Title: Chinese Torture|
Author/Artist/Handle: Juxian Tang
Category/Subcategory: taboo/abuse, original
Fandom/Series Name: original
Pairings: male/underage male
Warnings: rape, abuse, death
Thanks to Jason for the idea
I hated this place. When my mother was showing me through the rooms of this
shabby two-stored house I felt my stomach turning inside out. A common bathroom
upstairs! She said it's for me, she would use the bathroom on the ground floor.
A tiny kitchen with rusty sink and the oven that seemed mossy with grease. But
I clenched my teeth tight - at least for her. She looked so happy - for the
first time for many months I saw her so light and smiley, with her golden hair
loose and tangled. And, besides, there was nothing I could do. I made my choice
when I followed her here.
"Oh, poor Alexander," she stopped abruptly in the center of the wretched
living-room and kneeled in front of me. She always did it - as if I still was a
little boy. "It is not so bad, is it? I know you are not used... but it will
work out, believe me!"
"Sure, mom," I said.
We even didn't have a phone! The next day when I woke up - and she was
already gone - the first day of her work - and thought about calling Eugene or
Jeremy I found out I would have to walk two blocks to the booth. And while I
was doing it I understood suddenly that there was no reason to call them. I
would hardly come to their neighborhood today - so far from here it was. And -
they were no match for me anymore.
I was supposed to find new friends at my new school. One of the last days I
heard my father and mother arguing in sotto voce in the library; as always
their voices for some reason grew lower and tighter where other people would
scream and curse. Well, my mother screamed several times on my memory - my
father never did.
"You could let him at least get a good education!" his words were almost
mellow - but neither she nor I were deceived with it.
"He will get it. It doesn't depend on school. It depends on him. Well," with
the conversation going to its end she became more compliant, "it is temporary
with the school. Now I can't stand taking anything from you, Wu, but, maybe,
She didn't know he didn't have any time.
On the last evening my father called me to his study. I saw the handkerchief
in his hands more often than ever - and he wiped his lips carefully with it.
"You know, Alexander," he looked in my eyes with the intensity I never
noticed in him, "you have to say only one word and you'll stay here."
"Yes," I nodded. I didn't have tears any more - and it was good - I didn't
want him to think that I could cry as a baby. "But she needs me. She is not
strong. She needs somebody."
"Well," he said. "But if you ever need me - ever - you know what to do. And
you won't refuse to take anything from me, hey?"
I showed my mother the thick sheaf of money when we were at our new home
already. She didn't say anything - just frowned and pushed the money away. I
understood - it was what she told about, it still was too early. The time
didn't come yet.
Instead of my friends I dialed my father's number.
"Can I speak to Mr. Chen please? It's his son calling."
"Ah, Alexander!" Dorothy recognized me. "Sorry, he has people right now.
What if you call about... six thirty?"
"Oh, well," it was time when my mother had to be at home already. "Just give
him my regards."
It was a stiff bright day - more apt for the middle of summer, not the last
day of August. I walked back slowly, knowing that I would have the whole day in
front of me - the whole day of loneliness that was not like anything else I
felt at home - with my books, music, puzzles and models - but forced loneliness
- because there was nobody I could go to.
There was a young man sitting on the porch of the house next to ours. The
street was absolutely empty, so, I couldn't help noticing him. He was doing
nothing, just sitting, with his bare pale-golden arms stretched and hanging
limply between his knees.
He was not a man, actually - a school senior, I guessed - slender,
straight-shouldered and dark-haired. He wore a sleeveless faded T-shirt. He had
to go to the same school where I would come tomorrow.
It made me recall how my mother embraced me yesterday - her tender hands
brushing my hair and her eyes looking at me as if she didn't ever see me
"You don't look like a Chinese at all, really," she whispered. "Not at all."
Yes, I was supposed to make friends at my new school. I walked past my own
house and stopped in front of the big boy on the porch.
"My name is Alexander Chen, I am your neighbor, right?" I stretched my hand
to him and smiled, even though he didn't look at me.
The boy was handsome - tanned smooth face, sleek brown hair and long lashes
that didn't flutter when my shadow dropped on him. There was a long pause when
I was standing with my hand reached out and feeling that I probably played fool
Then his curved wings of lashes flew up suddenly - and two greyest eyes in
the world looked at me. For some reason they seemed to me the most unhappy eyes
in the world, too. He didn't take my limping hand or said his name. He asked:
"You don't have a cigarette, do you?"
It was futile what he asked me - did I look like a smoker? - but somehow I
felt he was not seeing me standing in front of him. He would probably ask the
same anyone, even a dog, if it happened to shield the sun from him. I couldn't
explain it but the realization of this suddenly moved me.
"Wait a moment," I said. "I'll bring."
I dug into my mother's open pack of Galoises Blonde and pulled out three
cigarettes. I doubted if she would notice - but with the things like this you
never know. And I didn't want her to think that I was smoking, to fret her mind
The guy didn't go anywhere. And there was no more animation in his face when
I handed him the cigarettes. If the grimace he gave me was taken for smile
anywhere - I didn't want to live in such a place. Then he patted himself for
some light, sighed, got up to his feet and went to the house. I stood alone in
the empty street feeling so strange that it was almost funny. Oh, yes, funny! I
made myself chuckle. I was making myself until I really felt like laughing. I
walked back home - and when I was almost at my porch I heard the door of his
house opening - but I didn't turn back.
It was the first evening on my memory when I didn't read anything. I was
sitting on the window-sill in my room looking through the glass at the
descending twilight. I made some supper of the semi-cooked things I found in
the fridge - and it was good that I did it because when my mother came she was
no good for anything. She ate blindly and was lying on the sofa in her room
now, with the wet rag on her forehead. It was the first working day in her
life, for all I knew.
A couple of hours ago my boy-neighbor's father came home - well, I could
guess it. He was a significant man who amused me - admirable in his own way -
so huge. At least six feet three and about three hundred pounds of weight,
burly, almost all muscles, with only his grotesque beer belly looking really
fat. He could be a builder or something like this, I supposed - because his
clothes was well-smeared in some white powder. In about an hour after his
coming I saw my morning acquaintance coming out and going down the street in
his stiff, very straight walk.
The thing was that I could deceive my mother. I could hide it from my
father, even though sometimes I felt he was seeing me through - but I didn't
avoid saying it to myself. I was afraid of going to school.
* * *
They didn't like me. Neither the teachers nor the children. I felt it at once,
from the first lesson, even though I tried to show them how hard I wanted good
terms. We had learned some material already at my old school - and I was really
eager to help.
It was passable, however, until the lessons were over. And when they were over
four of them met me in a hundred yards from the school building.
"Hey, Chink! Come here, China-man!" it took a little time for me to realize
that they meant me. They made faces and stretched the corners of their eyes
slant. One of them was Afro-American.
"Show us monkey tactic!"
They were referring to some movie they watched yesterday on TV - the one I
didn't happen to see. I stood quietly, telling myself that it was alright,
there was nothing unusual. Even in my previous school there was some initiation
for new boys. There were some teachers passing by but they seemed to give less
notice to it than to the dogs growling. Then all of a sudden one of them sprang
to me and kicked me with all his force between my legs.
"Do you like our kung-fu, bitch?"
The pain was ferocious. I think my eyes bulged out with it - but I put it
away for a spell - while I rushed to him and sent my fist into his nose. Ouch!
It was like dry cookies crushing under my hand. I felt blood splashing on my
fingers. The kid yelped - and another kid stuck his fist in my kidney.
I kicked and swung my hands. I managed to get rid of two of them - whining
on the ground - but two others were more insistent. It was a mess. I beat them
- and they beat me; about a half of the strokes missed the aim - but so were
mine - and the half that I had were like hammer blows. They brought me down and
while one of them was kicking me on my bottom body the other sat on my chest
and poked his fist in my face. My mouth was full of blood and I was choking in
it. They didn't stop having me down - and after a while I was not sure they
would stop ever.
It was almost unreal when the beating suddenly quitted. Through the blood
film in my eyes - I had my forehead gashed - I saw a tall shadow over me - and
the one who rode my chest was raised up into the air.
"Well-well-well," another voice - the voice I didn't recognize at once spoke
over me derisively. "A fair game? Isn't it a new guy at our school?"
I hopped up and straightened like a spring right on my feet. I got the idea
that the fight was over - but I hated the thought to lie like this, beaten up,
on the ground. I swayed a little but stayed upright.
"Fuck!" the kid that stomped on me was cursing and spitting and eventually
he managed to get free and run. There was the big boy - my neighbor - in front
of me - and it was him who turned out to interfere.
I was coughing the blood out. My nose hurt so badly that I was sure it was
broken - at least it bleed incredibly abundantly. My lips were split, too. The
big boy stood in front of me now with his hands behind his back. He was
smiling. He was not a listless thing I saw yesterday any more, I even could
hardly believe these were the same lovely grey eyes looking at me.
"Is everything okay with you?" there could or could not be some concern in
"Oh, come on!" his big friends were hailing him. "Leave the kiddy alone,
we'll be late to the game!"
"Hey! Do you hear me?" he snapped his fingers. He was asking me! What would
he say if I snapped my fingers at him yesterday! But he was right in a way - I
was incoherent. Humiliation was coursing in freezy waves through me. I was
strong - I always believed it! I was one of the best fighters at my school -
and now they bedraggled me! I was so dizzy that I was afraid I would puke -
ugh, to make the things better. I couldn't stand imagining myself like this -
shedding blood and so dirty, under the accidental protection of the big guy.
What would my father say? That I've lost my face, no?
"Do you have a kerchief?" suddenly his strong hands groped me - the same way
as he groped himself yesterday searching. He drew the kerchief out and tried to
wipe the blood off my face - only smearing it worse, frankly speaking. I was
still silent. But when he touched my nose I came to life. I stepped back from
him so sharply that he dropped the kerchief on the ground. I didn't bend to
take it. I just turn away and walked from the school yard - stooping, however,
to grasp my bag that was lying like a dead cat in several feet from us.
"Wow!" I heard his amused voice behind my back.
"Will you go or not?!" some of his friends sounded pissed off. "Come on,
guy, you are so queer sometimes!"
At home, when I washed off the blood, the damage turned out not to be so
bad. My nose was puffy and bright-pink and I had a darkening mark under my left
eye - a forthcoming bruise - but I felt much better being clean and with my
clothes changed. I even trained some smile in front of the mirror - a painful
one, I have to say, with my lips still bleeding.
And I felt like I made a mistake. Well, I did it unintentionally - I simply
was too perturbed to react sanely - but the boy just wanted to help me. Without
him I would probably get really injured. I still was hurt and sick inside
thinking how they overpowered me - but I tried to cling to any other thought
that could distract me - and I thought about my neighbor.
It was quite soon after I finished to fuzz with myself when I heard him
coming home after his football training. I took the first hundred-dollar
banknote from the bunch my father gave to me - well, my mother didn't want it -
but she didn't say I couldn't use it - and went to the supermarket. With a box
of Anthon Berg sweets - the cashier looked at me with such an expression that I
guessed I was the first purchaser of this kind of things for quite a while - I
walked back and knocked at the door of my neighbor.
He didn't open. I knocked again and waited - and at last he opened the door
- gee, I got him from the bathroom, I understood - he was only in his pants and
with his hair wet, his shoulders covered with a towel - and he looked at me as
if I was a ghost.
"Hi!" I didn't give him my hand any more - and besides I had the box behind
my back. I was not going to suck any more - as far as I could help it - in case
he was going to show me the exit. "I just wanted to apologize. I was rude
today, wasn't I? And - thank you, by the way."
All through my speech there was the strangest expression on his face - as if
he even didn't start processing what was happening. I was almost going to turn
away and leave when he suddenly stepped back and let me in. His slim back was
straight and very tensed when he walked in front of me to the room. Then he
turned to me - and when there was enough light to see me he gaped.
"What? Am I gross?" I thought it was the best way to go through it - to find
fun in it. He paused a little - and then there was one more smile he gave me -
an easy smile that didn't touch his eyes.
"Don't you even doubt it!"
"Want a choco?" I stretched the box to him suddenly. I could say it
surprised him. He looked like he was waiting for some foul thing from me - oh,
well, not from me - I was just a small boy against him - but from something
We tore the cellophane cover - and then it was easier. I didn't know if he
liked chocos - perhaps he appreciated cigarettes much more - but he ate it and
I ate, too, and he said:
"I am Mike. And you..." his straight brows slid together in a little frown.
I blinked. Nobody called me Alex in my life.
His house was built the same way as ours - well, I guess every one in the
street was - but while mine was though pitiful and half-uninhabited his was
messy in a way the house is messy without a woman's hand. I knew somebody was
taking care about it - perhaps Mike himself - but there were these 'dusty
rabbits' in the corners I read in a book about but never saw - and the sofa was
filthy for years and so on. No wonder, actually, I didn't see any woman
entering or leaving the place yesterday when I was at my watch.
Mike put his shirt on and we sat for a while consuming the chocos. At last I
dropped my eyes to my wrist and stood up.
"Your father is going to be back soon, right?" it seemed to me his face
changed a little - as if some light was switched off in it. I had some idea
that the old man would probably come tired after his work and he didn't need
any neighbor kids messing around there. I walked to the door when he hailed me.
"Alex, look... You know what? Maybe, if you walk to school with me tomorrow
your mates wouldn't get under your skin any more?"
"And your friends?" I knew they were coming for him - I saw it today.
"Come on!" he shrugged.
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
I felt terrified imagining what my mother would think when she saw my
battered face. But when she came she was even in a worse condition than
yesterday - and I managed to hide my face well enough while she was pecking in
her plate - and after the supper she just dropped into the nap.
I spent the evening thinking about Mike - mostly because it helped me stop
thinking about the bastards who offended me today. And when I did think about
them I couldn't help imagining the most terrible tortures applied to them -
every heart-freezing torture I've ever read about in the old book I had at home
- an ancient, eighteenth-century book of Chinese tortures. It was written by
some mad missionary who spent his life in China and it had a lot of
unforgettable prints illustrating the text. My father told me it was a bunch of
lies, the Chinese didn't ever use these methods - but all the same it had its
impression on me.
And it was not fair towards the poor kids to deal with them this way, I
knew. They were just kids - what they could be responsible for? So, I thought
Mike was better than his word. I walked to school with him and his buddies
and when one of them - the same - or not - who was pissed off with the delay
yesterday - tried to drop something about me being 'colored' he just said to
him to shut up. It didn't make my own class-mates love me - but they didn't try
to mess with me any more either. And their silence - I could stand it, really.
* * *
I watched Mike's training, sitting on the stand of the school stadium.
Football was not my favorite kind of sport - all these big guys crushing
against each other - but I enjoyed looking at Mike. He was gorgeous - smart and
fast and strong - well, for me he seemed the best guy on the field. When they
left to the showers I walked around waiting for him.
It took a lot of time for him to emerge - all his friends were gone - and if
I didn't know for sure I couldn't miss him I would think he was gone, too. When
he did come out there was a bit of surprise in his eyes.
"Alex? I bet you're gone!"
"Did you want me to?"
"Hell, no!" every time when I saw this his pretty smile on the face that
looked even more tired with his tan gone there was something like a palm
fisting on my heart.
"I thought, maybe, we could go to Minnie's?"
I knew I was awkward saying it - but what could I do?
"Okay," he nodded.
The place was such that my father wouldn't step his foot in - but it took
only a couple weeks for me to get used to it - to start enjoying it. We took
our shakes and other stuff and settled at the table.
"I wonder where do you take this money from, kid."
Mike worked three evenings a week and on Saturdays but I supposed he was
giving the most part of his money to his old man.
"Oh, well," I really never told him. "My father gave it to me."
"Your father?!" I don't know why there was such amazement on his face. I
guess I heard a bit of irony even - but I just nodded. "A wealthy guy, huh?"
"He is the vice-president of Union Construction International, Inc." I
guessed it sounded awful. It took a couple of seconds for Mike to process it.
Then his expressive brows flew up.
"My old man worked for UCI, until they kicked him out."
"That's the thing," I said.
"You don't take me in?"
"Do I?" I never had any reputation of a liar.
"Then why don't you live with him?"
I told him why. It was not that I had to split my heart open in front of him
- but, well, the thing was I wanted it.
"And he has leukemia. My mother doesn't know about it. She wouldn't leave if
she knew. But he forbade me to tell her."
"And when my mother left she didn't take me with her," he said.
I never heard his voice sounding like this. A sudden dull ache in my chest
rose up. I clenched my teeth. He didn't look at me. His eyes were down, on the
plastic cup on the table - and on his hands clasped together - and I saw the
knuckles of his fingers becoming white.
"Maybe, she thought you would be better with your dad."
"She thought she would be better without me!" his voice grew louder. I
reached out my hand. I couldn't help it - I put my palm on his hands. Partly I
expected his to shake it off at once - but he didn't. "I was twelve. I just
came from school one day - and she was not there. Only a bit of paper on the
"You don't know where she is?"
It was the first time I was touching him, actually. If not to mention the
first day when he was wiping my nose with the kerchief. His hands were warm and
smooth - bones so tangible under his fine skin. I felt his fingers hooked
tightly under my palm.
"Why, I know. I wrote to her. She doesn't answer. She is married, you see. A
lorry driver. She has children. Joshua and Therese."
I couldn't make myself ask where he knew it from. I just moved my palm a
little, as if patting him - only not patting - I think he didn't even notice
It was then when I saw it. Under the sleeve of his shirt - some dark
imprints on his skin - five round spots - four together and one a bit away. And
even though I didn't see anything like this before I suddenly realized what it was
- it was the trace of a hand.
My mouth became dry. Mike didn't say anything any more - but all I could do
was to stare at the bruises on his forearm. I would understand if it was left
by a gloved hand - why, on the field they were excessively (to my mind) cruel
to each other. But it was not. It was the same bad - but it was not a game
trace. It looked like his tissue was mashed. It made me want to touch him there
- but I knew I couldn't do it. I knew I couldn't afford to gaze like this any
more, too - if I didn't want him to notice. I swallowed. He looked up at me -
and I said hastily:
"What if we go to my place now, huh, man?"
I never invited him to me before - but it turned out to be even easier. If I
had any notion that he would be taken aback with our meagre way of living - my
father's house was still too fresh in my memory - then he was not. I showed him
my puzzles and my models - Cutty Sark and Santa Maria and Atlantic Star - not
purchased models; I made every detail of them myself, cut out of wood - and he
liked them. I never could believe I would feel so happy in my house as I felt
* * *
It all happened too quickly. Mike had the ball - and there was a guy from
the other team closing on him - and one more from behind - and then they smashed
into him from both sides and all fell on the ground. There was a mess of white
and crimson uniforms - and I heard a cry of pain - I even didn't know whose.
But when these two guys got up it was Mike who stayed on the ground rocking in
The school doctor said it was okay, just a bruise, and told to rub the gel
into his knee - but his game was over. His buddies walked him home. He was
limping badly - worse and worse by the end - and I jerked and swore to myself
and put under the question the competence of our old medicine guy.
At home I left Mike for a while to run to the drugstore for the fuckin' gel
- and when I was back he was in his bed, pale and in sweat. I dissolved a
couple of pills for him and while he was drinking I took the blanket away.
His knee seemed twice of its size and of dark-purple color. He said
something like he would manage himself - but I was not going to listen to him.
I knew he wouldn't do anything - not with his knee looking so puffy and
"Take a deep breath, man!"
I put a little gel on my palms - freezy-cold at first and suddenly burning a
moment later - and pressed my palms to his leg.
"Oh, come on, come on, I know it hurts, I know!"
I was speaking some more things - the things my father usually told me when
I was in pain - like: you can stand it, you are strong - but I doubted if Mike
heard me. When I glanced to his face I saw him with his eyes screwed up shut
and his face looking like a gyps mask. I tried to be gentle - as far as I
could. And I was gentle - it was not difficult for me being like this to him,
to my Mike. He didn't cry out - he was a man - he even didn't moan once.
I rubbed the gel in - and then I felt him relaxed a little, maybe, the
pain-killers started working. His muscles were not so taut any more under my
hands. His skin was smooth. There was some dark down on his thighs and shins -
so very soft. I ran my hands over it - it was slightly tickling on my skin.
"Is it okay now?" I asked. "Is it better?"
"Yeah," he whispered.
I sat with him. If he told me to get out I would go - I wouldn't be insulted
or something - or even if I felt he didn't want me to be there - but he didn't
do anything. He just half-sat in the bed with his tilted face seeming almost
waxen and his eyes shut.
We didn't speak. He had to be too exhausted to speak - and I felt too much
to chat with him. I wanted to touch him again. To caress him with my hands,
feeling how strong and warm he was. I would like my palms to have some
miraculous healing power - so that I could fondle him and it would stop
hurting. I had the strangest idea about touching him with my lips, pressing my
face to his knees.
What I did do was to put my fingers on his ankle. Perhaps he was dazed - he
didn't shifted. I patted his smooth skin, every second afraid that he would
push me away - but he never did.
Then there was his father entering the house. When I heard his voice from
the door I just jumped. Not with the roughness of it.
"Hey, pussy, where are you?"
I looked at Mike. It was a tactless thing - a moment later I understood -
but I couldn't help it already. It was like his father's ghoulish tone sent the
load of high voltage through him. The look of his wide-opened eyes startled me
- the expression of a cornered animal.
"Playing hard to get, bitch?" the guy bawled. Mike groped for the bed as if
he was going to get up. He couldn't, not really. He pulled the blanket on
himself hastily while his father was ascending the stairs.
"Fuck!" the man seemed even bigger when I saw him close like this. His
smelly shirt was barely buttoned on the huge belly - and I could see the hairy
patches between the buttons. "What are you doing in the bed, cunt?"
I blushed. I felt my cheeks getting so scarlet that they burnt. I couldn't
believe he was speaking like that - to his own son, in my presence. Because he
noticed me. On the half of his phrase his mouth slid crookedly as he was
watching me. I stared back at him. Even to glance at Mike was unbearable. I was
ashamed so badly - and I could only imagine how mortifying it was for him.
Dave didn't wait for Mike to say anything - and as much as I felt I needed
to say what happened I knew I didn't have to interfere. Then he paid attention
"So, what is it here?" I shivered with the syntax of his question. "A little
Chino boy? What the fuck is he doing here?"
He was not sober, I realized. The reeking of beer was almost intolerable.
"Don't you know my buddies are going to stop by today?"
Actually, they did stop by already - I heard their voices from downstairs.
If Mike was pale before - he looked ghostly now.
"Dad..." I never heard him speaking like that. It made me cringe inside.
"Get out, Chink!" the man yelled. "Fuckin' shitty colored ass will stick
around at my home when I come from work!" he muttered.
I was dumb. Never in my life any grown-up person insulted me so. I walked to
the door on wooden legs.
"Why don't you kiss your pussy friend good-bye?" Dave was mocking me behind
my back. "A nice little buddy you have, Mikey boy! Why don't you go friends
with babies, huh?"
I was sick by the moment I reached the bottom of the stairs. There were six
or seven men in the living-room, all gulping beer. Their glazed eyes didn't
stop at me when I passed by.
I heard the party going on till after midnight. Anger was making me swoon.
They didn't care about Mike - how much he was hurt - how he needed some rest.
Oh, no, his father didn't care - I got it even excessively clear. It was the
first time when I felt I hated Dave.
* * *
In about a week Mike felt much better. He was limping, of course, but he
could walk to school without problems. It was his football that was out of
question - and I have to say I didn't feel too unhappy about it. A couple of
trainings he watched from the stand - but I felt it was aggrieving him, so, I
tried to persuade him not to do. Now we went home together almost every time.
I found it strangely difficult for me to come to his house after what
happened with his father. I never said it, of course - never said that every
time when I thought about Dave I had the creepiest feeling; they say it is a
goose walking on your grave. Well, we spent time at my place.
We lay right on the carpet in the living-room, eating ice-cream and playing
checkers. Mike was dragging his cigarettes. It was making me look at his hand
and his mouth, how he brought his hand to his lips - so startlingly vulnerable
on his strong handsome face.
"Give me a drag, okay?"
He laughed while I reached out my hand for his cigarette and then caught my
wrist. I wrestled slightly against his tough thin fingers. He rolled on his
back without letting me go.
"Aren't you too young for smoking?"
"And what about passive smoking?"
I looked at his grey-pearl clear eyes recalling how the side of my hand
brushed against his cheek accidentally. Suddenly there was such a great feeling
overwhelming me - so violent that I couldn't move any more. I just flopped down
limply. He let me go. I put my cheek on the carpet and whispered:
"Oh, Mike, if you only knew... I am so happy we moved here, so happy!"
I never had any friend like him - never in my life. It was so still in the
room. I was silent - and Mike, too. Then we heard my mother coming.
She looked at us with her usual stare last time - a little wildly. We
scrambled on the floor getting up hurriedly.
"It's Mike, mom. He lives next door, he is my friend."
"Good afternoon, Mike," her voice was flat.
When he left and I entered the kitchen she spoke to me. It was so long time
since she spoke to me - and she even didn't move to kneel as she did before -
inert on the kitchen chair.
"Alexander, my poor boy. It is not that I am appraising your friends, you
know. But why?"
"What?" I stared at her.
"Isn't he too big for you, I mean?"
I was thinking what would be a right move.
"He defended me when my class-mates wanted to bash me, remember?"
Her eyes flickered. I still felt cold when I recalled how she took my blue
"Oh, of course," a deadly tired voice; tender as always. "I can understand
why you want to call him your friend. But why does he want it? I know you are
bright, Alexander, but he is... how many years older than you? Is everything
okay with him?"
I felt my cheeks getting so blushed that it brought tears to my eyes. It
didn't help even that her words were not sarcastic - just weary. Didn't I ask
it myself? Didn't I ask this question almost every day? How I could be so lucky
to be with Mike when he had his big friends and everything? It seemed to me he
liked to be with me. It seemed to be he felt tranquil when I was near.
I went out of the kitchen. She didn't say anything to stop me. With my
peripheral sight I saw her head lolling back tiredly. There was Mike's cap and
his pack of cigarettes and the lighter on the floor. I picked them up. I felt
like clasping them to my chest. He was gone - gone till tomorrow - but I still
had his things.
Oh, and why couldn't I see him once more today? A sudden thought stroke me and
made me giggle. It was easy. I could do it. I could drop to him for a moment
and bring him his possessions. I knew Dave was in already - but he wouldn't
come to open the door surely, he was not this kind of person.
I slipped out of the house and walked to their door. I knocked and knocked -
and nobody came - and I might have guessed they were not there - but I saw the
kitchen light in the window. Well, it was a silly thing what I did. I had to go
home if I was not welcome. But I just pushed the door.
It was dozens of times I dropped to Mike like this, without any warning,
when he was alone. I thought they could watch TV. I don't know what I think.
But I came in.
And I heard it at once. Not TV - their TV was turned off, actually - and the
sounds were going not from there. It was from kitchen. I heard Mike's voice.
I knew it was Mike's voice. There was not much left in it - but I still
could recognize it - so... faint and high and full of some unexplainable
expression - of suffering?
I froze stone-still. Even my breath was caught in my throat. No sound from
me. The only other sound was - I heard it when I came in - was some strange
loud panting. As if somebody was saying with every exhale - 'hack! hack!'
And there were some very soft steady slaps accompanying it.
He was beating him! His father was punishing him for something, hurting him.
Like this, in silence, with only his breath to hear. In the kitchen.
"Ooh, God..." Mike's voice was a sob.
I felt like fainting. The cap and the cigarettes were clenched to my chest -
and I gritted my teeth not to give out a sound. I didn't dare. I couldn't let
them know I heard them. That I heard Dave punishing his big and strong son so
that he made him cry out in pain.
My cheeks were as hot as oven doors - and my heart was hurting me. But I was
noiseless when I turned on my heels and left the house.
* * *
I didn't sleep a minute this night. Every time I close my eyes I heard it
again - the soft slaps and Mike's pitched voice asking to stop it. It was
making me jerk. Dave... How could he do it? To Mike, to my Mike, so good and
smart and manly! What did he do to make Dave do it? With some cold feeling I
realized that he probably didn't do anything - like he didn't do anything when
Dave came home and bawled at him so nastily. It was just that Dave wanted to do
it - and Mike couldn't do anything to prevent it.
Ooh, why should it being happening to Mike, of all? Pity was wringing my
When it was time to go to school I couldn't make myself wait for Mike at his
porch. The house looked so hideous for me that I was about to lose my
breakfast. It seemed to me I could hear the terrible sounds of mellow slapping
again. I couldn't puzzle it out. Which way he was hurting him so much to make
him whimper? It was driving me mad. I dashed along the streets, well aware that
it was the first day in many that I was not going this way with Mike.
Was it that I was betraying him? I was hurt so much that I could hardly keep
away from tears sitting at my desk. How will I look in his eyes? He didn't know
that I knew. I was afraid I would give it out. I would prefer to die than
humiliate him like that.
He came up to me during the break.
"Am I late today? Or did you oversleep?"
He didn't look any bit different from how he was every day - and what I
thought about was how often it was happening to him. How often he met me in the
morning after his father punished him the night before? Did he know Dave would
do it when he was leaving me yesterday? And the nastiest thought was corroding
my mind: that's what was wrong to him? That's why he was so different?
"Hey!" I think I had quite an expression because suddenly his voice became
alert. "What's the matter, man?"
I was speechless. I believe my face was ugly because I tried to hold my
tears in. I only shook my head. I reached for my bag blindly and handed him the
cap and the cigarettes. I knew I surprised him, almost shocked.
I turned away from him and walked to my classroom. As he was going away from
me on the first day I met him.
He was leaving for home alone. I stood on the school stairs - and there I
saw him, in a hundred yards far, walking slowly, limping to his injured leg.
His shoulders were as tense and straight as always.
It was then something broke in me. I didn't cry out - but I rushed down the
steps and ran after him - and even before he turned to me I hooked my arm
around his elbow and pressed my face to his shoulder.
"Gee! You are pretty weird today, you know?"
I didn't answer. I was shaking so badly that it was like a fit. How could it
be the same voice that was imploring his father yesterday? But it was the same
voice, my Mike's voice.
I didn't stand. Tears flowed out of my eyes.
"Alex! Man, is there anything with your father?"
He couldn't say any more wrong words. He was asking about my father while
his... Dave, damned fuckin' bastard, how he dared?! I was in more pain I could
imagine. We stood in the street with Mike and I felt his warm hands groping me
- was he looking for a handkerchief again?
"Look, they'll think I hurt you!"
I couldn't do anything. I stuck my face in his chest suddenly. I knew I was
smearing him. I wrapped my arms around him - so that even if he wanted to he
couldn't push me away so easily.
He didn't push me. His arms were limp along his body - but he just stood
while I was crying.
* * *
When I saw the buddies of Mike's dad approaching the house I felt like my
heart was about to jump out of the chest. I prayed silently, without calling
the God's name. It will be okay for him today, I thought with some feverish
hope, whatever else but his father would be too busy with his friends to touch
him. I looked and looked at his house. At last, when it became dark, I skipped
down from the window-sill and slunk to the door.
Now I would like to say there was something surreal. I didn't have any
formed thought or any premonition except the pain that was kind of gnawing in
my heart. I walked to Mike's house and pushed the door deliberately slow. I was
really careful to enter in secret.
What I saw was so shocking that I find it almost impossible to verbalize.
There was about half a dozen of men in the room - and every one of them had
his genitals exposed. Their zippers were wide open - and their thick shafts of
flesh of different length and diameters, rigid with blood, dark and heavily
veined, were pointing in the air under various angles. The heads of a couple of
them were glistening with the liquid that was seeping out of them - and one of
the men was squeezing and rubbing his organ, pinching the head of it between his
thumb and forefinger. Their cocks started in the hairy bases, with mushy dark
shadows of their testicles thereunder.
Two of them were not just sporting erections, however. One of them was
Mike's father - the other, one of his buddies who looked non-descriptive for
me, all of them were the same - big-bellied rude men with red faces and bullish
They had Mike between them. It couldn't be possible what they were doing; I
had to be hallucinating. They had him on his fours on the floor, with only his
T-shirt on, and his father was kneeling behind him, holding him tight around
his hips - and thrusting his belly against Mike's bum sharply and steadily. All
Dave's bulk was moving - as if he was putting all his force in every heavy
stroke. He was gripping Mike very close to himself - so that Mike's body almost
didn't jerk with the mighty pounding, every one blow as strong as a punch. But
Mike still did move -and every thrust of his father threw him forward, on the
other cock that was stuck into his mouth.
The other guy had Mike's hair in both his hands, digging his knuckles into
his head deeply - and he was pulling him forth and back on his penis. I didn't
see any bit of his cock when he pulled Mike's face up to him, pressing his face
into his thick pubic hair - and when he pushed him back I saw his massive hard
cock glistening in Mike's spat.
There were horrible sounds in Mike's throat - as if he was retching. Another
sound was sharp, rasp panting that was going from Dave - every his exhale
noisy, as if he was pronouncing it - 'hack! hack!' I recognized the breath at
once. I recognized the soft level slapping.
My teeth chattered. It was noisy in the room - full of breaths and movements
- but for some reason they heard me. Some of them turned around - and while I
thought about running in reality I was glued to the place with my faint feet.
"Ho!" one of them said in an amused voice. "Who do we have here?"
I saw Mike's father turning to me. He still had his cock in Mike's ass. His
eyes glared - but more than angry he seemed meanly entertained.
"Aw! A little Chink! My neighbor-whore's Chinese brat!" he yanked his dick
out of Mike - with a sound that seemed like a wet snap for me. He was stiff.
His dick was thicker than my forearm - red swollen paddle, covered in the
unspeakable mix of liquids. He stood up heavily resting his hand against the
back of his son. "The little bastard of the fuckin' whorish slut but you know
I couldn't breath. I looked at him when he was approaching me - and I knew
that my bladder was about to slacken. I moved - I did try to escape - but it
was too late. His huge hand grabbed my hair almost tearing them out. He yanked
me closer to him in one motion.
"What the fuck you are doing here? Spying?"
I couldn't look at him. I tilted my face up to him but I made my eyes
unfocused. I couldn't stand this horrible face snarling at me.
"So, he is your little son's little buddy?" one of the guys spoke up - in a
voice so contemptuous that I shuddered. "Do you like to watch how your friend
gets it up to his lousy ass and to his bitchy shit mouth? His ass hole is our
cunt, you know - and his mouth is our pussy! Did you know it? He likes to have
it full and hard."
I almost convulsed. I never felt anything like this - as if a wave of
madness was rising in me. I broke loose from Mike's father. I felt my hair
tearing out of my scalp. I dashed to the speaker - though he was only a
distorted shadow for me, with his mouth opening and quivering. I hit him. I
kicked him and clawed his hands and belly - what I could reach - but at the
next moment they gripped me. There were two of them twisting my arms. Mike's
dad came up to me. Was he going to hit me? He grabbed my shirt and shook me so
that my teeth clinked.
"Look here! I said, look here, you fuckin' jerk!"
I saw him picking Mike up from the floor, seizing him around his waist and
yanking up violently. Now he held him face to me, clenching his upper arm so
that his fingers were gone deep in his skin.
Mike's face was pale as papyrus - except two bright blush stains on his
cheek-bones. He didn't look at me. He couldn't keep his eyes open. His face
seemed a mask of utter misery. I shamed him so badly! With my coming here, with
"If you ever, ever have the idea, you fuckin' scum," Dave was panting hard gazing
at me with his bloody eyes, "to tell the police or anything like that, remember
what I'll do with your precious Mikey's precious balls."
He grabbed his flabby organ and scrotum in the palm, clenched it in fist and
wrenched it out.
Mike gave out a moan - long and hoarse that sounded almost inhuman for me.
It couldn't lay down in my mind that Dave did it. To his own son. Tortured him.
"Clear? Is it clear for you, Chink?" I saw him twisting his son's privates
again. At last I realized he wanted my answer.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, I won't tell anyone. I swear."
My voice sounded alien for me. Dave chuckled a little and made the sign to
let me go. I felt dizzy of wish to come close to Mike, to wrap my arms around
him and to cover him. But I knew it would only make the things worse. On the
stiff legs I walked to the door and down the stairs.
In the shower I scrubbed myself ferociously, trying to scratch out every bit
of this scent from me - I was soaked with it: beer, sweat, the thick smell of
hairy crotches. I still felt it.
* * *
They left about midnight. I was looking at the lit windows of the house,
hearing from time to time the spills of TV music and their laughter brought to
me by the gushes of wind. I saw Dave on the porch, parting with them. He had a
beer can in his hand.
I knew it was the only thing happening that could make me lose Mike. Today I
couldn't stand his eyes thinking that his father was beating him. How I could
hope he would be able to face me?! I let him down. I spoiled everything.
Hatred was making me stiff. But it was not relevant now. I wanted Dave dead
- so badly I never wanted anybody dead. But it was another feeling that was
piercing me with burning rods. Mike was the one who gave meaning to my life.
There was no life for me without him.
My father told me: never do a thing without sleeping a night with it. But
what I knew deadly sure now was that if I let the night pass like this I would
lose Mike forever. I waited for half an hour more and then opened the window.
There was the slant roof above the back door under me - and I slid on it,
glided down on my bum - and dropped clumsily on the ground. We had heavy rain
yesterday, so, it was not hard. In the dim light I crawled over the fence and
reached their house. It was more difficult to climb up than to fall down - but
I did it with as little noise as I could.
Mike's window had a gap opened. I raised myself. I almost flopped inside,
all together, too much in panting to be gracious. Mike was there. In the
darkness I saw him thrashing on the bed, under the blanket, his hand reaching
"God, who is it?!"
There was alarm in his voice but no quietness I was afraid the most of.
"No!" I pushed his hand away. "It's Alex! Don't switch it on!"
"You?!" there was so much disbelief in his voice that my heart flutter. I
was afraid he would kick me out in disgust. I never let him time to think it
over. I scrambled on his bed and pulled his blanket crawling imprudently under
"Alex..." I didn't know what he wanted to say. I grasped his face in my palms
and covered his mouth with kiss. I felt his breath and his lips moving - as if
he was continuing to speak - but I didn't want to hear it. I kissed him
It was not a deep kiss; I never put my tongue into his mouth - but I kissed
his lips hot and hard. My heart was a burning ball in my chest fluctuating with
pain and joy. His cheeks were tender and warm under my palms and I felt his
lashes quivering where they slightly touched my fingers.
I knew he could push me away at any moment. Every second I kissed him and he
put up with it was like bliss for me. His heart was beating strong and fast
against my trembling rib-cage.
"I love you, you know," I whispered right into his mouth; I backed - I
needed some breath taken. "You own my soul."
There was just a little sigh from him. He didn't say anything. He didn't
order me to get out. I closed my face to his again. His skin felt as I thought
it would feel under my lips. He was blinking when I pecked his eyes. I felt the
minute roughness of his cheeks pressing my cheeks to them. The sharp line of
his jaw was hard under the smooth surface of his skin.
I kissed his warm neck and bare shoulders. His chest was rising and falling
steadily and the curls of his chest hair were a little coarse on my lips. I
kissed lower and lower, his flat smooth belly with the trace of down going from
his navel, his pubic hair, so fluffy and soft and wispy. There was very little
of his own scent - he had to take a shower right before. There was slight
moistness around his crotch that gave the scent - and I kissed him there.
I felt like I was dazzled when I touched his penis. He was half-hard -
throbbing and stirring in my hands - as if it was a small animal. That was when
he fought me. His strong hand was slightly wet of my wrist when he took my palm
off from his organ. My voice was tight:
"Please, please, let me do it."
How could I know what he was thinking about? I thought I was correcting
things - but, maybe, I was doing them worse. Maybe, he thought I was insulting
him being so brash.
"You are so beautiful," I whispered knowing that my voice sounded imploring
- but I couldn't do anything with it. "So strong. And clean. I need you. I need
you, my man."
I can't say how I felt it - his grip was still tight on my hand - but when I
moved it he didn't hold me. I put my lips on his organ - so erect now that it
lay upright on his stomach. The slightest scent was entrancing me. I took my
tongue out and tasted it.
The salt was almost imperceptible under the taste of the soap - but what I
felt was hot blood pulsing under the skin. I liked up, along the entire shaft,
with a flickering smile on my lips for how long it was. I licked my lips, I
took the thing in my hand and raised it a little to get reach it with my mouth.
When I took it in it was too much at once.
I couldn't understand how it was - it was just the cap and a little more
that I could put in my mouth - and I tried - I tried hard - but it didn't go
further. I couldn't make myself let it over my gagging. I just sucked and
sucked over some inches of it.
The guy had to shove it to his throat, I understood suddenly. There was no
other way. But what this man was doing was pushing Mike's face down on his
shaft - and that Mike never did to me. He never fucked my mouth. I wrapped my
fingers around his cock. I had a vague idea that I could help him to come like
this. And there was his hand suddenly. For a moment it touched lightly my hair
and then it replaced my palm on his member. I met it with my mouth a couple of
times before we started moving in unison. I knew it was alright now - I felt
it. I felt his thighs quivering under my palms.
Mike didn't make any sounds. I didn't know if it was his way making sex -
silently, with only his breath a little faster. He pushed my forehead gently -
and I understood he was going to come. I didn't let him go. My mouth wrapped
around his cock - and I felt it pulsating in my mouth, alive. And suddenly
there was warm creamy fluid on my tongue, salty and bitter, of stunning taste.
Startled, I tried to swallow it - but it filled my mouth and I knew I was
making a mess letting it leak out, down on his shaft. Mike's hand limped before
his cock grew flaccid. He let it go. I gulped on his sperm. I lapped hastily on
what I poured out. With his cock growing limp I could take more of it in my
mouth - and I licked it and under it, licked his balls smeared in his cum. I
kissed his crotch and his thighs and his belly until I felt him stretching flat,
Was it alright? Was I good to him? I remembered from a book I read that
these were the worst questions to ask - even though it was a book about a man
and a woman. I curled at his legs.
"God, Alex," Mike breathed out - and my heart contracted in apprehension.
"Why did you do it?"
"Because you are my man," I said softly. "You are my man and I belong to
He pulled me to lie at his side. His hard smooth body was so warm. I was
forward enough to push my arm under his neck, so that his head was lying on my
elbow. His head was heavy and I reveled in the sensation of my arm getting numb
under this weight. I had the strangest feeling - sweet and sorrowful at the
same time. Was it only some hours ago when I saw the most hideous things done
to Mike? I knew I wouldn't speak to him about it. Even though I knew we were
both to face it forever. And I knew for sure one more thing - whatever was
happening between Mike and me at night - our day friendship was over.
* * *
I was waiting on my window-sill looking through the exquisite design of the
beaded curtain to the street under of me. I was late to school. Mike came out
several minutes ago - and I saw him tilting his face up to my window - I don't
think he did it consciously. He didn't see me. When I knew he was far away I
went down and walked to his house. I didn't stop for knocking the door, simply
pushed it and came.
Dave was in the kitchen just in his undies. His fat belly never seemed so
repulsive to me as now, when it hung over the edge of his trousers. No wonder -
if he started his day with a beer can. He was busying around the table,
grasping the lumps of food and pushing them to his mouth, chewing and champing.
I didn't feel sick. I felt like laughing. It took a minute, maybe, more for him
to notice me. At first he just froze - as if my eyes burnt a hole in his back.
When he turned back slowly I could bet he was ready to see whoever else but me.
He even stopped chewing - for a moment.
"What the fuck you are here again?! Your pussy friend is gone!"
Pussy. Cunt. I recalled him throwing these words to Mike's face. Now I knew
he meant what he was saying. So, here he was fucking his son? On this table?
I was silent. I just looked at him. His eyes, already red in the morning,
looked back at me heavily.
"What do you need from me, fuckin' freak? Want another performance? Too
late. I've screwed his sloppy hole already today, chock-a-block, fucked him
loose, until he shitted himself! His fuckin' pants must be still wet with my
Oh, come on, come on, I repeated to myself. I was rigid with the reins I put
"You know what is it - a man's meat in your ass?" suddenly he changed the
topic. He didn't wait for me to answer. "I bet you writhe to get know it. Envy
your buddy? Love big white men, huh, Chink?"
I could see he liked the idea. His palm lay on his round belly and caressed
it lovingly. I smirked - so fleetly that it puzzled him.
"What do you want, you bitch? Want me to plug you, Chinese whore?"
I shut my eyes for a spell when he moved to me - but I made myself look up
again. His bulk was close - and I was overwhelmed with his disgusting smell. It
was revolting me - almost to the point of throwing up.
"Speak, you fuckin' doll!" he screamed at me. I saw him lifting his hand up
- so slowly that I lost my courage hundred times until he stroke my face with
startling force. I fell. I fell as long as the door-porch that was behind my
back. My cheek went numb with the slap he gave me. Never in my life any adult
man touched me violently. I was sure he broke my cheek-bone.
Dave looked at me as if being a little perturbed. I knew exactly that if I
started now he wouldn't do anything to stop me. But I stayed where I was.
"Ooh, fuck! Like mother like son! You want it, dirty slut - you have it!" I
hardly discerned his words. He grasped my shoulders and slammed me into the
door-porch. He was killing me. It was the clearest thought I had. My mouth was
filled with blood - so much of it that it splashed out on my chin. I think I
lost consciousness for a spell. Because the next moment when I sensed anything
I was on my face on the dusty floor and my bottom part felt unusually bare,
with my pants tethering me around my ankles. I shifted. The heavy hand lay down
on my neck, pressing me into the floor, crushing my lips against my teeth. The
huge body of Dave was behind me. I felt his size, his smell, his shadow falling
on me. I stopped jerking. His hand let me go - and at the next moment I felt
his fingers digging into my crack. His hands were prying my ass-cheeks open. So
wide that I gasped in pain. He was nailing his fingers in my tissue, kneading
it hard. His thick finger poked in my anus.
"Fuck you, Chink," I heard his panting voice behind me. "Fuck me if you
don't get it fast and dry."
When he stuck his index finger past my sphincter I went rigid. The pain was
unthinkable. He grunted with effort. He pulled his fuckin' finger out and
shoved it back, making me crying out. I didn't know if he wanted me to cry out.
I moved my hand to my mouth and covered it. He was fucking me with his finger,
rudely and disorderly. I knew he was scratching me with his dirty nail - but he
When he stopped I limped at once. Something inside my belly was trembling
thinly, as if a string torn. I breathed deep and fast, horrified with the pain
I went through. And then Dave shifted behind me - and I felt a blunt pressure
against my bleeding orifice.
Fuck! I almost was not afraid. I couldn't believe he would do it -
physically, I mean. His was too big. But he pressed and pressed and tore my
buttocks apart - and suddenly with an unspeakable sensation the walls of my
hole gave up - and he was in.
"Dad, please..." as if I heard Mike's voice again. I couldn't speak. Even if
I wanted to.
Dave took it out. Took it out to thrust again - and this time he went in
inches farther than before. New sharp pain - and I felt wet and hot outside. It
was blood, I understood. He tore me.
He thrust again and again. I squealed. These were some refectory sounds. He
didn't pay attention to them. He didn't stop. It was after five or six thrusts
he was fully inside me. I was changing between convulsions and complete
immobility. His cock was wet with my blood and other liquids - and still it was
sharp as if stuck with broken glass.
"Fuckin' tight little Chinese ass," Dave muttered.
When he pulled out I shrieked. 'Hack!' his exhale had this sound when he
sent his dick back. I felt his huge abdomen slapping against my bum. He pulled
back again. 'Hack!'
Sometimes I saw only blackness. I knew there were moments when I switched
out - because I don't remember how he lay down on me - as heavy as if he
weighed half a ton. He bit my neck and it brought me to my senses. He was not
fucking me slow any more, as in the beginning, but his thighs were drilling
now, battering me to the floor.
I felt, however, how he took his cock out of what seemed an open wound for
me - all wet and ragged - and flipped me on my back and pushed my legs up over
my head. He fucked my hole like this, too.
I know exactly that it was all no more than fifteen minutes. He speeded up
several times making me believe that he was close - but he didn't come. I
screamed and screamed into my hands. I don't know if he heard me. At last he
pressed on me - so heavily that I felt like my legs were disjointed - and even
though I didn't feel his sperm he was spurting it. He lay on me - on my doubled
body - and he moved some more. I agonized. I couldn't control either my
shudders or my whimpers. He lay on me and lay.
When he took the weight of his body away my legs fell on the floor
lifelessly. Dave crawled on the floor. He crawled from me. My blood was
dripping from his prick. He crawled on his fours. I was dying. I hated it. I
was dying - it was all over. He killed me.
He stood up. With dazed eyes I followed him how he got to the table and
grabbed the beer can. He emptied it in one gulp. He was looking at me. I didn't
meet his gaze. What I saw were his fingers pressing into the tin of the can,
squeezing and crushing it into a deformed ball.
He was going to do the same with me, I understood suddenly. He didn't know I
was dying. He thought... I could feel how the thoughts were moving in his thick
skull. He had raped me. He didn't have to do it. It was nothing like demonstrating
the Chink how he abuses his son this way and that. He stepped over the line.
I made my body limp. As thing, as if I was already dead. I knew he looked at
me. Then he stepped over me and opened the door of the fridge. And when he
stooped there groping for another beer I broke.
I jumped up and strove to the door. My hands were pulling my pants up when I
rushed through it, head first. I heard him behind me. I rolled out to the
street, picked myself up and ran. I ran - crazily, without feeling anything, without
I stopped only when I was on the traffic road.
I realized he didn't chase me. Even that far as outside the house. But I
couldn't do anything. I looked and looked around, in absolute belief that I
would see him right now, approaching me, catching me. I was gasping so noisily
that it was the only sound I heard. I was half-nuts.
And still there was part of me that was lucid. And it guided me, even when I
felt like a mad dog shitting itself with terror. I knew that there was no taxi
that would take me - in this state, with blood smearing all over my face. I got
to a bus. I knew people were looking at me - but I knew nobody would come up
and interfere. I stood. I knew if I sat down I wouldn't be able to rise again.
The guard in the building of Union Construction didn't know me. He was
reluctant taking the receiver to say what I told him. Alexander wants to see
"He said he'd be in a quarter of hour," the guy said. "You wait."
There were big leather arm-chairs in the hall - and though I knew I would
spoil one of the with my soaked pants I collapsed there.
The next thing I remember was that I was in my own room. In my room in my
father's house. I lay in the bed - my bed - as I had been doing for all my
life. And the pain was gone.
Well, there was something like sharp bites between my legs - and my bones
gave me dull ache - but it was nothing. I almost didn't feel it. The window on
the left of me was dark. And there was my father standing against this window -
and one more man, Doctor Leslie Ming, I recognized him. They were speaking in
"Oh, so?" when he felt I was looking at him my father looked at me. "Do you
hear me, Alexander?"
There was no anger on his face, just tenderness. Dr. Ming came up to me and
touched and turned me a little, asking me if I felt this or that. He patted my
cheek before leaving.
"You will be in order, Alexander."
"Bye, doctor," I smiled to him.
When my father saw him off he returned. The handkerchief in his hand was
bouncing, wiping around his mouth on and on - and it was the only reason why I
sensed his state. I looked at him - just looked, without any expression,
without saying anything.
"You will spend night here," he said levelly. "I sent to inform your mother.
Doctor put the stitches for you there - everything else is fine. Who has done
I didn't have to be careful with my words. I knew them by heart.
"It is my friend's father. He lives next door from us."
* * *
He was in the glass hall. I was aware why my father chose this room - right
in the center of the house, round and with the walls of tilted soundproof
glass, where he usually had his most significant meetings. I stood on the
little stairs leading there from the library and looked at Dave lying
spread-eagled down in front of me.
He was naked. It made me so sick that I swallowed and swallowed bitter spat
filling my mouth. Well, I saw him pretty much nude already - but now there was
something sordid in his bare fat chest and fat shoulders covered with hair. His
arms and legs were chained - but his legs were also raised a bit higher,
exposing his private parts and rear end absolutely in every detail. His limp
genitals hung loosely over his hairy hole.
Dave cursed. He writhed madly and struggled when he was getting fixed in
this position - and now he was spilling spat around himself and jerk violently,
trying to get loose from the steel stripes cuffing his wrists and ankles. There
was no way he could do it - he would tear off his limb first.
"Alexander," my father hailed me from behind. I turned back. There was a
slim young man standing at his side. "Van Lee," he introduced him to me.
We changed courteous nods and he started descending the steps.
"Let's go," my father touched my shoulder slightly. There were a small table
with drinks and coffee and two arm-chairs standing in the hall. I could barely
toddle. But when I was downstairs I stopped.
"Do you want to face him?" my father asked.
"Yes," I said.
He didn't notice me at once when I approached. He was shifting ferociously
in the tethers and muttering nasty words in a raw voice. I stood at him looking
until he turned his head to me.
"Fuck!" I couldn't say if there was any surprise in his voice. There was
hatred for sure. "Fuckin' bastard! I had to tear off your head at first!"
I proceeded to gaze at him. It was not that I wanted to piss him off with my
silence - as I had done once - but I was regarding all of this for the last
time. I can't deny it - I was scared at my heart. With what was going to
"Fuckin' slut! I'll get you! I'll get you, I promise!" he snarled and tried
to spat at me. I stepped a little back. He glared at me as if expecting that I
would spat at him, too.
Then suddenly his mood changed.
"Okay, Chink," I could see how his brains were working slowly. "If you want
it... But you provoked me, you shitty bastard! Well, anyway, look, maybe, I
lost control a bit. I am sorry. Do you hear, Chink, I am sorry!"
It was not what I waited for. I didn't care. What he did to me was only to
give evidence to my father.
"When Mike hurt his knee," I started. Was he listening to me? He was. It was
his life - too much for him to be inattentive. "Did you do it to him, too?"
"What?!" he screamed. He just screamed without words, half-witted of
indignation. "Fuck this Mike! What does he has to do here!?"
I turned away and went to the seats.
It was when Van Lee entered again. He had two men with him. One of them had
a tray in his hands - and I saw a bottle of some oil on it as well as a thin
long pipe made of copper. The other one carried a cage with a lithe shiny beast
squirming in it.
Dave raised his head looking at them. There was the whole gamma of feelings
when he howled:
"What is it? What the fuck are you going to do?"
Nobody replied. Two men stopped at his legs. It was just the place where he
could hardly see them - and he was craning his neck towards, trying to make a
look over his formless bulging belly. Van didn't stop. I saw him taking the
little bottle of oil in his hands and pouring some quantity of it on his palm.
The keen aroma of jasmine filled the room.
When Van Lee came up to Dave's displayed hole and touched it with his
fingers the man flinched madly.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck off! Fuckin' Chinese!"
All his huge body bucked frighteningly. But no matter how he flailed and
writhed there was no way he could escape Van's hands.
Van was massaging his hole with slimy fingers. He rubbed more oil around the
orifice - softening the skin to the point that when he drove his finger into it
Dave even didn't notice it.
I knew the intrusion of Van's fingers was not painful. More than that. I
could see Dave relaxing. Maybe, he thought it was the worst what was going to
happen to him - or without any immediate threat he just started losing the
thread. His head lolled back. Van was working his fingers carefully - and now I
saw three and four of them coming into Dave's hole without any resistance.
What made my throat contract was when his cock twitched. I thought it could
be pleasant for him what Van was doing - but it still was shock for me when his
limp organ came to life. I dug my fingernails in the velvet upholstery of the
"Ooh," Dave moaned. "Ooh, fuckin' Chinese bitch!"
He winced, however, when Van pushed all his hand into his hole eventually. I
darted a swift glance at my father and noticed his slight frown. Well, this
tiny clumsiness of Van didn't make Dave lose his erection. I saw his hands
jerking again - but now because he wanted to bring himself off.
At last Van took out his hand. He didn't pay any attention to the movements
of Dave that were witnessing his wish to go on. The man handed the tray with
the copper pipe to Van.
The tube looked thin - about half an inch in diameter - and about a foot
long. It was hollow inside - I could see through the orifice in it. Van came up
to Dave's ass and pushed the pipe carefully to his anus. It went in very
quickly. The skin around his sphincter was so well-oiled and the muscle so
stretched that the tube sank in without any resistance.
Dave's eyes bulged out when the tube went in. All his body was shaking and
twisting. It was not pain, I realized. It was... suddenly he fountained the
shot of sperm into the air. With his teeth clenched he was coming and coming.
"I am always amazed when somebody compares a man to an animal," I heard my
father's cool voice. His hand with the kerchief lay quietly on the elbow-rest.
"I see a big difference here."
Dave had splashed his belly with his semen - as well as his balls and pubic
hair. I guess some of it got to Van's hands, too - but he didn't give out
anything in this connection. He held the tube in his palm. Now it was
approximately for two thirds in Dave's ass. Suddenly Van turned it - and the tube
It was not fixed tightly. Well, what it really was - a kind of copper sheet
folded - and now Van started loosening it. Dave grunted. There was some pain
when the pipe grew in diameter. Briskly Van added more oil around his hole. He
was opening the tube - and it was getting thicker stretching Dave's hole
"Fuck! Fuck! What are you doing to me?!"
There was no expression on Van's face. His skillful hands just worked. When
he finished the tube was about three inches in diameter, having deformed Dave's
hole to the same width - and there was no any tear around.
My head span. I saw the other man coming to Van with the cage - and he
carefully put his hand into it seizing the little beast by the shiny fur on its
neck. It was a ferret.
In the utter silence Van brought it to the outer end of the pipe.
I knew what was going to happen, actually. I chose it myself yesterday - and
my father said that it was an appropriate choice. The most appropriate, maybe,
of all the old missionary book was suggesting.
A ferret is put into the tube in the victim's rectum - and when the tube
starts tightening again, the ferret makes its way into the bowels of the
executed. The tube is left in the anus to let the animal breathe while it,
squeezed by the grip of guts of the human, is digging into his insides to get
The sleek little head of the ferret looked almost like a snake head for me
when its was turning it from side to side flashing its tiny glassy black eyes.
Van pushed it into the tube slightly - and it squirmed in.
I guess Dave didn't see what was happening. And, of course, he didn't know
what I knew. He just apprehended something that was going to happen to him when
Van was tightening the tube in his rectum again. It all took a while.
When he did feel it starting his eyes went wide. It was as if he couldn't
believe it was happening to him.
"What?.." he stammered. With his eyes bugged out he froze for several
moments. When he opened his mouth again it was for a scream. "Ooh, fuckin'
bastards! What is it?! What are you doing to me?!."
Suddenly his voice dropped. His body starting arching.
"Aah! Aah!" his voice was thin. So thin as I never could imagine in a man of
his dimensions. His big belly was rising in the air even more prominently,
fluctuating with the violent jerks of his body. "Ooh, God!"
His bladder emptied. The reeking mixed with dizzying smell of jasmine oil
almost made me puke. And suddenly I heard a strange sounds - as if little drops
were hitting the hard surface. I didn't know where to look at first - and my
father guided me gently.
There was blood spilling out of the tube in Dave's rear end - dark and
heavy, scattering on the floor under him. The ferret was doing its work.
It was like sitting too close to the scene in the theater - I could hear
every breath and every whisper - but when he shouted it was deafeningly loud.
He bucked. His thrashes were so violent that the steel stripes on his limbs
clinked pitifully. His belly was trembling. Not because of the ferret's
movements - I supposed it was still buried too deep inside for us to see. The
flow of blood from the tube became thicker. Now there were not just separate
drops - but a steady jet.
Dave didn't sound human any more. His screams were either too low, like
tamtam, or thin and high, as if it was a hare screaming.
"God... God..." sometimes he choked on comprehensible words. Not too often.
His throat was so raw by then that I thought he hurt himself even screaming -
but he couldn't help it. His skin got a strange yellowish shade --as if he got
some infectious disease - and there were huge beads of sweat rolling down from
his forehead. I don't know - maybe, in this moistness there were his tears,
With a loud crack his right wrist broke. And at the same moment there was a
violent stream of blood flowing out of his penis. The ferret had to get to his
"You know that when the ferret is sate it simply falls asleep in the warmth
of its victim's body?" my father asked. I jumped. I didn't know it.
"But can it be possible? You mean that it will be sleeping..."
Suddenly Dave's screams stopped. He quitted thrashing. There were bitter
shudders going through his body - but he didn't flail as before. His giant
belly was sucking breath. So, it was the answer. The only sound from Dave was
some slow, painful breathing - like 'ookh! ookh!'
"I think we shall make a break," my father said sipping the last of coffee.
It the garden we sat on the chaise longues looking at the beautiful bright
sky in the web of yellow-leafed branches above. Soon after the noon one of Van
Lee's men called us back.
The taunting rest of the ferret was over. When I opened the door I was drowned
with the screams. They were very faint. Then I understood Dave was choking in
His left wrist was broken, too, and the vessels in both his eyes were burst.
He didn't look human with these two bulging red balls in his sockets. And there
was something more weird about his face, something I didn't catch at once. Not
the expression of complete madness. It was his hair. His head was grey.
It about three quarters of hour we saw the first evidence of the ferret. It
was like a wave under the surface of the skin, rising and falling. By then Dave
was already five minutes dead. The blood from the tube in his rectum stopped
flowing. When he arched for the last time there was his voice back - and he
called, plain and clear:
"Mom! Ooh, mom!"
Then there was nothing to look at. But I couldn't stand up. I saw the little
beating under Dave's skin below his ribs - and then there was some dark thick
blood pouring out - and in the little hole the tiny glistening nose of the
little beast appeared.
Later, in the library, my father put his hands on my shoulders.
"Are you alright? I didn't think you could face it all through. Oh,
Alexander, I didn't think I would see you a man," his voice was full of torment
and pride. "But I was lucky to."
And I was thinking about the phrase from the missionary book. "No one who
sees 'the ferret torture' can stay in his sound mind and good senses."
* * *
At night I held Mike in my arms. His head lay on my chest lazily and
contentedly. I smelled his clean hair, soft and fluffy. My fingers were
wandering over his face.
It was the right thing that we didn't switch on the light - so, he couldn't
see my incredibly bruised body. He hurt my ribs lying like this - but it was
the best thing that was happening to me now. His weight and warmth seemed to be
moving aside the dark waves of insanity I was afraid were zeroing on me.
"You know, my father was not at work today," he said suddenly. "He is not at
Dave's dog-tags I asked my father to give me were hidden reliably - under
the glued deck of my Atlantic Star model.
"Maybe, he left you," I answered hoping that my voice was still sounding
normal. "Maybe, he got under a car. Maybe, some monster ate him."
"Nah!" Mike stirred and I gritted my teeth with pain. His voice was spiteful
and tensely casual. "There are no miracles!"
I caught his hand with my lips and kissed the rough tips of his fingers. He
would understand his father wouldn't come back. He would be alright. When he
realized that he was free now. He would construct his life how he wanted it.
And I was not sure there would be place for me in it.
But every moment I could lie like this with him I was happy. And as long as
he still was going to need me I was going to be here.