INTERLUDE Read online

  Leroy began to smile. “Hell no, I ain’t calling the cops. I ain’t telling a fucking soul what just happened between us.”

  “I got it figured out. I got a plan that will get rid of those miserable nightmares. I don’t give a fuck what any therapist says. There’s only one way to combat them damn dreams.”

  “A rapist just has to rape,” Leroy repeated.

  “And who better to rape, then another rapist?” Wally stated, his eyes narrowing.

  It sounded insane. But then, maybe they both were. One rapist raping another rapist. Therapy exemplified. What bullshit! Leroy pushed out of his chair and turned the burner on beneath the teakettle.

  “Coffee?” Leroy offered.

  “Sure. Why not?” Wally replied, taking a seat at the table. He helped himself to one of Leroy’s cigarettes.

  “You wake up about the same time every night?”

  “Regular as clockwork.”

  Both men were silent for a time.

  “Leave your door unlocked tonight,” Wally ordered.

  Leroy touched his split lip, rubbed his finger along his chin. “A Rapist raping a rapist,” he muttered. “All right!”

  SAMPLING

  I was discharged from the Navy in 1962, spent the next four months kicking back on the beach, tanning my tall thin body, and wondering what I was going to do with my life. During that stretch of hot, sun-filled days, I built a lot of sand castles, molded turrets and walls with my hands, did a lot of thinking about things, then sat back and watched the ocean water roll up on the beach and destroy my handiwork.

  I liked working with my hands, I decided, liked making things, creating. So I decided I’d find a job where I could express myself through my creativity. Maybe I was meant to be a sculptor, or some other artistic professional. I began searching for just the right position.

  Two months went by and things just weren’t panning out. There didn’t seem to be any place for me. Then I read an ad for a potter’s assistant. What the hell, I thought. I was about to starve to death trying to find my lot in life. I decided to answer the ad and see what happened.

  The potter’s shop was clear across LA. I caught the bus, made three changes to get there, only to find out someone had already been hired. Damn the luck. I leaned against the building wall outside the shop and cursed my life. Then, as I stood there slumped in all my despair, I saw a fat guy across the street trying to squeeze his large rump inside a store window in an attempt to set up a shop display. He was having one hell of a time because of his size. Suddenly I saw opportunity knocking and headed across the street to offer my services.

  “I can dress that window for you,” I said as soon as I stepped through the door. Then I saw the store was actually a small delicatessen and all sorts of meats, hams, long ropes of sausage, a pan of chopped liver pate, whole chickens, surrounded the fat guy in the window.

  “Are you an interior decorator, or something?” he growled at me from the display window.

  He was just as fat up close as he appeared to be, cramped inside the display window. He had a white butchers’ apron tied around his bulging middle, snake tattoos on both forearms, and a little round white cap stretched across a balding head. But he had a smile on his face, an inviting smile that let me know he was kidding me a little with his first remark.

  The aromas inside the deli began to remind me it had been several hours since I had a meal. I ogled all the varieties of cold cuts and steaks displayed in the cooler cases lining the far wall of the little shop. Everything was spotless, the tiled floor gleaming. Then I saw the fat guy had climbed out of the display window and was looking at me, wiping his big beefy hands on a white towel.

  We looked at each other for a few seconds, sizing each other up, I suppose. He had a real skeptical look on his face as he ended his inspection of me, then he nodded his head toward the array of meats in the display window.

  “Okay. Give it a go,” he said, stepping back so I could finish what he had started. “Impress me and I’ll give you a job.” He chuckled, making his fat belly shake.

  I didn’t hesitate, climbed in the window, began arranging the sausages in one corner, coiled on top of each other according to specific types, positioned the bigger pieces of meat among the smaller ones, then decided to really get creative with the big pan of chopped liver pate. I grabbed a spatula and began sculpting, moving the brown stuff into the shape of a cow.

  Laughter sounded behind me. Suddenly I felt embarrassed. Turning, I saw the shop owner standing directly behind me, then he turned to the door of the shop to get a look from the sidewalk. Was I impressing him or not? I wondered, pausing with spatula in hand.

  From outside on the sidewalk, the deli owner looked through the glass at me, his eyes sweeping my body, bent over in the small cramped space. I saw his gaze pause on my hips, gauge the taut fabric of my jeans as they strained across my lean cheeks, then traveled on to my crotch, surveying my prick and nuts. Embarrassment faded away from me. I felt turned on by his looking at me.

  “You’re good with your hands,” he said coming back inside the shop. “Maybe you can make the rest of the shop more attractive. Business has been off lately. Are you looking for a job?”

  “I sure am.”

  “You’re hired. Name’s Mike.”

  “Gene. Glad to meet you.” I clambered out of the display window and shook his extended hand, sealing the deal. I had a job. It never occurred to me that there might be other things expected of me, besides making the place look different in order to attract more business.

  I rented a room down the street and began work for Mike the following day. He gave me a white apron like his to wear and a little hat to cover my hair. He allowed me to wait on customers while he watched, tutoring me until I got the hang of it.

  A month passed and Mike and me were getting along famously. He butchered all the meat he sold, had a huge freezer where he stored sides of beef and pork, and made all his own sausage. I took over tending the front counters most of the time while he worked in the back. The job was okay, but aside from sculpting a few pans of liver pate now and then, I wasn’t using my creative ability as much as I wanted to. I soon found myself getting bored. And one day, Mike noticed.

  There was a shower in the back room where Mike cleaned up before he left the shop at closing time. I had heard the water running, seen Mike put on fresh clothes, watched him splash on after-shave lotion, but I’d never used the shower myself—until Mike made the offer to me one day.

  “You’re doing a great job,” he said. “Business has picked up, almost doubled. I think the female customers are taken with you. They come in and buy meat just so they can look at you.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I really hadn’t noticed. Then I saw Mike was looking at me in a peculiar way.

  “Come on back to the shower,” he said, leading the way.

  I raced across the shop floor and bolted the front door, turned the OPEN sign over to read CLOSED, drew the shade over the front glass. Immediately my boredom began to lift. I had spent day after day so close to Mike, watching him stuff the long ropes of sausage, seeing him swing the big cleavers to break the animal bones, watching him run the slicer and the large meat saw, aching inside to feel his masterful hands on my body –

  I began unbuttoning my shirt, opening my fly, wiggling out of my jeans, kicking my shoes off, excited like never before. I’d been having erections on and off throughout the day when I observed Mike. ‘The Meat Man’ I silently called him.

  I’d been with a few guys over the years but never one as big as Mike. This fucker was fat, rolls of lard hung on him. And I grew very excited as I stared at him. He pulled his drawers off, dropping them around his ankles, then I saw he was hung like a bull moose. A long thick cock surrounded by dense curly black hair and swinging beneath were a pair of hairy balls the size of coconuts. I felt almost puny compared to him but he soon made me feel as though my cock, waving like a stiff flag in a December breeze, was the best one he ever laid
eyes on.

  Mike threw me a bar of soap and nodded toward the shower. I followed him, looking at his bare white ass, the roll of fat bulging over his middle and the dark streak of hair running up the middle of his chunky back. I was so aroused sexually I could hardly keep from pushing my cock between the cheeks of his bare ass as we headed to the shower.

  The water was hot, steaming, gushing out of the wide showerhead in a feisty stream that rapidly drenched us both. Mike soaped himself up real good, looking at me and smiling. I imitated him, soaping my arms and chest, then reaching my fist around my cock, I gave it a real good soaping. When were we going to fuck? I kept wondering. My nuts were beginning to ache. I needed to come a bucketful.

  He reached for me, pulled my body against his chest, grinned at me. “I hired you because of that cute little ass of yours.” He slicked his palms over my ass, groped a cheek in each fist, squeezed, pulled my cock against his, and began stroking me.

  I looked down, seeing his large hands working me like one of his rope sausages. It felt so good. I began thrusting my hips in rhythm to his hands. The water rushed over our naked flesh. The soap made us slippery. I’d had one experience in a shower while in the Navy and it haunted my mind. It had been the most erotic thing I had ever done. Something about the heat of the water splashing on two naked men as their hands worked, caressed, stroked, then the ultimate coupling, the ass- fucking in turn, all with the shower wetting, heating.

  Mike looked like he was sweating, even in the shower, his big chubby cheeks were beet red. He was turned on, aroused. I grinned at him, reached for his inflated cock, had to use both hands, dropping my soap between our feet.

  He felt fat like I knew he would, like a long rope of sausage. He groaned, parted his thighs, bent his knees so my hands could grope his balls and slide my fingers upward until I found his asshole.

  “Turn around,” he suddenly ordered, giving me a push. “I’m too fucking fat to bend over and let you ass-fuck me in here.”

  “But-”

  “You’ll get to. Just wait.”

  I shook my head; turned around, let Mike dig his index finger into my asshole. A shiver ran through me, a hot shiver of lust. It was going to happen. Mike was going to fuck me. I was ready. I’d been waiting a long time.

  He poked around my asshole with his fingers, pushed my cheeks apart so the water could wet me real good, then he placed the big round head of his swollen cock against my opening and clutched my hips in both his beefy hands. He pushed in all at once and I was sure he had ripped my asshole all the way up my back. I let out a yell, stood up on my toes. But Mike took complete control of me, pulled my ass against his crotch and began hammering me. Fuck! For a fat guy he could really move. I bit my bottom lip and hoped I could last him out. Then I realized my own cock could benefit from my hand and I wound my fingers around its hardened length. I began jacking off, feeling Mike inside my asshole banging me.

  The hot rush of water from the shower and the heated orgasm began gathering inside my belly. In seconds I was shooting a stream of semen against the cement floor between my feet, my guts tied in spasmodic knots. Then almost as if on cue, I felt Mike shoot his wad inside my asshole.

  Our bodies rocked together, feet slid on the wet floor. Mike dug his fingers into my ass cheeks. My hand squeezed my cock, milked it of the final spurts and drops of semen.

  “Okay,” Mike gave my wet ass a push. “Now you can do me.” He stepped out of the shower, breathing like a bitch in heat, and went in the direction of the storeroom.

  I still held my cock in my hand, limp as a noodle, my asshole feeling like it was on fire from the fucking Mike had given me, and with all that I stupidly wondered if I could get it up again. Hell yes! I was so fucking turned on I could barely stand it. In fact, by the time I followed Mike through the door of the storeroom and watched him sprawl facedown, legs splayed over the narrow edges of an old cot, I was rock hard again. I let out a wild yelp and bounded over to Mike’s fat ass. Leaping up between his splayed legs, I pushed open his fat cheeks and aimed my stiff cock at his asshole. With one hefty lunge I entered him, began to thrust, bouncing my crotch against his fat ass. He panted and chuckled a little, muttered something about getting hard again and doing it inside the freezer, but my mind was consumed with the rapid approach of the orgasm I was about to have.

  “I’m coming, man!” I yelled, bouncing harder on Mike’s fat ass. About a second passed and I began to unload inside Mike’s hole and I just closed my eyes and savored every second of it. He was so fucking tight the thought entered my mind that maybe I was his first ass fuck but I didn’t ask him, I just enjoyed the sensations racing around inside me and savored the feel of Mike’s warm asshole tightly clasping my cock.

  A little later, we tried out the freezer. It was too cold for me but Mike liked the temperature. I liked the atmosphere. There was something wildly erotic about having sex in among the hanging slabs of meat, the frosty smell of the locker. I was becoming a meat man just like Mike. Then there was the orgasm I had while Mike stroked me, and when I jacked him off he almost fell on his fat ass. The floor of the freezer was blood-covered and frozen, slick as snot. We let our white semen mix with the frozen red blood, squirting narrow streams toward the door we left standing open. It was almost as good as the fuck in the shower.

  For the following month Mike and I fucked every chance we got. I almost forgot about wanting to be creative with my hands in any other way except weighing meats and sculpting liver pate. Shit. Mike and me were real compatible. Then one morning Mike marched into the shop and announced he’d made up his mind to check into one of those fancy spas and lose a bunch of weight. No amount of arguing on my part made any difference. He was determined.

  It’s been almost six months. Mike sends me post cards, keeps me up to date on his weight loss. I’m minding the store, running the big saw, stuffing the sausages, still sculpting the liver pate. Business is still good. And Mike was right about some of the neighborhood women coming into the store just so they can look at me. I told Mike he better hurry and come home. I’m getting bored again.

  THE SEARCH FOR DIVERSION

  It was a chance meeting, a once-in-a-lifetime thing that came about in the most unusual way. It was Sunday, the Lord’s day, and I had decided to take a walk along the seashore, to meditate about my life—my solitary life. True. I chose solitude. It was so comforting. Until, I found myself becoming jaded in my thoughts, lackadaisical in my daily chores. In short, I was beginning to not care.

  The surf licked at the sand, rolling in with a swish, lingering, pulling back, retreating to that immeasurable place where it hovered, regrouped, then returned to repeat the whole process over once more.

  I grew bored. So bored of it all. Yet it was beautiful—one of Mother Nature’s great treasures, a glorious feat—something unmatched by anything else on our planet. That was another thing I found myself bored with. Earth. Yet I knew I didn’t want to leave. It was crazy thinking. Crazy.

  I had come full circle. Ten years previous I had left California. I toured the world. Money was no object—perhaps the root of my boredom. Perhaps. But I didn’t wish to be poor. I was spoiled by all accounts.

  I walked on the beach, barefoot, squishing the wet white sand between my toes, thinking. I needed a diversion. I needed change. I wanted newness ... of some sort. But what?

  I had parasailed along the coast, mountain climbed in Tibet, explored the Northern Hemisphere, sailed around the world on a yacht. I had sipped martinis lolling on the beach in France, flown off to Rio on a whim.

  I was bored. What else was there to do? I was looking. Looking. For exactly what - I didn’t know. Diversion. A new toy. A new lifestyle. Something to arouse my inner curiosity.

  It was then I saw him; magnificent in body, tall, muscular upper torso, narrow tight ass. And I knew what I wanted. I knew at that instant. I wanted him.

  I paused in my stroll along the shoreline, letting the ocean come up to encompass my bare feet, and
I gazed at him, unabashedly, lustily. I made no secret of it, of my interest in him. I wanted him to see me, to recognize the desire in my smoldering gray eyes. We would be one. I knew it. It was fate. Kismet. Had to be.

  I believe in love at first sight. I’ve experienced it many times, in many ways. It really does exist. Trust me. There’s nothing more profound then the discovery of love. Timeless. Torturous. Mind-boggling. But it’s real.

  I stood stock-still and stared at him. He was a photographer and in the heat of a photo session with two gorgeous women. What if he were straight? I dared think. I shrugged. No matter. I would win him over. I was just that confident. That sure of myself.

  He paid me no mind, went about his work without interruption, posing the two women, taking shot after shot. This pose. That pose. I marveled at his expertise, his show of authority, his manly way of ordering the women about, of directing. A deep sigh left my throat.

  I prayed he would notice me, look in my direction, take note of my interest. Then he did just as I had hoped he would. He paused for a moment, his camera raised in mid-air, and pinned his eyes on me, noticing. Assessing, perhaps.

  The moment was timeless, an instant lingering on the minute chance that he might, somehow, know what I was thinking, then react accordingly. Our eyes met. My very core quivered in anticipation of what might be, could be, between us. I felt at that exact happening in time, I could be his lover, perhaps his one all time great love. Such things do occur, I’m told. I’ve yet to experience such emotion, such profound emotion. Perhaps that is the reason I find myself alone at this time in my life. My youth is waning. Still I search.

  He took in my form, my modest dress of Bermuda shorts and over sized t-shirt, bare feet. His eyes lingered on my crotch. I felt a quiver of nervousness race through me. Were my feelings for him growing already? Or had his chance interest in the size of my male cock merely served to intensify my lust for him? I stood motionless while I watched him inspect my body. Was I growing hard under his intense scrutiny?