilac bushes didn't seem so eerie any more.

"A good sign," Dennis said.

"Oh sure!" I thought that rain could be a good sign, too. It didn't matter. I was going to love this cottage - it meant so much for me to get it. Everything had to be okay.

We got out of the car. The house had an in-built garage but I didn't drive in there - I supposed it was more conveniently to bring the stuff through the front door. And all in all, I wanted to come there through the front door!

"What I don't stop wondering," Dennis said, "is where "Sunny I" and "Sunny III" are."

It was an obvious question. Imagination could prompt you the sight of neat identical cottages standing side by side, with the same carved wooden tables on their walls - but in fact, "Sunny II" was a secluded place, away of the road. Not the last reason why I decided to buy it, actually. I also thought that when the bushes got blooming, they would make real live fence around the yard.

"Okay, what do you have here?" Dennis opened the trunk and pulled the first box out of it. "My, it is heavy! Will you open the door? Please!"

I stuck the key to the lock and turned it. Well, I had been at the cottage while it was made up and while the furniture was brought in - but it was another matter today. Now I was not going to leave it any more.

Dennis, puffing, carried the box inside, crossed the hall and flopped it on the floor in the living room.

"Awful," he breathed out. "What do you have in it? Bricks?"

"Books," I said.

"Yuck," he looked around. "More books? And what do I see on these shelves?"

"These are my books," I said. "And those are Elmor's. What do you want?" I added. "I need something to read and I can't read Steinbeck and Faulkner!"

Dennis shrugged. His eyes still wandered - he didn't come here during last weeks and didn't see what I did with the house. Actually, I didn't do anything special - and there was nothing to do anything special to. The cottage was pretty small - for one person or for a married couple without children. One floor - a spacious hall, a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen - the door to it opened from the hall - and there was the door from the garage, too, and a bathroom in the depth of the house. The thing about the cottage - and only now I understood it - was that its windows looked at three sides - except North. Which meant that it had to be overflowed with the sun on a good day. Okay, it got its name because of something, what else?

Good that I installed jalousie, I thought. As for the furniture - I made it practically the same as we with Elmor had - bookcases in the living room, two massive armchairs, a sofa, a glass table and a TV set. Well, in the bedroom I didn't have a double bed any more, of course, it was just a king-size one, standing at the wall in the middle of the room.

"Cozy," Dennis approved after a little while. I didn't know if it was the truth or not - but I was going to live there, not he. "And now you are going to heap it all with your dusty possessions," he whined while lugging another box. "Don't you know that people use the removal to get rid of the things they don't need any more?"

He just didn't like to carry the boxes, that's was the truth. But it was only one little thing he was ready to do for me.

"I need them," I answered.

"What? This faded bunny?" he pointed with his chin at the ghastly plush animal of all rainbow colors sitting on the top of his box. It had a leash around its neck with a square of paper on it informing: "My name is Bankrupt and I belong to Elmor and Jesse."

"Ugh ghu. I won it at the fair," I informed him.

"And this?" he went on already in the cottage. "What is it, for fuck's sake?"

I didn't know what to say. For myself I called it "a construction". You know - metal spheres and balls and circles that start rocking and spinning when you touch them.

"It's for mediation," I said.

"Yeah, you'll have plenty of time to meditate here," he hemmed. "That's what you are going to do."

He was completely against my buying this cottage. He thought I had nothing to do outside the city. He thought I would have problems with socializing with people if I locked myself in a secluded house. He also thought - even if he didn't tell me about it - that my removal to the outskirts would mean that we would meet less often with him.

Dennis was my attorney when I dealt with the inheritance thing. And he stayed with me since then, no matter what. Well, was it right to say that he was with me? He was near - yes - every time when I needed him. But as for being together - I just couldn't handle sex any more, you see. The same as I couldn't handle drinking - okay, drinking was my personal matter - but sex touched Dennis, too.

Nope, physically everything was okay with me - if not to mention these awful scars on my chest and belly - and Dennis didn't mind them; he saw them by chance when I was still at the hospital, so, he knew what he was after. It was something in my mind.

I knew it could look dumb - my reaction when he tried to touch me. All I could do was to cope with a plain kiss. When the things got even a bit more sexual, I felt again how my body became indescribably heavy and how I couldn't take a breath because of it.

Surely, I tried to tell myself that it just seemed to me and if it just seemed - then I could overpower myself. I knew I had to - how could I be so unthankful to Dennis while he was so kind to me? Why did he have to be another one whose heart I had to break? But it just happened again and again invariably.

Well, Dennis was around nevertheless. Another one would lose his patience a long time ago - he didn't.

He shrugged demonstratively when I put the photo near to the construction - as it used to be in our flat.

"What am I supposed to do with it - to burn it?" I snapped.

"I am sorry," he said. He always apologized, even when he didn't need to. And it made me hate myself even more for being like that with him.

Dennis left soon after dark and I spent the evening watching MTV, drinking tea and shifting the things from place to place in correspondence with my doubtful sense of beauty. I messed about with it long after midnight - but there was nobody who would even know it, not to mention mind it. That's why I moved to the lonely cottage, after all - to be free from any bonds and responsibilities.

A while ago we had teacups with Elmor - you know - such big clay ones with funny notes on them. He had "Life would be easy without phone" on his - and I had a figure of man lying in chaise longue saying in the bubble "No roots, no connections - retired". That's how I felt now and it was what I needed to feel.

At last I walked to the bathroom to take the shower. It was small and light, with jolly tiles and two huge square mirrors above the sink and above the tub. When I saw them for the first time, they made me giggle. I wondered what kind of tenant the architects counted on - a narcissist probably. They really allowed you to see yourself from almost every side. But I guess I would be able to get accustomed to them - and, maybe, they would help me to get accustomed to seeing these coarse pink and white sutures on my chest and belly.

I got to bed and fell asleep at once, just having time to think that everybody sleeps uneasily for the first night on a new place. Then a bad dream came to me.

I saw Elmor in it - as it often happened. I lay - but not on the bed in our flat - for some reason I lay on the floor, curled in a ball and feeling its hardness and coldness under me. Then Elmor came up and raised me. He was so strong as he never was when he was alive. I felt him dragging me somewhere - and I knew he was going to kill me - as he sometimes did in my dreams. And again I could do nothing with it. I couldn't move, couldn't even cry out in protest.

Only this time he didn't use a gun. He pulled me to the bathroom - we were at "Sunny II", I realized it with a shock - and the water was filling the tub with rustle.

He threw me on my knees at the tub and I shrieked because I was in pain - in agony - I didn't know its source but all my body was in it. He stood over me and watched how the tub was filling. When it was half full he grabbed my hair and tucked my head under the water.

I jerked. Now I was able to do it - but too late. I tried to break free from him - but his arms - strong and muscular - the arms of a young man, not of a frail 58-year-old - continued to hold me - and the water covered my head, filled my ears, nose, mouth. It was hot and it tasted iron slightly. I opened my eyes and it got there - but the only thing I saw was the bottom of the tub - very close - and something black there. It was where the enamel was dented, I realized. The water around me was getting pink, I didn't know why. It had to be greenish-blue but it was pink.

At first I tried to drink the water. It was useless, of course, there was too much of it to drink it out - but I swallowed it because it helped me not to breathe it in. But then the moment came when I felt I couldn't help breathing in. I knew it would be the water that would fill my lungs - but I had to. I inhaled. It scalded my chest inside - and now I couldn't breathe it out. I knew it was all over. I inhaled again and convulsed in the cruel pain tearing my lungs. Somewhere above me a voice - not Elmor's voice - pronounced with a smirk:

"Look how he is dancing!"

It was the last thing I remembered. Then pink water turned black and I died.

I woke up catching breath desperately. The dark room swirled in front of my eyes. I was in my bed, of course. No Elmor. No tub full of water. I lay prone and tried to slow down my breath. I was not drowning; there was plenty of oxygen for me and I didn't need to get it all in my lungs at once.

During last months I learnt how to deal with the nightmares. They were just dreams - I repeated it to myself until it really penetrated my mind or I fell asleep again. I tried to do it this time, too.

Only it didn't work too well. I guess I underestimated the role of new place, really. It still influenced me. I lay in the darkness listening to unfamiliar sounds of the house. I heard how the bushes scraped on the windows and how the glass in the bookshelves rang minutely with some imperceptible vibration. The shock passed but I still didn't feel sleepy at all. I thought about getting up and going to the bathroom. Sometimes it was what I needed to get asleep. But I didn't. It was not that I wanted or was afraid to look at the tub - I knew what I would see - I noticed the black dent on the enamel when I had the shower tonight. And I tasted the water that blended iron when I cleaned my teeth.

Then I heard a cat mewing. It was a soft and very clear sound, not mingled with the wind outside. I could bet it sounded in the living room - if I didn't know it was impossible. The cat cried. Not like they cry when they are angry or horny - but as if it was complaining on being hurt or abandoned. And so much loneliness and despair was in its voice that my heart clenched. I lay in the darkness and bit my lips in misery. The cat went on crying for I don't know how long. Maybe, for hours.

The thought struck me - perhaps the cat belonged to the former owners of the cottage. I didn't know about them anything - just that they wanted to sell the place quickly, that's why the price was comparatively low. They could move and leave their pet - or it ran away and returned now. I felt pity overwhelming me. Poor animal! The nights were still cold and it had to be hungry, of course.

I'll find it tomorrow, I decided. Not that I wanted to take a responsibility for a cat - after all, I ran away from all responsibilities - but I couldn't let it starve to death under my windows.

This thought somehow consoled me - and I fell asleep at last. Or, maybe, it happened because the sky behind my window started getting blue and grey. I slept almost till the noon - and the first thing I saw when I got up and walked out of the bedroom, was my Bankrupt bunny lying on the floor in the middle of the living room.

* * *

Well, what would you think? Right. I checked the house inside out for the hole the cat could get in or out. The front door had a cat flap on it - but it was shut and painted over it a long while ago. Okay, after all, the cat could crawl in while we were carrying the boxes with Dennis and hid somewhere. It was not inside the cottage now - I was pretty sure after two hours of fruitless search. I called for it around "Sunny II" - in vain. At last I started cursing under my breath. The beast brought me a sleepless night and pushed the things from their places - and now it preferred to stay invisible.

"Okay, fuck you," I said at last and went to have my breakfast. Or lunch - taking into account that it was already half past two by then.

That's how it started. Well, I refused to admit that something was wrong for long enough. It is weird how one can sometimes ignore things or give them some dumb but natural explanations just to pretend that everything goes all right. I already fell in that catch when I didn't want to see how the things went for us with Elmor. And now again.

I was clinging to the idea of the darn cat that I could never see and that could get into the house in a mysterious way, then leave it unnoticed when I saw the things changing their places or heard the noise at night. Just the cat - and I told myself I would be an idiot if I let it spoil my life here. I fell in love "Sunny II". It was mine - for the first time in my life I really owned something.

I kept the cottage meticulously clean. I even brought the yard in order because after the winter it was in a sorry state. You have to know me to see it was a real achievement. These things occupied my days. In the evenings I usually chatted on the phone with Dennis (and twice he visited me when he managed to get free earlier). But I changed the order of my day. In fact, I used to sit in the living room with TV on and loud, without watching flickering pictures, till five or six in the morning. And when the sky behind the windows was getting dark-blue, I went to sleep. Next morning I got up well after twelve and the day went the same way.

Not that it was something out of order for me - I used to lead nightlife before I met Elmor. But the truth was that now I was afraid to get asleep at night. I lay in the darkness and the sounds that seemed pretty natural to me on the first day rose in my imagination and became unexplainable. What is clicking there, in the living room? And why does the glass in the bookshelves vibrate so much? It could happen in a city flat, with endless cars and trucks passing by - but "Sunny II" was in a really remote place. I hated to feel it but I broke in sweat and felt my heart caught in my throat as after the pause of silence, when I already relaxed, I heard something shifted in the kitchen.

I preferred to sleep in the morning also because this sleep was never very deep and practically without dreams. These dreams! I didn't want to see Elmor any more coming to kill me or torture me, burning my nipples with a lighter, pushing thick heated screwdriver into my urethra. When awake, I felt heartbroken with shame that I could even dream about these things from Elmor - from him who was so kind to me all the time. Except one last day, of course. And sometimes I also was not sure that it was Elmor I saw. Some shadows without faces swirled around me. But what was the strangest thing was that sometimes I was not sure that it was me at all.

This feeling was so strong and unusual that I mused a lot about it. You will laugh but I even wanted to ask Dennis to bring me some books on psychology, only I was afraid he would jump on it as on the confirmation of what he used to say: that it was unhealthy for me to hide from people. Well, when I saw that face in the mirror, I was almost ready to agree with him.

I was cleaning my teeth in the morning - that is, it was morning for me and bright day for other people when I looked up at one of those obscene mirrors in the bathroom - and somebody's face looked back at me. I have to explain - it was not that the light fell in some odd way or it was an illusion. The face I saw was not mine so definitely that it couldn't be more. It was a man, maybe, ten years older, white-skinned and with short black hair, quite tousled. His lips were pale and pressed together so much that they made just a line - and I could see one more thing: his mouth was bleeding. His large dark eyes looked straight at me. And surely he had nothing like a toothbrush in his mouth.

I swallowed a mouthful of toothpaste. I could see him clearly - not for a moment - but for some three seconds, I suppose, and then the mirror became so dim that I saw nothing - until it cleared and my own shit-scared eyes looked at me.

My heart was trembling like a puppy tail but for a little while I somehow didn't register what I had seen. I finished with my teeth and went to the kitchen. And when I poured a glass of water, my hand slackened and I dropped it on the floor.

I am getting mad, I thought. At first I hear what can't be here - and now I start seeing the things. A belated reaction, probably. I mean, when I was at the hospital they suggested me to go through a course of psychotherapy - but I refused firmly. Why? I didn't need it!

I was close to telling Dennis about it when he was at "Sunny II" for the next time. I sat on the sofa and he laid his arm around my shoulder. It was, maybe, as close to sexual touch as I could stand and I was glad I could do at least that for him. He looked at me askance.

"You have red eyes," he said at last. I chuckled.

"Thank you very much. Ugly?"

"No," he shook his head and I felt his hip pressed to mine. "You just look tired. Are you sure you are happy here?"

"Oh yes, I am. It is the best place for me," and I meant it.

"Let's say I believe you. I can stay for the night," he said lightly, with a glance to how I would react to it. "I can get up earlier tomorrow to get to the office in time. Do you want me to?"

Yes, I wanted. I knew he didn't mean he was going to share the bed with me. Of course, he would be happy if I agreed to it but it was okay if I didn't. Only it was unfair of me - to make him sleep on the short sofa because I couldn't cope with some things inside me or outside. I wanted "Sunny II", I wanted to be alone in it. And now I had to live with what I bought.

I took two pills of soporific when Dennis left. I was going to break the pattern and sleep this night properly, as normal people sleep - and for some reason it seemed to me that if I manage it today it was to be okay from now on. I locked the doors, switched off the light in the house and lay down. The pills did work - I fell asleep almost at the same moment.

Only it was not a normal sleep at all. Instead I found myself in the living room of "Sunny II". I lay on the floor - I could feel it under my cheek but I couldn't open my eyes, there was something wrong with my lids. My hands were twisted cruelly behind my back and I could feel how the wire cut deeply into my wrists. The radius in my left forearm was broken but those who tied me didn't care for it. In fact, they did everything to bring me as much pain as possible. My ankles were tied, too, and raised up where the rope fixed them to my wrists.

I couldn't move. Pain was racking me, tearing my body like a horrible beast, and I knew that it would get unbearable if I tried to do something. But I had to do it. I knew there were things on the table, just in some feet from me - broken glass, matches, a knife. If I could get there, I would get free. And then - then, when they returned, I would be able to protect myself.

I tried to crawl. I drove my teeth through my lip so deeply that nearly bit it off to prevent crying out. There was a fireball in my chest and when I coiled on the floor, it rolled inside burning my heart and lungs. I was breathless - and what I managed to do was just several inches.

Tears welled up under my sore bloated eyelids. And then I heard the steps behind me. The man was coming back. The one that would kill me.

I wanted to scream - but the only thing I could do - as it happens in the dreams - was just whisper.

"Elmor?" I asked. "Elmor? Please don't do it to me. Please no more."

"Looks like the fucker is going somewhere!" the voice sounded above me - an unfamiliar voice - and then a heavy boot crushed with immense force on my ribs in the flame of pain.

The room was dark when I opened my eyes. I felt a little blood in my mouth - I bit my tongue somehow. I lay feeling how my fists clasped and slackened involuntarily.

"Elmor," I whispered. "Why do you do it to me? Do you still hate me? You took my health - what now? Do you want to take my sanity? You don't like that I bought this house for your money, do you? I didn't have to take it? Please, Elmor. Please leave me alone!"

The last words went out with a sob from me. And at the same moment I heard very definite clicking in the living room. I sat up in the bed.

"Fuck you, Elmor!" I felt a fit of rage. Something like that I felt at times when collapsing in pain at the hospital - and now he hurt me again. "If you have something to tell me - then do it! If you want to kill me - then try! But don't play with me!"

I got up. I was so angry I didn't feel fear any more. I guess it was ridiculous - I walked to the living room to face Elmor there. The clicking didn't stop when I entered the room. I walked to the switcher and pushed it. And then when the light lit up, I saw how the spheres and balls of my "meditation construction", as I called it for Dennis, rocked and rolled in a crazy dance.

Well, you know it can start rocking with even tiny push. But now it nearly swished in the air when it did its revolutions. I looked at it and I felt awfully strange. A part of my mind was still challenging Elmor - and a part was absurdly telling me that perhaps it was still the cat. Jumped here and pushed the construction.

But what happened in the next moment wiped all the thoughts about the cat from my mind. No, I am not accurate. It didn't happen. I felt it. Suddenly I felt I was not alone in the room. And it was so stunningly definite that I turned around, almost sure I would see somebody at the door. I was watched. It was unmistakable. The eyes looked at me intently - and because I couldn't define where they looked from I tossed about, turning my head like mad. I made a step to the dark passage to the kitchen - and then I got the idea that they could look at me from outside, between the planks of jalousie - and I knew I had to come up to the window and check. But I imagined what if I would see a face pressed to the window, a white face in the darkness - and froze in terror.

Then it came to me itself. At first just the thinnest vibration of the glass appeared in the room - and then it grew up, became stronger, violent, I could see how the glass almost jumped out of the slots in the bookshelves. And it grew dim. I mean, the glass stopped being transparent. I couldn't see any name of a book behind it.

"Oh God."

I just thought it, didn't say. My mouth got dry. Not only words but thoughts were deleted out of my mind. I just stood and watch. And then I saw a man standing in the door. It was weird - I realized at once that he was not there, actually - he was not real, I can say it like this, not of flesh and blood. Through him I could see very well the darkness of the passage - but I could see him, too.

He was naked - and the way he looked like was horrible. I didn't see anything like that in my life, couldn't even imagine it. I couldn't see normal skin on him at all; his face and his body were covered in black and blue patches all over - and there was dark thick blood sliming out in a wide flow out of his gaping mouth. His dark hair was spiky because of how matted and sticky it was and his dark eyes full of indescribable pain looked at me from under swollen scarlet lids covered in white bubbles of burns.

It didn't last long. I had time just to look at his face and then slide down my glance over his body - but it was enough what I saw. It was worse than anything.

I was terror-stricken. The feeling was so huge that I couldn't even make a sound. And the figure in the doorway started dissolving in the air - until I could see nothing of it at all. Together with it the vibration of the glass disappeared and the construction slowed down its turns - but it took a while for me to realize it.

I blinked dumbly standing in the silent room. It was impossible what I had just seen. It was not there but I saw it. People don't see the things like that. I had to be delirious. But I knew I was not. Perhaps I never felt more lucid than at that moment.

And there was one thing that I couldn't stop thinking about. If there could be something good in all this - then I found this good. The bleeding figure could be anyone - but I was completely sure it was not Elmor.

* * *

Next day I saw the cat. I was back from the supermarket. I walked in through the garage door, with my hands full of the packages, and went to the kitchen to tuck the things to the places when I dropped a glance on my front door and froze.

The cat hanged there. It was a Siamese one, cocoa-colored, with the bottom of his neck and belly ashy-grey. I could see it clearly because his paws were spread out and nailed to the wood of the door. He was dead - his mouth half-open and his eyes glazed - but not the crucifixion killed him. There was a wide red gash on his belly - and I could see a trail of his intestines hanging out of there.

I yelped. The packages flopped on the floor messily - and the moment when I glanced at them was enough for the cat to disappear. There was nothing but the door - a painted light blue normal door.

At first I gathered the things I spilled - and only after that I came up to the place where I had seen it. I looked at it closely - as if like that I could see some bloodstains I could miss on greater distance. I touched the wood. It was solid and dry and rough as my fingers slid over it.

But I felt something else. There were tiny little dots under the paint of it. Almost imperceptible. Right on the places where the nails were knocked in.

"I see ghosts," I said to Dennis. We dined out at the cozy Japanese restaurant. It was the first time when I got to the downtown since I moved to "Sunny II". Dennis invited me to celebrate some property process he just finished successfully - but I guessed it was an occasion. In fact, he wanted to be with me and he wanted me to go out.

I was ready for him to laugh at my words. Either that - or he could look at me with widened eyes and say: "I told you that you didn't have to stay alone for so long," - and I was not sure what I would prefer to hear.

"Whose ghost?" he asked instead. "Elmor's?"

"Nope. I thought it was Elmor - but it was not. It was another guy," I hesitated if to add something about the cat and then didn't. "I think, maybe, he has something to do with the cottage. At least, it started only when I moved there."

"A haunted house, hmm?"

"I know what you think," actually, I didn't care if Dennis was going to ridicule me. I even wanted it. Perhaps he was able to prove me that I didn't really see what I did see.

"No, I..." he was afraid to hurt my feelings, I noticed it. Sometimes he was too protective about me, too careful - so, that I almost wanted to cry out: "I am not made out of glass, I won't break!"

"If I was lunatic, I wouldn't regard this possibility myself, right?" I asked. "But if it is not a ghost and I am not mad - what other explanation can be there?"

"What did you see?" he still didn't start laughing.

I told. About the sounds and how I didn't want to admit I heard them. About the face in the mirror that might or might not have been there. And about the destroyed man that faced me in the doorway yesterday. I saw Dennis biting his nails. He had this awful habit and that's why he used to hold the table board firmly when he was with his clients. But now he let it slip out.

He was 29, a lanky man with a long nose and light-blue eyes, not exceptionally handsome - but sometimes his expression could get so awfully boyish-innocent that I had almost paternal feeling towards him. I wish I could make him happy. I desperately wanted to give him what he wanted! But I couldn't.

"This man - in the mirror and in the door - was he the same one?"

"Yes," I said. I didn't know how I knew it - there was not much human left in his face when he stood there naked - but I was sure.

"Do you know that there was a murder in your cottage?"

For a moment I couldn't believe what I heard. Dennis spoke to me as if there could be something reasonable in what I told!

"Its owner - not the last - but the previous one. It happened about a year ago. He was a lonely man and something was suspected only when he missed his work. When the cottage was opened, there was blood on the floor - plenty of it. And some other bad things. But no body," Dennis paused for a moment and then broke in an explanation. "I read about it in the newspapers then but I forgot it was "Sunny II" when you decided to buy it. Dumb of me! I had to check everything carefully!"

"Never mind," I touched his hand to stop him. "So, what was with this man? Did they find him?"

"Yes. Half a year later. In the forest somebody stumbled against a corpse piled with leaves and branches. There was not much left of him but they did identify him. It looked like he died a bitter death."

"Drowned?"

"What?"

"Did he drown?"

"I am not sure what was called exact reason. His murderers were never found. So, you did read about it?" he asked suddenly.

"No, I didn't. At least I think I didn't," then I added knowing what I was going to hear. "You think I could see him?"

"I don't know, Jesse," Dennis shook his head and a tiny smile flickered on his lips. "I am not going to say that you saw an earthbound spirit of a guy who died in suffering and returned to revenge his abusers."

"I might have read about it," I mused, "when I was at the hospital, right? But then I forgot it. Only subconsciously it still was with me - and when I realized I occupied that place now - I projected his image for myself."

Only when I saw him in the doorway, he didn't look like anything I could know about but forget.

"And what about the last owner?" I recalled suddenly.

"A married couple," Dennis said. "They practically didn't live there. The husband was suggested a job in Pennsylvania and they moved hastily, selling the cottage to the real estate agency. I am sorry, Jesse! I checked it but it didn't come to my mind to look deeper."

"Oh come on, Dennis," I shook my head. "After all, I fell for this cottage at the first sight and I think I wouldn't shit care even if I knew about the murder."

After the dinner I drove Dennis home - I could do it safely because I didn't drink any more. We sat in the dark car for several minutes and then he reached to my face. I let him kiss me - for so long as he wanted it. But when he passed his palm over my crotch, I clenched painfully. It was not like his arm around my shoulder - and it was already beyond what I could get. I shivered in terror.

"Sorry, Jesse," Dennis let me go abruptly and got out of the car. I looked helplessly how he walked to his doorway and hated myself for letting him down once more.

I drove into the garage of "Sunny II" an hour later. It was quiet inside, except for the distinct sound of the construction rotating. I switched on the light - and then I saw the man in the armchair.

He was the same one. But he was not naked any more. In fact, I could hardly see his clothes, I just knew it was there. His face was clean of blood and not bruised - pale and quietly handsome face, with short nose and lovely delicate arches of dark eyebrows. I could see through it - but it was contoured enough for me to see the details. His dark eyes under thick curved lashes were beautiful - large and soft and mournful - and I looked at them as if I was hypnotized.

I also could see his hands, white against the dark shadow of his clothes. One of them was curled around something invisible on his lap and the other one blindly patted the emptiness above it.

Yes, he was the same one. In the mirror - in the doorway - and in my dreams when I was him and died in agony.

* * *

This night my nightmare found his name. I was in the bed in the bedroom of "Sunny II" - not in my bed, but in a narrow one and set at the wall. I lay on my face and he was behind me, forcing something inside me. Something bigger than I could get, bigger than it could be imagined. I tried to scream, to let out the horrible pain that was tearing me apart - but the only thing I could do was to wheeze. And, anyway, no signs of my pain could stop them. They wanted me to be hurt. They loved it more than anything else - a new feeling for them - and they wanted to feel it more and more.

His name was Conrad Baxter but his friends called him Con. He didn't mind. It was a good name for him, a right name. He was the toughest of them; they used to catch the words right from his mouth - and he liked it. He could detest them but it was good when they looked up at him and said: "Look, what Con is up to!" There were four of his friends - Gary Troppe (a.k.a. Fatso), Wayne, Reg and Kevin - the last two were brothers - and all of them were around me at that moment. The shadows without faces - but I knew I would see them soon.

I couldn't explain how I knew it. I was face down on the bed and the square bottle of cognac was ripping my anus open - but at the same time I was above it, looked at it from aloof. It was some knowledge that was given to me - maybe, even not then, maybe, later. And, anyway, it couldn't help me at all when Con's powerful hands forced the bottle deeper inside me, tearing not only my anus but rectum, too. Blood leaked on his hands that clasped the bottleneck, making it slippery. He pushed the bottle bottom first.

"Get it, fucker!" I heard his voice distorted with hatred and laughter. "Don't tell us you don't get your share! Buzz for us and the bottle for you!"

I felt something dripping on me. Two of his friends - Baxter's Boys - that's how they all were called in the neighborhood - jerked off against me and their precum trickled coldly on my back and thigh.

"Fuck you, take it!" Con was getting tired. He got up and I felt how he kicked the bottle with his boot. I shrieked when the bottle moved inside me. Its massive glass form was inside my colon, distending it to incredible volume. He kicked again and again, until the neck of the bottle broke inside me. I felt splinters cutting my anus - but this pain was nothing in comparison with the agony in my bloated belly.

"Hey, Con, how are you going to take it out?"

"Take it out? What's wrong with the slut having it stuffed in? He is so loose - mommy don't cry - I nearly fell asleep with boredom when fucking him last time."

A push to turn me on my back. They towered over me.

"Look, I can see it in his belly! That's the sight!"

And the heel of a boot smashing on my abdomen.

"Fun! Guys, can we break it inside him?"

I woke up clasping my belly. The steady clicking of the construction was heard from the living room.

The End of Part 1

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