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Mickey "Daddy" Ray

This is a Science Fiction Novella, M/M, M/t, /N/C, Oral, Anal, Rape, Violence, BD, WS

*** "The B'anati" is copyrighted and is the exclusive property of Mickey "Daddy" Ray of Artistic Affairs in Binghamton, NY. The author may be contacted by email at daddyzhere@gmail.com.  "The B'anati" may not be used, edited or altered, directly or indirectly, in part or in whole, for any purposes without express permission from the author.

 Warning: This story contains some extreme violence and non-consensual sex being forced upon several males including a sixteen year old teenager. While in many states, sixteen is the legal age for a consenting adult, the author makes note that he does not condone sex with minors, but these things are a reality of life, and should be not be hidden or given implicit acceptance by turning a blind eye to this criminal behavior and pretending such things don't exist.

 There is also a chapter (#6) in which heterosexual sex occurs. If any or all of these things are too disturbing for you, do not read this story.

 This story is adult, sexual reading material which is primarily homoerotic in nature and is meant for entertainment purposes only. The author makes no apology for its content, and takes no responsibility for illegal accessing of this material by minors. Any similarity to people or places is coincidental. The characters are fictional and any similarities of names or personalities with real persons, are purely coincidental. ~ Your comments are welcomed!

This work is submitted by the author, and may not be copied, reproduced or altered, either for sale, placement on newsgroups, web-pages, or reprint - without written permission from the author, Mickey "Daddy" Ray, or his agent, Artistic Affairs. To get this permission, you may email daddyzhere@gmail.com.

Mickey "Daddy" Ray


11th edition 2009

12th edition 2012

13th edition 2013

14th edition 2014

15th edition 2015

16th edition 2016



 1. Kern at Copps'

 2. The B'anati

 3. Rheiner

 4. A Visit to Copps'

 5. Kern's Fantasy

 6. Sidney & Star Rainbow

 7. The B'anati

 8. Mrs. Eidermann

 9. Kern

10. Tully's

11. A Cole Day in Hell

12. Good-bye to Colour

13. Sidney & Kern

14. Hello Again

15. Felípe

16. Getting to Know You

17. Tully's -- Where Everybody Meets

18. Carbon Units Die at Tully's

19. That's All Folks

20. There's Hell to Pay at Tully's

21. Wake Me When It's Over

22. What to Do

23. And They Lived...

24. Epilogue


Kern At Copps'

Chapter 1



      Boring, Kern thought to himself.


    The five hours he was on duty, part time work ...again, was drizzling on just like the evening, October sky. There was nothing to do but sit around waiting for customers who were evidently shopping everywhere but at Copps' Clothing Retail Outlet.


    Stretching his legs out from the small office chair behind the counter where he sat, he yawned widely and gave an involuntary shudder. “Balls!” he said aloud. What a job, he finished in thought. Kern wasn't crazy for physical labor but, the tedium of doing nothing made the first hour and fifteen minutes seem impossibly long. Four thirty-nine PM! At this snail's pace, he was a week away from when he could close the shop at nine.


     The local shoppers that came in the week he'd worked there were of no interest to him. Copps' sold women and children's clothing, with a token of shirt and sweater items for the men he'd preferred to assist ̶ ̶̶̶personally, if that were possible. An intimate thought quarreled in a slight stretching within his jeans. Damn, he was getting horny again.


    Occasionally, a hot looking guy would come in accompanied with his girlfriend, wife, or towing some kid in hand. If I could get you alone, he'd think. Kern always wore a wider smile, and possessed a sharper gleam in his eye for the man, trying mentally to urge the guy to notice him, to feel his needs.


    I could make you happy. I could make you feel good! Come back later by yourself when I close. I'm sure I can do something for you. Especially for you! Come back; come back, his desires prodded. The men never seemed to hear his mental prodding or notice his singular attentiveness to them. “Small town, small minds,” he accepted aloud. “They just don't get it.”


    Idly, he walked to the back of the store to the private john on whose door the owner had printed CLOSET to discourage customer use. Leaving the door opened, he stood at the bowl and pulled out his cock, working it into a semi-erection.


    He looked down, admiring the long, smooth, flawless, pink flesh, the wide shaft and plum shaped, circumcised head. He pictured himself being watched by some straight stud who'd come in accidentally and see him at the bowl.


Upon seeing Kern's erect cock, the man, in his imagination, would not be able to stop staring at it. His eyes would involuntarily widen and his mouth would begin to drool slightly.


    “Can I help you with something?” He asks, as though he was unaware of what the guy was staring at.


    The stranger, who is now hypnotized and unable to contain himself, reaches out tentatively to touch Kern's fabulous wonder, as it rises upward, hardening even farther. Seminal fluid begins shining at its crown, a bead of honey, demanding to be tasted. Kern would close his eyes, giving silent permission for the straight guy to follow his desires and the anonymity of not being seen, even by the owner of that glorious hunk of meat. The guy squats, his lips hesitantly inch forward as his strong hand nervously lifts his treasure closer to his face, his warm breath coating it. Closer. Closer.


    “Oh, God, that's it!” Kern says. “Kiss it!” He demands. “Put it in your mouth!”


    “I...I...never...” the guy murmurs to Kern's cock, his eyes never leaving it.


    “It's all right, baby,” Kern encourages. “You can do it. Go ahead. Just do it! Yes! That's it... in your mouth. Good. Ah, yes. Now close your mouth gently around that head. Tastes good, doesn't it?”


    The man gurgles, sputum dripping from the corners of his enclosed lips.


    “Now, go down on it!”, Kern continues. “More. Take more!” His cock begins to slide deep within the moist warmth of the man's mouth. Back, back. Oh, yes. And it's so good...so good!


    In Kern's fantasy and the dramatic license permitted in such things, the man surprises Kern at his adaptation to this new experience, sucking cock...cocksucking... giving head.


    “Blow me baby. Come on, suck my cock! Eat it all!” Kern cries. “Here, let me help you,” he says, placing his hands on the man's head. “Keep those lips tight on it. Yes! Feel it going in and out. In. Out. In. Out. Yes! You're SUCKING MY COCK, MAN! Here's more!” Kern pushes in more, working it into the man's expanded throat. The guy chokes and panics. He begins to pull away in protest. “No, no!” Kern says. “You've almost got it all!”


    Kern pulls the man's captive head to his crotch, but the man is too frightened to go on willingly swallowing the invading monster. It feels, to him, that the cock deep in his  throat, has grown to obscene proportions. The man's virgin mouth is unendurably stretched. His lips drool with saliva, mucous and pre-seminal fluid. His eyes tear, and his face reddens from a lack of oxygen. Panicked and no longer mesmerized, he tries to pull away. Kern shoves him against the wall giving the man no room to back away.


    He plunges into the crying, handsome, sucking face, harder, faster, relentlessly.


    “Fuck! Fuck! Yes! Yes!”, he screams with every thrust down his captive's throat. “You love it! Yeah! Oh yeah, oh yeah! Now! You get to drink me!”




    Kern smashes the guy's lips to his soaked pubic hairs, causing the pulsating cock to squirm all the way down his gullet. He forces the man to swallow the thickly spurting and creamy spunk.


    Certain that he has emptied his load down the man's gullet, Kern yanks out his glistening sausage with a loud slurping pop. The boy stares down at the pathetic image of the man weeping at his feet, dribbling spit and cum and mumbling something about God, why me, and hello.




    Again he hears it. “Hello! Is anyone there?”



 The B'anati

Chapter 2



    The evening drizzle fell to the earth as a gently kissing mist. At five o'clock, the light rain went unnoticed to the alien that only felt Its implanted security disc shift to the off position. The B'anati sighed. Its prescribed cycle of three hundred earth years was nearly completed. It would soon return to Its dimension where It would be forever shed of this insatiable human body. This form, which never aged beyond Its original thirty earth years appearance, had a demanding hedonistic appetite. Incredibly, It could never be completely or satisfyingly filled under any circumstances.


    Although It knew and felt the pleasures of good food, drink and sex, those feelings were simply transient. The incessant desire for more; always more, clouded those pleasurable memories to a nearly forgotten state and always demanded renewal.


    Physical pleasures, without the true memory of them, were worthless. Only the end results of Its predetermined actions would be Its justification for what It had to do.


    This human form, with all of its fugacious limitations, was the Council of Preparedness' harshest challenge. It longed to live out Its remaining millennia in Its Colours, chosen by the Council, and earned by the number of successes It had experienced traveling through the last twelve and this, Its final dimension.


    One more performance was needed. This one would purge It of this human form. Occasionally, It sensed a possibility of hope for these creatures of the physical plane; a mind, a spirit-a Colour?


    No, humans would not have that much in their favor, but there was something. For the most part, they were wretched things, motivated by selfish desires, not even necessary for self-survival, but for greed or control over one and other. Perhaps their irrational behavior was due to their short life span or-but no matter-the whys were not Its concern or responsibility, It had only one more objective to complete.


    Along with the elimination of the human reproduction sperm, which was an essential part of this form he exhibited, It would also introduce a minute component of Its consciousness-the gift-as was called-and was required to leave behind by the Council.


    How that would affect this dimension was not relevant to the alien Itself, but to those beings who were separately and collectively called B'anati. The results would be monitored by the Council and knowledge would be incorporate among all the Triabs as a whole.


    Its musings were interrupted by the nearly magnetic tug from very strong, sexual stimulations emanating from the storefront It was about to pass. So close ...how very convenient.


    Observation: it was a clothing store whose window displayed a variety of women's jeans, skirts, and sweaters and, just inside the doorway, It saw a tall, rather beaten jewelry display case. In Its current form, as a human male, It would enter, browse awhile and tell the salesclerk a gift was needed for 'his' wife and ask if she might suggest something. Then he would, before she could speak, mentally suggest to her that she escort him to a more private area of the shop.


    It would very little mental prodding, It was certain, for the alien was made even more aware of the intense sexual emanations exploding into the night as It opened the door and stepped inside and out of the diminishing misty rain.


    “Hello. Hello, is anyone there?” Its soft human voice had an almost poetic quality to it.




Chapter 3               


     Rheiner set his empty plastic beer mug on the bar tapping its base repeatedly. “Hey! Hey, bartender. Hey, Sweet Sue! Let's go here, will ya?”


    He was a large man. Massive. Solid. A solid loser as well. Were anyone in the bar totally insane, they would have said aloud, rather than under their breath, What a jerk!, Asshole!, or He's a son-of-a-bitchin' bully, and they would have been right.


    Dead right! You didn't fuck with “Ragin' Rhino” Rheiner. You left him alone and, at all cost, never made eye contact.


    You know the kind. Most every town has at least one. A paranoid monomaniac whose only joy is abusing anyone they believe has made their lives miserable, which is, of course, everyone. Especially the poor soul who foolishly causes him to say, What the fuck are you lookin' at?


    Tully's Tavern was one of the four bars out of the seven that made its home on the main street of town. It almost seems an odd law of nature that the smaller, drabber the town, the more bars you'll likely find there. Tully's, however, had the distinction of being the oldest bar and had gone through a myriad of crowd types over the seventy-five years of its existence. Today it's know as a sleaze bar, catering to a mixed blue-collar crowd, integrating within itself the local gays, discretely for the most part, as well as other groups of upper society's bane; leather types, hustlers, prostitutes and druggies, both buyers and sellers; Ragin' Rheiner's home away from home.


    Rheiner had been drinking and growling since eight o'clock in the morning when Sweet Sue opened the bar. Sue's real name, the one everyone but Rheiner called him, was Ron. His full name was Ron Firebrand; a handsome, and garrulous, young Native American Sioux.


    Ron's sexual preference was no secret to the regulars, but he readily maintained a straight appearance and attitude. Not that that mattered to Rheiner. He hated all gays, faggots, as he referred to them, and one evening, in a fit of good humor, he renamed Ron after listening to the juke box playing an old Johnny Cash tune called, A Boy Named Sue. Had Rheiner been a poor man's intellectual, he might have considered his rejoinder obliquely clever, though calloused. As it was, he thought it uproariously funny.


    “Come on, baby, fill it up,” he bellowed, scratching his two day stubble, “and maybe I'll do you a favor and fill you up! Hah, hah, hah!”


    Ron, saying nothing, took the glass to the Miller Lite tap and refilled it. He set it down in front of Rheiner and walked away, not waiting for the money he knew wouldn't be forthcoming. “Rheiner doesn't pay for his drinks,” Cole Hapshaw, the owner, told Ron. There was a time Ron wondered what hold Rheiner had on Cole, but dropped the thought almost as quickly as it had occurred. He'd already had one bad experience with Rheiner, it was better not to get involved with anything connected with the guy.


    Three years ago on a Saturday night, around eleven, he was working the late shift. He'd been standing at the end of the bar furthest from the front entrance, chatting with a few regulars, when his eyes caught this fantastic body filling the doorway.


    God, he thought, he's gorgeous. The man was six foot five, at about two hundred and thirty pounds. He was wearing an open faded jean jacket with a hooded gray sweatshirt underneath. He had on a navy blue seaman's stocking cap crowning a mass of thick brown curly shoulder length hair.


    Jutting below those locks was a heavy, formidable brow sporting hair patches that met at the apex of the bridge of his straight, wide nose with an angry downward slope. His brown eyes, dark, malevolent, and piercing, took in the bar like a feral animal selecting his prey. They also seduced. The kind of eyes, when you look right at them, make you feel their owner can read your mind, so you look quickly away because you know what those beautiful, bedroom eyes are making you think.


    Envy: of the dark mustache that dared to barely brush the upper part of thick full lips.


    Desire: to feel the blue gray stubble coating his large square jaw rubbing against your cheek.


    Need: to be held in those huge powerful arms and, looking further down, lust.


    It can't be real Ron thought. A magnificent oblong bulge was firmly held, no-caressed, in tight, faded and worn denims. Those lucky pants, he thought to himself.


    Ron felt, for the moment, there were only the two of them in this tawdry bar; he and this exotic God. Then the God roared, “Hey, assholes! What does a guy gotta do to get a fuckin' beer around here?”


    Snap! Pop! New picture!


    Everything he saw before was still there, but it belonged to a drunkard; a yahoo with an attitude. “Shit,” he whispered to his friends, “I knew it was too good to be true!” And the rest of the night was like a dream; a nightmare, more precisely.


    The stranger introduced himself as Rheiner the Rhino, and took over the bar, bullying drinks from customers, bellowing a lot of hot air, and making himself at home.


    He was not so drunk he couldn't spot the gay clientele, and often made references about how much dick he had and how no faggot was going to get to enjoy it, even though he knew how much they all wanted it. The damn problem was, for the most part, he was right.


    With his looks, anyone there would have tumbled for this guy, but now, he had them scared. He sat himself near the front door, so no one wanted to leave for fear of getting too close and getting his attention focused on him or herself. They sat at the other end of the bar, in booths or in the back room by the pool table, hushed, frightened. They huddled in groups that gave them a rather pathetic sense of security.


    All but one.


    Rheiner sat at the lower corner of the L-shaped bar, and his bulk trapped poor Freddy, sitting at the far end of the L's base to Rheiner's right.  Only inches separated the back of their stools and the bar's large front window to their rear, displaying various neon signs and neglected potted plants on its sill. The proximity made an effective prison.


    The diminutive young man sat quietly, only wishing to be invisible but was constantly reminded of his existence by Rheiner's patronizing questions and remarks. “Boy, this place is a dump, huh? How're ya doin' there, buddy? How-about buyin' a thirsty friend a drink, huh?” and so, Freddy did ...every time.


    “You're all right, dude!” he'd tell Freddy, giving him a buddy hug and periodically ask to shake his hand. “You agree with me, right?” (Shake). “Look at that sick-o over there, will ya? He's a real fuck-up, right?” (Shake). “Boy, life's a real bitch, ain't it? Yeah!” (Shake).


    Ron felt sorry for little Freddy. Shy, little Freddy; he was always by himself, always quiet, polite, his eyes downcast. But Ron was scared too. What a bastard this guy is, Ron thought, safely eyeing Rheiner from the large mirror behind the bar, when he heard a small cough in Freddy's direction.


    Freddy coughed slightly, and in his usual small voice, never looking at Rheiner, said, “Excuse me. I have to use the men's room.”


    “Wha'd ya say, buddy?” Rheiner said too loudly, holding Freddy around the shoulders. “Can't hear ya! Speak up!”


    Clearing his throat, Freddy pointed to the back of the bar, looking down at nothing at all, and said, “I have to use the j-john.”


    “Oh, you gotta p-p-piss, huh?”, Rheiner asked, exaggerating Freddy's stutter. “Oh, sure! Rent a beer an' all that! Hah, hah. Sure. Me too! Come on, I'll join ya! I'll walk with ya. Protect ya from these perverts. Don't want them messin' around with my best friend, right?” (Shake).


    Rheiner rose out of his stool, hugging Freddy's small frame to him, and walked him towards the back of the building, between the main bar and the poolroom, to the doors marked RAMS and EWES.


    Several of the regular customers took advantage of his exodus to leave the bar. Ron watched Rheiner and Freddy move to the rear of the bar and quietly said to another customer, “It must seem like the last mile to Freddy. Well, maybe it'll be all right.” He busied himself behind the bar; guiltily feeling it would definitely not be all right.


    “Come on, buddy” Rheiner said, “I wouldn't want you to wind up in the wrong room!” He pushed open the door marked EWES, and threatened a young couple who were making out in there, effectively evacuating them from the room. Freddy hesitated. “But this...”


    “No, no. This is right! I mean, hell, a guy your size can't need a man's pisser, right?” He pushed the boy in, closed the door behind them and turned the lock. Once inside, he pulled Freddy over to the sink, still gripping him around the shoulders, and stood before the gray, metallic mirror. It was the replacement for the glass ones smashed too many times in too many fights. He gazed at their muted, somewhat distorted Mutt and Jeff reflection.


    “See?” he said, bringing his lips down to reach Freddy's ear, “Your just a little bit of a thing. Nothing manly there. Look up. Look up!” he said again when Freddy didn't immediately respond.


    “Look at that,” Rheiner said. “Shit, you're almost pretty, you know it?”


    Freddy was crying. Rheiner began stroking his thin straw colored hair. “Goddamn, you got soft hair, baby You know that? You crying? Aw, poor baby. Poor little girl. Come here, baby!” Rheiner turned Freddy towards him and pulled him close, pressing his hand against the back of Freddy's head, pushing it into his body. It barely reached his teats.


    “Don't cry, baby. You're not afraid of Rheiner are you? Does he scare you? Nah, he couldn't hurt his little girlfriend, could he?” He looked down at Freddy's head. “You are my little girlfriend, aren't you?”


    Freddy, sobbing, couldn't talk. He was very afraid and extremely confused. Through all his fear, he couldn't help notice the strong male odor of the man holding him, crushing him against his hard body. Afraid yet, at the same time, inexplicably comforted and excited in the surrounding mass of manhood. His small, pale hands were trapped between his thighs and the man's legs and a certain pulsing bulge that he knew the man was going to make him touch...


     A memory from his childhood came to mind: “Touch it Freddy!” his older brother said. “Go ahead'n touch it. You'll like it!” Later he found himself black and blue and sore in a place he couldn't bring himself to tell his mother about. He would touch it from then on ... and more.


    Rheiner pushed him away and looked down at him. “Look at me!” Freddy did with tear filled eyes.


    “You are my girlfriend, aren't you? Aren't you?” His voice became louder and with harsher conviction.


    “Ye...yes...yes,” the young man stammered, only hoping that was the right answer.


    Ragin' Rheiner released him. “Whew! You had me worried there, baby. Well now, let's piss.” He flashed a terrific smile at the boy.


    Freddy was stunned. That's it? That's it, he's not going to hurt me, he thought. An amazing wave of relief led him to smile back at Rheiner. He sighed a small, hysterical laugh, while he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. 'Well, now, let's piss', he heard Rheiner say, and decided, hell, why not. He watched Rheiner unzipping his fly as he undid his own. They stood together at the bowl pulling out their dicks. Freddy suddenly realized he really did have to piss.


    The sizes of their penises were as radically different as their bodies. Rheiner's plopped out of his jeans and hung heavily downwards, uncut; and it was the immense size of those ridiculously described cocks in gay fiction stories. The only other image Freddie's eyes could compare it to, were those obscene dildos in adult bookstores. A heavy, blue-veined shaft surrounded at the base by a thick patch of dark pubic hair. Freddy's was...well, Freddy's. On its own, it might be considered a normal four-inch flaccid penis, which if allowed, might have grown to a decent six incher. Side by side with Rheiner's, it was, he admitted to himself, pathetic.


    “Whoa! Whatta ya think you're doing?” Rheiner asked. “Girls can't piss like that-standin' up! You gotta sit down!”


    The old fear came flooding back as he felt Rheiner grab his shoulder with one hand and push him towards the bowl. With his other hand, he undid Freddy's belt, shoving his pants and briefs to the floor. “Sit down!” he ordered. “That's better, baby. Now, piss! Ya better hurry 'cause I gotta go bad and I don't know if I can hold it much longer.”


    He bounced his cock in his hand, which was even with Freddy's eyes. Freddy looked up at the smiling face staring down at him. “Please...” he said.


    “Goddamn, you're really fuckin' pretty, especially when you're crying, you know that, baby? Did ya piss yet?”




    “No? Oh, well, Jesus, I can't wait forever, ya know. I gotta pee somethin' awful and I'd hate to get it all over your nice clothes, ya know that? But I really gotta go! And it'd be rude to use the sink!”


    “Please...don't,” Where was everybody. Wasn't someone going to help him?


    Stupid question.


    “Hey, I gotta great idea. So I won't get your clothes all pissy wet...”


    Oh, no! Please. God! Freddie silently prayed.


    Rheiner peeled the thick, meaty foreskin back and Freddy could smell the heady aroma only inches from his tearing eyes and snuffling nostrils. He saw the huge purple head, the gaping hole at its tip. He began to cry in short bursts that made wet funny noises when Rheiner pushed the head of his cock to Freddy's lips. Freddy closed his eyes, his spirit had died. He would relent as he always did whenever his brother and his brother's friends used him.


    The cock pushed its way in as Freddy, not helping, but not hindering either, opened his mouth.


     Again, Freddy's mind wondered: “Hey, guys,” his brother said, “watch this! He drinks the stuff. We got our own piss bowl here!” And he would drink; swallowing it all for his brother and his friends. Or else!


    “Ah, that's it baby!” Freddy thought he heard his brother say. Or was that the man in the john. No matter, just do it. Get it over with. It takes less time and less pain if you don't fight. Just do it. And that's what he did.


    “Look at my baby!”  Rheiner said. “Drinkin' my piss. Just like a fuckin' baby with a bottle. Oh, and it feels good. Warm. Yeah, drink it down, baby!” He shut his eyes and pushed his cock further in, feeling the fantastic stop and go pulsation each time Freddy's throat swallowed and contracted.


    It gushed out in torrents, filling Freddy's cheeks, making him take large gulps to keep from spilling any. Spilling, he knew, would get him in trouble.


            “You'd better swallow it all, Freddy! Fredrica!" his brother warned. “Or you'll really get it!"


     Sometimes he 'got it' anyway, but he learned well. He was, to his brother, 'absolutely awesome'. He was his brother's slave to do anything and everything he wished under the threat of real pain that always got the desired and expected results. Amazingly, sometimes, only sometimes, he imagined he actually liked it.


    Was the man's piss bitter? He couldn't tell. He didn't care, and anyway, it was diminishing, getting easier to swallow. Soon, towards the end, he would taste it, when the last of it dribbled across his tongue.


    And then, of course, he knew what followed. Automatically, he began circling the cockhead with his tongue, squeezing it in his mouth. Get it hard! Get it hard! Get it over with quickly!


    “Hey, what the fuck 'r' you doin'?” he thought he heard, but paid no mind. He knew what he had to do. He was trained. But suddenly the thing popped out of his mouth loudly and he felt himself lifted in the air. Was he flying?


     He was moving everywhere. His head banging against all sort of things. He didn't know what. He felt a sudden, sharp pain down there. He didn't care. He was lying on a cold wet floor, a heavy, tan, construction boot was on his chest and a giant was masturbating over him. He closed his eyes and pleasant warmth and numbness invaded his tiny broken body. He wasn't sure, but he thought he felt wet splashes on his face, on his lips, nose, and eyelids. Then he heard a crunching sound. Did he hear it or was he just aware of it. It didn't matter. He was tired and having difficulty breathing. He would go to sleep; with any luck...forever.


    His eyes shut, Rheiner enjoyed that piss. He knew the pretty mouth that received it enjoyed it just a much, maybe more, because it kept milking him for more even when the last drops had long gone past the throat and, oh, shit! He was being sucked! The pretty warm mouth was circling its tongue around the head of his dick and getting him hard. He opened his eyes and, like a light switch, his mind flipped off.


    “Hey, what the fuck 'r' you doin'?” he asked, as he suddenly became aware that the pretty mouth, the warm tongue giving his cock so much pleasure belonged to-a faggot!


    He yanked his cock out and grabbed poor Freddy, lifting him off the bowl. “You fuckin' cocksucking queer! I thought you was my buddy. I thought you was gonna be my little girl, you son of a bitch!”


    He threw the small frame of the boy against the wall. Freddy landed on the floor, hitting his head against the sink as he slid down. He said nothing He didn't cry out in pain. He didn't cry out at all, which only enraged Rheiner further.


    “You want my prick, boy?” Lift, shove, and slam. Lift, shove, and slam...again. He threw the limp body from wall to wall and against the door and his exposed, swinging cock got harder with each new assault.


    Freddy, barely conscious, lay against the door; his legs splayed on the floor. His loosened pants and underwear, tangled inside-out, lay from his shoes across the dirty, piss stained floor; bills, loose change and the contents from his wallet strewn all about. His underwear was soaked. At some point, his body managed to take that piss. Rheiner pushed him down flat on the tiles with his heavy work boot, placing his foot on Freddy's vulnerable limp penis. He ground his heel sharply as if he were crushing a cigarette. He followed that with a heavy kick to the boy's groin. Freddy only manage a small grunt. Rheiner then placed his boot on his victim's chest.


    Looking down at the boy's bleeding, wretched body excited Rheiner to a fevered pitch, making his cock swell to a marble hardness. He grabbed his throbbing shaft and began pounding it, all the while staring at Freddy's lips and the blood trickling from them.


    “Here! This is what you wanted, boy? You want my fuckin' cum?” Jacking furiously, faster and faster, his cock gorged with blood, became a violent red and began to shudder. “Okay. Here it is, you faggot!” He shot his first immense wad of thick cum directly at the boy's gaping, bleeding mouth. “Eat that, you fuckin' cocksucker! And this! And this! Ahh! Ahh! Yeah, catch this...you...fuckin'...queer! You want cum? Here! And more...more...unh, unh! Oh, fuck!”


    His jism flew everywhere, much of it on Freddy, the rest landing on his boot, the walls and floor. At the end, he was sweating profusely, gasping, and taking large gulps of air, holding his softening weapon.


    He looked down, admiring his work. He was pleased. He'd shown this fag what happens when you mess with Ragin' Rheiner. Removing his booted foot from Freddy's chest, he lowered himself and wiped his coated cockhead across Freddy's bleeding mouth, then the boy's torn shirt. He stood back up and tucked his cock back in his jeans. “Bye-bye, faggot!” He raised his boot and brought it forcefully down directly over Freddy's delicate face, not just once but over and over again. There was nothing recognizable of Freddy, in that bloody mess on the tiled floor of the ladies room in Tully's bar.


    By the time the police responded to the anonymous call from 'that place, again!', the bar was practically empty and Rheiner was almost out the front door. Three months later he was sentenced to five years for second degree manslaughter. The court very well understood how a man might react in anger to an act of perversion, i.e. being propositioned by a homosexual, which he tried to avoid by going in the women's rest room in the first place. They reduced his sentence to three years. He left the over crowded prison system after two years-neither a better nor wiser man.


    He came back to town in a series of trips from New York City, flashing his good looks and mean temper along with an endless supply of cash. Where he got his money was anybody's guess. Not that he spent any of it at Tully's.


    “Hey, Sweet Sue!” he called out. “My gul-ass has got a hole in it! Hah, hah!”


    Funny man.



A Visit To Copps'

Chapter 4



    “Fuck!” Kern nearly shit his pants at the sound of someone coming in the store unexpectedly. “'Hello! Is anyone there?'...duh-uh.”


    “Christ, what a mess,” he mumbled, realizing during his fantasy he'd cum all over himself. “Be right with you!” he yelled from the toilet and proceeded to wipe himself with a convenient towel he kept there for just such purpose.


    Before he could put his cock back in his pants, he sensed, before he saw, a man standing in back of him in the open doorway of the bathroom.


    “Did I interrupt something? Your coffee break perhaps?” the man at the door asked. His accent seemed...British? Cultured, educated maybe, thought Kern. Well, screw him! He had no business sneaking up on a person like that.


    “No,” Kern answered, “not a coffee break. Actually it's lunch hour. Have you had anything to eat?” he asked, waving his cock at the man.


    The B'anati nudged at the young human's mind. No need for greater urgency. Time, for the boy, would be temporarily suspended while the alien considered the situation.


    The alien gently probed. No doubt this human subject is homosexual. It reached behind the boy and removed his wallet. Age: 21. Name: Robert Kern Decker. The ID went on describing Kern as five foot, eleven inches, one hundred and ninety pounds, blue eyes, and brown hair.


    The photo showed a trace of a mustache, since shaven, and longer hair, since cut to a more conservative look, but now returning to its previous length. The B'anati replaced the wallet and continued to lightly probe at the human’s psyche.


    This had to be done carefully, as these creatures were extraordinarily fragile in regard to their mental capacities. They tended to place great emphasis with things physical which, for the most part, explained their tendency to still exist by the theory of survival of the fittest, and their tendency to war for such menial things as land, money, possessions and the power to control others.


    The alien searched Kern's mind, verifying the wallet's ID information and found few points of both significant and not so significant interest. It was certainly insignificant to the alien that the young man preferred to be called by his middle name. It detected the young man's interests held typically fast to the puerile. All things were judged by their surface value. Obviously, the boy had little nurturing while growing up, and that which he did have was often cruel and severe. He had learned to cauterize his emotional wounds with a hardness that belied the Colour deep within.


    Colour? Is it possible? After three hundred years of searching, this, the last connection, would prove to be the one the Council had wanted the B'anati to find? It had met many humans with qualities of intellect, humor, mercy, compassion and faith, but none with even a trace of Colour; that element, indefinable in human terms, which held the entire essence of the B'anati.


    Whether or not it was planned, it was obvious that this was more than mere chance. This must be done well. The alien would leave his seed with this young man and by giving him the ultimate fantasy he desired, making sure that the human would accept the gift freely.


    This youth responded to a variety of human male types. He'd fantasized eagerly to the Germanic type such as a tall, blonde, blue eyed, leather clad or uniformed man. The being began to illusion/alter Its appearance as rapidly as It read the boy's mind. Black leather cap, motorcycle jacket, opened leather vest, no shirt, exposing smooth pale skin. It added muscular arms wrapped in studded bands, washboard abs, and well defined pecs whose nipples rose out large, pink and pierced with large silver rings. His lower garments altered to smooth, black, leather chaps exposing a round firm butt, black, calf high riding boots, and a leather jock strap encasing what the young man most desired, a sci-fi fantasy-thirteen inches of humongous, glorious cock.


    How ridiculously tedious, this fascination with large genitalia some of these humans had. But, Its probe found that this was something Kern had always believed actually existed and hoped someday that he would get to see one.


    Well, now he would.


    The B'anati had little time, as at any moment another customer could happen in. It was possible to alter that person's memory if necessary; however, the fewer interactions with the human mind the better. The B'anati proceeded.


    In a very short time, Kern had swallowed copious amounts of the B'anati's seed and was rewarded with more than just the lengthy fantasy he believed he'd really experienced.


    With the ingestion of the alien's seed, the young man was gifted, not with all the B'anati traits, but with alien abilities that would certainly alter his entire existence as well as those he came in contact with.


    How he would use these newfound abilities did not concern the B'anati. It was amoral and did not measure Its behavior by human standards of good and evil. During Its three hundred years of coexisting with man, It had merely maintained a balance of action, instinctively preventing too much of one or the other, avoiding chaos.


    The B'anati was there, first, to experience the human existence, and secondly to leave behind, as Its last act, the gift, incorporated within Its human ejaculate, as an experiment. Could the Council have known It would find a human with a trace of Colour? To what purpose, only the Council would be aware. Achieving this, It would return home and be given Its new Colour, which would permanently define It forever.


    The B'anati looked down at this special and exhausted young human, then began to evanesce Its human form, first into a sparkling mist, then It shimmered briefly and was gone by five twenty-two PM, EST.



Kern's Fantasy

Chapter 5



            Kern found himself on his knees, tears of joy streaming down his face kneeling before this perfect man.


            How? Where?


            Screw it! What did it matter if was real or simply another one of his flights of fantasy. The man was there, and Kern would do anything for his leather god. As far as he was concerned, no command would too embarrassing, or incredible.


            At the onset, he truckled himself before his Master, bending his head to the floor, his tongue found its way to and began laving at the tall, thick, black, riding boots, top to bottom, paying extra attention to the soles and heels whose surfaces, he rapturously considered, had touched the sacred ground his Master tread.


            He stretched himself prone on the floor, begging for those boots to be placed on his face as he licked and cleaned and sniffed in the erotic aroma of leather.


            When he felt satisfied with his work there, he rose to his knees once again and continued licking upward, not missing an inch of the tight fitting chaps, caressing hard strong legs. Up one side and down the other, his tongue slaved its way across the front and back until his nose came in contact with the light soft blond hairs of his Master's beautiful ass cheeks.


            He swirled the tip of his tongue around the surface of each cheek, occasionally kissing and taking small nibbles of the pink flesh. He coated his Master's ass hairs with a thin film of his saliva, making it glisten in the weak bathroom light. He pulled his head back and admired the beauty of his work and saw the next area of his attention.


            From the base of his Master's spine, he began a downward motion, lapping and probing the crack of his Master's ass. All the while he heard the firm commands of his Master coaxing him on, demanding more and more effort, which encouraged Kern to continue even more fervently; to lick deeper and deeper. The aroma was heady and he took deep breaths with his nose as he groveled and tongued deep into the crevice, licking the pink hole in tiny swirls and penetrating his spit coated tongue within. His tongue searched and worked its way in and out, again and again, lapping the surface and reaming his Master's asshole. As he worked he made grunting and gurgling sounds of pleasure.


            “Oh, God, you're delicious, Sir!” he moaned. “Sit on my face, please, Sir? Smother me with your sweet ass!”


            The ass in front of him rotated away and became a huge bulging leather jock strap.


            “Oh, thank you, Sir!” he cried, and eagerly washed the leather bulge with the full width of his tongue. Licking expertly, applying pressure as the leather mass grew in size and width. He forced his tongue under a lower edge of the jock strap and was rewarded with a taste of cockhead. Spurred on by that delicious sample, harder and harder, he tried to push his tongue up as the cock within pushed its way out, until the strap suddenly snapped open and he was struck hard across the face by the biggest cock he had ever seen in his life.


            Frozen in astonishment, he stared open mouthed at its enormity and looked up to his Master's face. “Start sucking that cock, and I mean every last inch!” The leatherman's voice was firm and confident. Kern quickly looked back down at the behemoth in front of his face.


            My God, it couldn't be, but there it was; at least thirteen inches of stud meat swayed right before his eyes. It was wide and pulsating in rhythm with the heart that was furiously trying to fill the demand of pumping the immense amount of blood needed to engorge those huge veins. It was a snake dance in front of Kern's eyes; hypnotizing...beckoning. A sensual siren's song, but without sound and one he could not resist.


            He brought his young, eager lips forward to the tip of the huge head, pursed them and gently kiss it. The cock leaped forward at his touch demanding more, and Kern kissed it again; this time, at the very tip, letting his lips taste the sweet, salty mixture of piss and pre-cum oozing out. He smeared it around the bulbous head, then lapped it up like a dog, bringing his tongue back to his mouth and swirling it around to better taste the viscous fluid. It was a wonderful, new taste that he'd never experienced with another man, and knew he had to have more.


            Kern reached up tentatively to grasp his prize, and when he heard no protest from his Master, he clasped both hands, one on top the other, around the shaft.  It was so wide his thumbs were unable to reach his fingertips and long enough to take the grasp of a third hand before it would be entirely engulfed from the base of the shaft to the tip of the heart shaped corona.


            The young slave's hands worked in harmony with his tongue, shifting the cock back and forth, up and down, cleaning and tasting every inch.


            His fascination never lent to the impossibility of his ever swallowing such a monstrosity, and so it never occurred to him that he couldn't. He began stuffing the giant prick into his mouth, stretching his lips incredibly to accommodate its width; pulling it out and taking more in with each effort.


            His leather Master abruptly withdrew the ever-hardening cock from Kern's throat and lips. The glistening monster, well lubricated by the boy's saliva, waved in the air as the man lifted Kern from the floor and turned the boy's body away from him. When had he removed his pants, Kern wondered? He couldn't remember. Forcefully bending Kern over so his head leaned on the opposite wall, he edged the sodden cockhead towards Kern's asshole.


            Kern held no fear or trepidation of the assault that was about to happen to his rarely used sphincter. He waited with glorious anticipation and was rewarded with his Master's incredible invasion. Slowly the huge cock worked its way in, barely retreating, only to shove its way further with each onslaught. Pumping the massive cock in with a hard and firm rhythm and holding Kern by the waist, the leather Master grunted his pleasure with each attack.


            “Oh, God, thank you, Sir!” Kern cried. “Fuck me, Sir! Please! Fuck me! Oh, oh, oh! I want your cum, Sir. In me! Give it to me, please, Sir!”


            When it seemed the huge prick would explode inside the tightly constricting channel of Kern's asshole, the man pulled out swiftly and spun Kern around and on the floor facing him again.


            “Clean it! Eat it!” the Master ordered. Kern never hesitated. He engulfed the treasure between his lips and began to slide down the impossibly swollen cock. Expecting the bitter taste of his own shit, he was surprised to find none of it. He continued to suck and swirl his tongue, knowing soon, very soon...


            Kern's gluttonous throat opened itself eagerly for the invading cock, taking in inch after inch. He would force it into his stomach if he had to, he thought, but he would have it all. He had to. He was beyond all reason now. He would choke, willingly die, if need be. He was of a single will to please his Master completely.


            He no longer used his hands on the cock, but grasping his Master's hips, he guided the leatherman back and forth, faster and faster, slurping, and swallowing large amounts of spit and pre-cum. During his feeding frenzy, he felt the cockhead, lodged deep within his throat, begin to expand to even greater width and knew his Master had rewarded his excellent sucking with a huge load of cum and that more would follow.


            The erupting phallus was so far down his throat, he could not taste the sweet cum he'd worked so hard to get. His Master must have sensed his need and, still blasting spurt after spurt of the viscous cum, he pulled the cock out so that just the head lay caressed between Kern's hungry, milking lips.


            Volley upon volley of jism filled Kern's mouth, thick and as sweet as he knew it would be. His cheeks swelled with the fluid and he took big gulps, swallowing and swallowing, again and again. Refusing to release the captive donor until it was completely drained.


            Before the last drop fell into his throat, his leather Master shoved the entire cock in once more. The man was snaking the softening giant all the way down, pushing against the boy's head to kiss the hairs of his crotch with his lips. All at once, Kern found himself rapt in the joy of drinking his Master's flow of warm, piss. Drinking and swallowing in complete satisfaction. Tasting the salty liquid gold and tearing with joy.


            He couldn't breathe. He didn't care. He would die just as he imagined. Fine.


            Taking in the sweaty aroma of his Master's crotch, his nose brushed up against the soft blonde pubic hairs, his eyes watered with gratitude. He felt his throat automatically contracting against the cock's invasion, his face reddened and he passed out.


            It would be sometime before he would realize what, in reality, had actually happened to him on a boring rainy evening in the bathroom of Copps' Clothing Retail Outlet.




Sidney & Star Rainbow

Chapter 6


             He'd eaten her through three wild orgasms and was plunging his short fat dick into her delicious cunt appetizer.


    Star Rainbow; was that what she called herself? Probably a kid whose parents were flower children of the sixties, if that really was her name. Probably bullshit, thought Sydney Copps.


            Anyway, she was a hell of a lot better fuck than his old lady was any day. Christ, she sure got turned on to his tongue action. Unlike Esther, who thought that eating her out was disgusting, and who barely tolerated her “wifely duties” to her husband.


            Plugging away at Star's moist receptive hole, nibbling her left tit, which was round and firm and coated sweetly, salty with her youthful sweat. He contemplated turning her over and trying out her butt for awhile. Fucking the Rainbow's End, so to speak, and the thought made him smile. And because he smiled, he decided against the idea. He'd no sooner turn her over and the joke would play itself again, only he'd probably laugh, loosing his wonderful hard-on, not to mention the pleasure he was already having. Who needed Viagra? That stuff was for impotent old men. Not him, not yet!


            He continued screwing this luscious nineteen year old hitchhiker 'from Des Moines', straining to hold back the inevitable climax. He watched her as she threw her head back, tossing her severely chopped ash-blonde hair back and forth on the pillow, parting her sweet, pouting baby lips, releasing subdued moans of pleasure.


            Forty bucks? Hell she was worth every dime and more. Let's face it. Sid, the old boy thought to himself, short, slightly flabby, balding, middle-aged men didn't get tricks like this jumping in the sack for free. And if she wasn't enjoying it, you sure couldn't tell.


           He transferred his attention, to Star's right tit, and at that moment, he felt the familiar heat flash that precipitated his orgasm. Harder and faster he shoved himself on her as she reached around him and dug her nails into his hairy back and verbally encouraged him.


            “Oh, yes! Hot man! Do it! Fuck me! Fuck me, lover! Cum in me! Now! Do it now!”


            He was cumming. Boom. Hot bitch! He heaved and pushed, sweat heavily dripping from his forehead. Totally spent, exhausted, he immediately pulled out and flopped over on his back beside her, eyes closed, and his chest panting heavily. Gevalt, it was good. God, he lived through it! No heart attack or anything. Thank you, God. Esther won't get to collect his hefty life insurance just yet. Poor Esther.


            Sidney looked at his watch. Shit, he thought, it's only six-thirty. Well, he might as well check on the shop; see how the punk he hired to baby sit his tax write-off was doing.


            He drove away with Star, from the motel parking lot, paid her forty dollars, adding another ten, and dropped her off on the highway. She was heading to New York City. He'd hardly pulled away when another car was sliding over to pick her up. Hitchhikers, he thought, feh, what a life! And that thought brought the kid at his store back to mind; another hitchhiker.


            He picked the young man up about a month ago on a return trip from a buyers' convention. The kid looked pathetic, scroungy, hungry and, most of all, desperate.


            Mr. Nice Guy, Sid, told him he could probably give him some work at his store, but...well he just wasn't sure, he said, rubbing his crotch so the kid would notice, whether he'd fit in to what he needed. Not that the job entailed much, mostly sitting around and keeping and eye on the merchandise and customers. As far adding and subtracting and ringing up sales, hell, the register did all work. But he still needed someone who was cooperative, (rub, rub), if he knew what he meant.


            He did, and in five minutes the young man's mouth was sucking up a storm while Sid drove them into town.


            The kid, he remembered, gave pretty good head. So, he set him up part time evenings when the shop was slowest, dropping in at closing to clear the register and sending the boy off to wherever it was he went off to. Naturally, he'd have the boy give him a blowjob when the mood struck him. Not a bad deal, he thought, considering he paid the boy off the record and less than minimum wage.


            He did buy him, as a bonus, a few pairs of jeans, underwear, socks and some shirts. Wholesale, of course. He even let him stay in one of the vacant apartments in a building he owned. Well...more like a room with a toilet. Still...


            ...It was getting dull, and he'd decided it was time to let the kid go, even though he promised him at least two more weeks work, what could the silly, cocksucking feygele do about it? Life's a bitch and all that!


            After he parked his car and was getting out, he noticed Mrs. Eidermann leaving his store, both arms loaded down with goods in plastic bags labeled with Copps' name on them.




The B'anati

Chapter 7


             The B'anati vibrated Its essence in Its new Colours...certain Its purpose on earth was completed, and yet, what was this perplexing tug at Its consciousness? Irritatingly familiar, but not within Its own being. Something else. Something It had been before?


          It pulsed Itself and altered Its direction.



Mrs. Eidermann

Chapter 8


            Mrs. Eidermann left Copps' Outlet absolutely amazed with herself.


            She must have been there for almost forty minutes buying everything in sight. She knew, without a doubt, had she brought her credit card or had more money in her checking account or cash in her purse, she'd be there still.


            When she entered the store she was apprehensive upon seeing such a young person in charge. She thought she would firmly tell the young man she only dealt with Mr. Copps, himself. However, she found herself absolutely charmed by this flirtatious young buck.


            Everything he pointed to, he'd only to mention how grand she would look in it and she'd buy it, her face flushed with youthful embarrassment. Mercy, she sighed, for someone so usually fussy, she only hoped she bought sizes that fit her.


            Even more shocking, were those embarrassing flashes of sexual urges that kept occurring whenever the boy gently touch her hand or arm. Feelings her frail old body hadn't experienced in, God only knew how long.


            She couldn't stop herself from becoming silly and giddy, laughing with the young man at the most suggestive innuendoes. But the most amazing thing of all, as she walked down the street to the bus stop, she felt a slight dampness down there that had definitely nothing to do with her need for Depends. And she smiled; at the bus stop, on the bus, on the way home and all through the night during a most restful sleep.




Chapter 9


            Kern was going crazy. This is wild, he thought; absolutely fuckin' bizarre.


            One minute he was lying on the bathroom floor exhausted from another one of his fantasy jack-off sessions, and the next ...well ...it was too much.


           He'd dressed and cleaned himself up, trying to piece together exactly what the hell had happened, and wondered how what seemed like hours, was only moments of sexual abandon. And if it didn't really happen, why was his ass so enjoyably sore and what about the familiar after-taste on his tongue? Surely he couldn't have eaten himself? He shook his head and left the john.


            He walked to the front of the store and watched as this little, old bird of a women approached the door.


            When she entered and looked at him, he thought she was going to turn around and go right back out. Acting on a strange impulse he smiled at her and said hello. From that moment on, the old thing was flitting about, buying everything in the store.


            At first it was kind of cute, the way she gushed at his every word, but then it got real weird. All he had to do was suggest this dress, or that blouse, and she'd buy it!


            He thought maybe she was batty or something, until he experimented and picked out an awful yellow polka-dot and pink house dress, three sizes too big, and still, she bought it. There was more to this than met the eye.


            One ridiculous purchase after another, she never bothered to look at the sizes or the prices. At the end, she had to leave behind several outfits for lack of money to pay for them. Though he knew she would have bought them as well, if she could. She gave him every last cent of her cash and wrote a check for the rest, very apologetic that she couldn't purchase more. Her hand shook terribly as she was writing it out.


            He felt sorry for the biddy, and lightly patted her hand to calm her. At his touch, she suddenly flushed, staring at him, and he knew, by God, the old shit just came in her panties! And she knew he knew!


            He quickly bagged her purchases and watched her clumsily go out the door. At the same time, he saw 'Suck me off, Sidney' coming towards the shop.


            Shit. Well, at least somewhere along the evening it stopped raining.





Chapter 10


            Ron Firebrand impatiently tapped his fingers on the bar waiting for Cole to take over the shift for the evening. It was six-thirty and Cole was already over two and hours late and was just now clearing the register.


            “Come on you shit, count the goddamn money so I can get a damn drink and get the hell out of here,” he mumbled impatiently.


            He stood at the opposite, far end of the bar, away from the door, watching his boss in some furtive conversation with Rheiner. Every once in a while he caught him looking his way, then back at Rheiner, all the time with this shit-eating grin. Rheiner, listening to Cole's jabbering, kept staring at Ron.


            No ...not at ... but through the young man.


            Christ, thought Ron, that guy's scarier now then he was three years ago. They should have thrown the goddamn key away when they had the psycho in jail. Straight courts, straight justice. What a fucking joke.


            And can you believe him and Cole, buddy-buddy over there; the chicken hawk and the fag basher? What a freakin' duo! A sudden tap on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his shoes.


            “Whoa, girlfriend!” said a high pitched voice at Ron's sudden jump. “It's, like, just mói!” The voice belonged to Gerald Page, a tall, chestnut black transvestite, who called herself Geraldine. Big surprise!


            He was wearing a blonde beehive wig, a Spanish style red blouse whose elastic top stretched below his shoulders and snuggly caressed at his new tits. He completed the ensemble with tight, gold, lamé stretch slacks and three inch red heels, bringing his already tall figure up to the ludicrous.


     She/he was right out of a bad beach movie. “Well, like, think about it, girlfriend,” she'd say, defending her outfit, and to anyone willing to listen, “They dressed so tacky back then, with like, tons of make-up, and piles of eye lashes, it was the perfect look for we 'other girls'! I mean, really, who would know, right?” and she'd pretend to chew gum and make snapping noises. It didn't concern Geraldine that she was more than forty years out of character.


            “Mind getting us another round, darling? I mean, I know, like, you're ready to get off ...and I can guess with who-who-whom, you Miss Naughty Thing!” Geraldine chirped, glancing down at Rheiner. “But, since Miss, 'Get 'Em While In The Egg', Cole, hasn't cleared the drawer out yet...what do you say?”


            “No problem, Darlin', but don't get any ideas about me having anything to do with that asshole, Rheiner!” Ron said.


            “Oooh, honey! I think he's absolutely gorgeous!” she said, fanning her hands to her cheeks, cooling the fire that wasn't there.


            “He's absolutely nuts!” Ron said as he grabbed the glasses he needed for the group at the booth.


            “Nuts, huh? Well, like, he can bang his nuts against my tight ass anytime!”


            Ron looked up. “Tight? Slut, the only thing different between your ass and the Grand Canyon is color and echo!” he growled.


            “Oooh, dahling! Cockring on too tight? Listen to your evil self. Oh, girlfriend, I was just kiddin' around. You don't have to, like, dis' me!” snapped Geraldine and her fingers.


            “Sorry,” Ron apologized. “I'm just really nervous with that guy around.” He handed Geraldine a tray and set the order on it. “A Bloody Mary, a Cape Cod and two Miller Lites...that's eighteen even,” he paused and leaned into the bar. “Listen, maybe you don't know this guy. You weren't here three years ago. I'm telling you, he's bad news, dangerous!” he whispered urgently.


            Geri handed him a twenty and a five. “Keep it, baby. And listen yourself, child. I may be a Nellie queen, doll, but that don't make me stupid. Like I said, I was just kidding. Word gets around. I heard about his shit, and believe me there's no way this sister is goin' anywhere near that freak-o! Just you watch your own little self, baby.


            “He and 'Miss Eat Them Babies', Cole, have been checking and watching your cute ass, and if you were to ask me, I'd say somethin' jus' ain't Kosher! You know what I mean?” She said quietly. “They got a plan!” Then, in a louder voice, “...eeeeee, and then that bitch asked me, 'Are those tits for real?' and I yelled back, 'Is your brain for real?' Like, really! Can you believe it? Kisses, honey!” she blew a kiss from her long, red nailed fingers, winked, and took the tray of drinks to her booth, swinging her hips broadly and singing, A Pretty Girl....


            “Thanks!” Ron said and turned to find Cole at the register. He walked over and told Cole he needed to ring up one more order.


            Cole stepped aside and then directly in back of Ron, as he opened the register drawer. Ron slipped the three fives in and removed four ones, closed the drawer and added them to the tips he'd already removed from the brandy snifter by the machine. He could feel Cole pressing up against his ass.


            “Cole, forget it. I'm too old for you!”


            “Yeah, well did anyone ever tell you, you've got the ass of a ten year old?”


            “If anyone should know...” he left the rest unsaid as he moved away from Cole's gyrations. “I am outta here,” he said. “Did you finish counting the drawer?”  he asked, fixing a tall bourbon and coke for himself.


            “Yeah,” Cole replied. “It's fine, but don't rush off. Your company's been requested!” He turned to the end of the bar, “Hey, Rheiner, he'll be right down!”


            Ron nearly dropped his drink. “No way, José! Forget it, Cole, I'm not going near that maniac!”


            “Oh, yeah, you are, Sweet Sue. Just remember who you work for! No one else in this dead burg's gonna hire an Indian fag, so get your priorities straight. Part of your job is to socialize with the customers...so start getting social!”


            “Not on my time, I don't have to!”


            “As long as you're working here, you don't have your time ...it's all my time!” Cole tried a more friendly approach. “Listen, I know he's a little heavy at times, but he really likes you. I never said you had to go home with him.”


            “Gee, gosh, thanks!”


            “Okay, enough wise cracks. Just get your little, bubble butt and pretty squaw face down there and sit with him. Let him buy you a few drinks then you can do whatever you want: go, stay, drop dead, for all I care!”


            “You're a real prince-ass, you know that?” Ron said, accompanied with a finger gesture.


            “Fine, you got that out of your system now? Move it!” Cole pushed him along the back of the bar to the end where Rheiner sat, smiling that million-dollar smile.


            “Sweet Sue! Hey, my man, come on over here,” Rheiner said loudly, tapping the stool to his right. The trapping place, Ron remembered. He set his drink down, raised the cut out bar section at the base of the L, and slipped through, lowering it back down and taking a seat in the proffered stool. “Hello, Rheiner,”“ he choked.


            “Hello, Rheiner,” he mimicked Ron's greeting perfectly with his handsome pouting lips. “Come on! Cheer up! You're off work and ...Hey, Cole, another drink for Sitting Bull here, and ...oh, go ahead and fill my mug and gimme a shot. You know what I like!” He returned to Ron. “You're in good company, right?”


            At least, Ron thought, he didn't ask to shake his hand. “Come on, Rheiner, what's going on? I know you don't like me...”


            “Hold on there! Not so, Kimosabe! Not true at all! Why, of all the fags in this whole wide world, I hold a very special place in my heart for my favorite little squaw, Sweet Sue! Sweet Sue, it's yooou...” he sung, “...et cetera, et cetera, and so forth.”


            “Shit...” Ron started to rise out of his stool.


            Rheiner put his strong arm around Ron's shoulders sitting him back down forcefully; all smiles.


            “Where're ya going?” he asked, as Cole set the drinks in front of them. “You haven't had the drink I bought for ya, good buddy. Yo! Cole! Bring this guy a shot of bourbon too! Screw the cola!” He continued. “What do you mean I don't like you?”


            Rheiner hugged Ron to himself with his right arm, reached across and petted the young man's face with his left hand, announcing to the mixed, moderately sized crowd in the bar, “Hey, is this guy not my number one dude? He's fuckin' beautiful, right?”


             He pulled Ron's head, turning it so he could place his lips on Ron's right ear. He stuck his wet tongue deep inside making sucking noises and then said, too low for anyone else to hear, “I'm gonna kill ya, ya little fuck!”


             Still smiling, he continued. “You're the one who called the cops on me!” Then he turned to the bar once more. “Christ, if I were queer, I'd marry this pretty so and so and start a whole new tribe. The Queer-a-quoise!” Rheiner laughed too loudly, then turned back to Ron smiling, and in a murderous tone, continued his threats. “First, I'm gonna rip your ass apart, beat the shit out of ya, then slice you open from your redskin bellybutton, to your dick swallowin', Indian fag throat. Then you know what I'm gonna do?”


            Ron was frozen in terror. He couldn't believe this was happening, here in front of all these people. Would someone help him? Cole? Anyone? He felt Rheiner's tongue working his right ear again and stared at his captor's strong neck an plaid shirt covered shoulder, which hid Ron's frightened expression from anyone looking over at them.


            “Then,” continued Rheiner, “I'm gonna cut off your dick and shove it down your mouth 'till the head pops out of the hole in your throat!” He turned his smiling face to the bar, his hands keeping Ron's head immobile, and using his own head to hide Ron's panic. “I just love this guy!” he said, lightly slapping Ron's right cheek.


            Turning back, he said, “Now, you're gonna sit up nice and act like everything's fine, get it? Don't even try to get out of that chair, 'cause if you do, I might get real mad. Maybe take somebody else along with you. You wouldn't want that, now, would you?” Rheiner raised Ron's face to meet his own, his deep brown eyes stared malevolently wide into Ron's, and he spoke with his lips almost brushing against his hostage's.


             “God, you are one fuckin' pretty Injun, and I want you to know something, this isn't gonna be easy for me either,” he said in sincere bullshitinese. “I don't know,” he sighed, raising his lips to Ron's nose and planting a light kiss, “maybe I'll change my mind. It would be...” another kiss, “such a waste, ya know?”


            He slowly released Ron. “Remember. Be a good squaw. Smile. That's it. Here,” he handed Ron the shot of bourbon that was placed on the bar for him. “Drink up! Hail to the chief and his new squaw!” he shouted to the growing crowd. “Hip, hip, hooray!” he added and many of the people joined in raising their drinks. Most of them, seeing Ron's forced smile, had no idea of anything being wrong. Others, like Geraldine and her table, could only speculate and stay out of it. “Hip, hip, hooray,” Rheiner repeated and glancing at Ron with a smile said, “Jeez, baby, cheer up. You really look like shit!”


            Ron's mind atrophied as he raised the glass and drank down the bourbon. He felt nothing, neither the wet, nor the warmth of the shot. Not even when Rheiner grabbed his free left hand and lowered it down until it came in contact with the man's exposed hard-on hidden from onlookers by their position and the bar's overhanging ledge.


            “Here ya go, my little papoose,” he dimly heard a voice say, “You'd better hold on to something. You look like you're gonna drop.”


            He wrapped Ron's fingers around his large, swollen, uncut cock then placed his own hand around Ron's fingers, moving slowly forward and back, masturbating himself with Ron's hand.


             “There now, isn't this better?” Ron heard Rheiner's voice distinctly this time. He could now begin to feel the pulsing heat of the huge cock in his hand, being squeezed even tighter by Rheiner's grip around it. “Hey, Cole,” Rheiner shouted. “Two more shots, doubles, and bring one for yourself. Join us down here!”


            “Sure thing, Rheiner!” he answered. He finished serving another customer, turned, poured the shots and carried them over.


            Standing directly in front of them from behind the bar, Cole could see the action going on between Rheiner's legs. His eyes widened at the size of the madman's meat.


            Rheiner said, “Why don't you turn the music, like, way up. Take a break and join us out here. Get Carlos over there to watch the bar.” All the time, he kept Ron's hand moving over his cock. “Any friend of mine,” he said, squeezing Ron's hand and his dick within, “is a friend of yours. Right, baby?” he asked Ron. “Cole, being my good buddy and all, you'd want to treat him good too, wouldn't ya?” Ron was silent.


            “Sounds good to me, Rheiner,” Cole said, “but we gotta keep it low, you know. Not the music, but, you know, cops coming in and...”


            Rheiner's face dropped all semblances at friendliness as he glared at Cole. “Fuck the goddamn cops!” he spat between his teeth with his lips curled. “They don't come anywhere near this faggot, shithole bar, and you know it. That is,” he turned to Ron, “unless some suicidal asshole calls them! And there's no-one like that here we know of, is there?” He turned and shouted to the crowd. “Hey! Anyone here on a suicide trip tonight? Anyone see anything going on over here?”


            No one answered; their eyes rested on their drinks or they stared into each others’ in common fear.


            “Okay, Rheiner, whatever you say. Hey, Carlos, Get behind the bar!” Cole ordered.


            Carlos Endero was a small framed, twenty-one year old Colombian, who was living here illegally with his older sister and fourteen-year-old brother. When Cole found out about his alien status, he bargained with him to work his shift whenever he wanted off or needed a break. The deal included occasional trysts between Cole and Carlos' little brother, Felípe. This agreement, naturally, disturbed and troubled Carlos, but not nearly as much as not getting his fix when he needed it, and Cole was only too happy to supply him with what he needed.


            Cole walked over to a panel behind the bar and tapped a switch raising the volume of the jukebox so that any conversation, without customers keeping their heads close together, would have to be yelled. He exited the bar through the same egress Ron had used earlier, rejoining Rheiner and stood to Ron's right, filling up the small section at the end of the bar.


            Rheiner raised his shot glass and looked at the two men. “Well, drink up!”


            They obediently picked up the doubled shots Cole brought over earlier and slugged them down.


            Ron was beginning to feel lightheaded and warm all over. His fear was being somewhat numbed by the booze and he wasn't even aware that Rheiner had removed his grip from around his hand. He was automatically jacking Rheiner's cock, keeping the rhythm the man had started. He glanced over and gazed at the plump, exposed, fleshy head of Rheiner's cock playing peek-a-boo in his hand, the ample foreskin hiding and exposing it with each stroke. He shook his raven hair and giggled in spite of himself.


            Rheiner smiled. “Carlos!” He shouted over the music. “Three more shots and two beers,” he ordered. “Get with it, Cole. My little squaw here's got a free hand yet. No point it letting it get bored with nothing to do.”


            Cole grinned, looked around self-consciously, and unzipped his fly. He pulled out about five inches of hard-on from his blue boxers and blushed. His cock was fine when compared to the adolescents he preferred, but compared to Rheiner's...well.


            “Hoo-wee-wee! Will ya look at that!” Rheiner said to his 'squaw'. “Ya better grab it quick before it snaps back inside from sh...shame!” he hiccupped.


            Ron obediently reached down for Cole's quivering prick and wrapped three fingers and his thumb around it and proceeded to jack it in syncopated rhythm with his other hand still working on Rheiner.


            Carlos nervously set the beer and shots of bourbon on the bar and waited, not sure of what to do next.


            Rheiner allowed the handsome brown Colombian to watch the proceedings, smiling at his tense expression, his cock getting ever harder. He made his cock, and Ron's hand around it, jump up; once, twice and a third time, each time, enjoying the reaction of Carlos' eyes as they widened with each sudden flex of his huge butt fucker.


            “To us,” Rheiner toasted, as he raised his shot glass. Cole followed suit. “Carlos,” Rheiner said, “My little Injun friend seems to be occupied. Maybe you'd better help him with his drink!” This made Ron giggle again. Rheiner smiled. “See, I told ya we'd have a good time” he said to the bleary-eyed boy.


            Carlos lifted the shot glass to Ron's lips and as he threw his head back, poured the shot down. Stretching across the bar, Carlos couldn't help but spill half of it down Ron's chin, watching brown liquor dribble unceremoniously all the way down to the young man's tight, white denims.


            Ron rolled his eyes up, shut them, and shook his hair again. “Hah!” he drunkenly guffawed, and wondered why. His arms were getting tired, but he kept manipulating the cocks he held. He looked down and spotted the wet, yellowing, bourbon stain on his crotch. “Oh, shish!” he whimpered, “My  bes' pair a sheans!”


            “Oh, my, my, my, my, my, that's awful!” Rheiner emoted. “We can't let that nasty stain set in, can we? Carlos, get a wet bar rag!”


            Carlos was back with the wet towel immediately and held it out.


            Cole was standing with his eyes shut enjoying the jack-off Ron was giving him. Rheiner abruptly called his name. “Uh...yes, Rheiner?” he answered.


            “You havin' a good time there, buddy? Take that bar rag and wipe up our friend here,” he added, pointing to Ron's spreading stain.


            “Sure thing!” Cole answered, as he took the wet cloth from Carlos and began wiping Ron's chin while moving his hips back and forth in opposition to Ron's hand motion on his prick.


            “Not his face, his fuckin' pants, you asshole!” Rheiner demanded.


            Cole quickly began wiping the stained denims, and the thought of Cole rubbing his crotch and the image of himself jacking the two men off in the bar, set Ron to laughing.


            Rheiner laughed with him. “Hey, waddaya know! He's gettin' a hard-on! Rub harder, Cole!” Cole complied with greater enthusiasm. “Looks like my Sweet Sue's having a good time after all,” Rheiner grinned and turned to the bar. “Okay, Carlos, show's over for you. Go find something to do!”


            Carlos, relieved, gladly crossed to the other end of the bar. Eight o'clock, the fall sky was black and Tully's was beginning to get crowded. He noticed many of the patrons were surreptitiously watching the action he'd left behind. Damn! The chicken-shit-mother-fuckers, he thought. Just like me. He winked at the pretty putana eyeing him from the other end of the bar.




A Cole Day In Hell

Chapter 11


            Cole rubbed Ron to an irritating bulge. Having no hand free to adjust his dick, it was getting harder in a very cramped position, making him wince with each pass of Cole's damp towel.


            “Fuck, look at him swelling up in there,” Cole said. “I always figured Indians were like Chink guys, you know, nothing to 'em. But look at that, this fucker's gonna rip his jeans apart!”


            Rheiner laughed at Cole's joke and slid down on his stool some to give Ron more working room on his throbbing cock. “Oh, yeah, that's much better!”


            “Hey Cole. I've always heard after you eat Chinese food you're hungry again an hour later. You ever hear that?”


            Cole, continuing the tortuous rubbing, laughed, “Yeah, it's true. Hah, hah, it's true!”


            “Ever eat Indian food?” Rheiner asked.


            “Hah, hah, nope, never did...ah...what do you mean, Rheiner?” Cole asked, suddenly recognizing the man's tone. His small hard-on deflated immediately from between Ron's fingers, shrinking back into his fly, barely exposing its head and he ceased rubbing Ron's aching crotch, much to the boy's relief.


            Rheiner smiled. “Well, now that you brought it up...so to speak,” he said, glancing at Ron's bulge, “I'm kinda curious, you know? So here's what we're gonna do,” he continued, watching Cole's reactions and enjoying himself immensely.


            “I'm gonna keep track of the time, see, and you're gonna gobble down my Indian baby's cube steak there!” he said, and he grabbed Cole's right arm and placed the man's hand on Ron's growing package. Ron merely grinned idiotically, too crocked to care much about anything.


            “Then, after you've eatin' it all, and that includes any cream filling that redskin éclair has inside, we'll check an hour later to see if you're still hungry. That way, we'll see if you're right about Indians and Chinks. Perfect, huh?”


            “Uh, well, gee, Rheiner. I was only talking about size...and,” patting Ron's turgid crotch, “obviously, I was wrong,” Cole stammered.


            Rheiner gave Cole one of his best smiles, leaned across Ron, and grasped Cole's jaw with his right hand, compressing the man's lips into a pucker. “You know what really pisses me off, Cole. People look at me and, for some reason I can't figure out, all they see is my beautiful face, and gorgeous hulk of a body. No one seems to consider for one minute I might have a brain inside this stunning head”. He leaned in closer bringing his nose in contact with Cole's, while restraining Ron's hand trapped between his bent waist and Ron's leg, causing a halt to the boy's masturbating. “I'll bet,” he continued, his liquored breath flowing across Cole's face, “you didn't know I was a college boy, did ya?”




            “Did, ya?”


            “N-no. No, I d-didn't!”


            “No, you didn't. Well I was a college boy. Granted, I got there on a football scholarship, and even though I was no brainiac, ya know what I actually did learn? I learned that every myth has a basis in fact. And I think...I really think we need to clear the air on this one?” He paused, released Cole's jaw and then tapped Cole on his nose. “Don't you?”


             He grinned, held Coles jaw again and twice squeezed his eyes rapidly while tilting his head to the side. Who knows, maybe you're half-right. Let's see, shall we? Take his dick out!”


            “Aw, come on Rheiner, I can't...”


            Losing his grin, “Take the fucker out of his pants, Cole!” he ordered, while slipping his hand from Cole's jaw to his neck and began squeezing.


          “Ach! Okay!” he choked. Rheiner released him and settled back to watch, as Ron picked up the jacking rhythm on Rheiner's cock he was forced to stop for a few minutes.


            Cole dropped the bar rag and nervously unzipped Ron's jeans, now soaked from the wet towel. Clearing his throat, he struggled with the zipper at the damp area, finally opening it all the way, exposing the boy's white BVDs beneath.


            “Undo the belt and top button,” Rheiner added, and ordered Ron to rise up while Cole slid the Indian's pants down, revealing his soaked underwear and muscular, satin smooth, bronzed legs.


            Still attentive to pulling Rheiner's meat, Ron stared down watching his jeans being lowered past his knees, sighing with relief as his sopping briefs stretched to accommodate his growing prick.


            Cole's face was suddenly pushed downwards against Ron's soaked briefs, smashing his lips against the bulk of the boy's balls and growing cock.


            Rheiner held the man's head in place and laughed. “Does it smell like Chinese down there?”


            “Mmmph!” was Cole's muffled reply. His nose took in the musky sex smell mixed with the bourbon that seeped through the jeans into Ron's underwear. Ron could feel the wet, warm breath of Cole's open mouth against the swelling cock inside his briefs.


            “No?” Rheiner asked. “Maybe you need to take it out of the container, huh?”


            He watched Cole try to grope for the top of the Ron's briefs while his face was being held against its contents. “Not with your hands, man. Your mouth!” he said releasing Cole's head and ordering him to keep his hands behind his back.


            Ron was stupefied. The music in the bar out-blasted any noise the customers might have made. There seemed to be a whirling of colors and smells and, amidst it all, he watched as his boss worked his lips and teeth, impossibly trying to release the cock trapped inside his tight shorts. Cole would stretch the opening so that it nearly exposed the crown of Ron's cock, and it would snap from between his teeth back in place, making him try again and again. Each time, his nose, lips or chin would rub against Ron's concealed dick, getting him more aroused. He felt himself squirming impatiently trying to assist in its release, until, finally, Cole managed to expose the head and suck it in his mouth before he could loose it again.


            Cole felt the rubbery cockhead between his lips and began a pulling motion with his head, maintaining a strong suction, bringing more and more of the boy's cock into view.


            When it was fully exposed, Ron's hardened cock made a sudden jerk, which caused it to plop out of Cole's lips, making a loud smacking sound. It sprang upwards against Ron's T-shirt, the head resting just beyond his navel. The cockhead glistened with Cole's spittle and the wide shaft arched upward with seven inches from where the brief's fly closed around it. At twenty-four, Ron's cock had the smoothness of an adolescent hard on, with a circumcised corona that flared just beyond the shaft. It was a beautiful cock, perfectly proportioned, its color only slightly darker than the natural bronze abdomen it rested against.


            “Oops, you slipped!” Rheiner scolded, slapping Cole across the back of the head. “That's one!”


            “Rheiner, please...I don't suck dick...I can't. He's...he's too big!” Cole pleaded.


            Rheiner grabbed his own cock from Ron's hand. “Maybe you'd rather work on this, then, huh?” he asked waving his eleven inches at Cole's face. “No. I didn't think so,” he finished, seeing Cole's shocked expression.


            He turned to Ron and said, “See what a nice man I can be, baby? Now, I'm gonna let you cum down your boss' gullet and I don't want you to take it out of his mouth until he drinks every last drop, understand?” He explained as sweetly as a mother to her child. Then he turned and glared at Cole. “You get that? You swallow every single drop of papoose juice he shoots in your mouth, and don't spill any if you know what's good for you!” He pulled Cole around, repositioning him between Ron's knees. “Hey, Carlos! Three more shots down here!” He grabbed Cole's right hand and brought it over to his waiting cock. “You can work on this while you're busy down there. My Injun friend's gonna need his hands free to hold your head down.”


            Carlos set the double shots of bourbon down and moved away fast, hoping Rheiner was too occupied to notice him. He was.


            Rheiner signaled with his shot-glass to Ron who, drunkenly acquiescent, followed his move by raising his own glass and shooting down the warm liquor. Rheiner poured the third shot over Ron's hard cock, drenching it and the already wet underwear around it. Ron felt the warm liquid slightly burn the sensitive head of his dick as he watched it travel down, soak through his underwear and trickle around his balls within. “There's your shot, Cole. Enjoy it cocksucker, and move that fuckin' hand of yours around my dick!”


            “Let's see who shoots first, shall we? The blow job or the hand job!” he said to Ron. He placed his right arm around Ron's shoulder and began weaving his hand through the young man's long ebony hair. He looked down and watched Cole start to gather Ron's dick into his mouth while lowering himself to one knee on the barroom floor. Cole's right hand gripped Rheiner's cock tightly and began jerking it up and down. His left hand gripped the stool providing him with a tentative sense of balance.


            “Ah, now this is what I call a party…” Rheiner whispered, his lips pressed lightly next to Ron's ear. “…having some asshole fag pulling my meat and sucking off my best buddy's dick.


          Hold his head down on it, baby. Yeah. That's it. Don't let him off it. Make him suck ya dry! Yeah. Make him eat the whole thing, man. Shove it to him! Make him swallow that cock! Yeah. Suck that hot meat down, Cole. Suck it!”


            Ron's mind, hypnotized by booze and Rheiner's verbal barrage, fell into the blow job he was getting and began pushing Cole's head down to meet the curly black hairs poking through his briefs from the base of his cock. He lifted upwards with his hip, his cowboy boot's heels gripping the lower rung on the stool. He could hear Cole slurping loudly and feel his throat clutching and gagging each time he shoved the full length of his throbbing tool in. Faster and faster he pumped, working Cole's head up and down. He began pushing and shoving the man's head mercilessly, watching his cock repeatedly disappearing between sucking lips. Feeling his heat rising, he looked over at Cole's hand trying valiantly to jerk Rheiner's huge prick to a climax against the rhythm his head was being forced to take. Rheiner's cock rose mightily above the fist wrapped around it, throbbing and jumping frantically. Its head was purple and flowing of pre-cum. He turned his head and began to nibble at Ron's ear making soft, little, mewling sounds, rising in volume as the moment grew closer.


            He's ready to shoot his load, Ron thought and the thought pushed his own climax. Suddenly he felt himself shooting off the first spurt of cream into Cole's mouth. Cole tried to raise his head up. Ron pushed it back down and held it to the base of his pulsating, cum spewing cock. Over and over again, thick gobs of man cream exploded down Cole's gullet. With each eruption, Ron raised his hip, driving his cum shooting cock against the back of Cole's aching throat.


            Cole, having no other choice, kept swallowing down the thick, glutinous cream, his face reddening and his lungs on the verge of bursting from lack of oxygen. All at once, he felt the other cock flash with heat and forcefully leap from his fingers as the one in his mouth began to subside. Someone grabbed him by his thinning hair and his head was yanked up. His mouth was abruptly removed from Ron's ebbing cock. Before his sight left Ron's crotch, he saw the Indian grasp his cock as it fell from his mouth and continue jacking the last spurts of cum at his face.


            Two splashes of jism hit him on the chin as he felt his head being turned to face Rheiner's first explosive burst of love juice. It caught him on his right cheek and the corner of his lips, which parted suddenly from the pain of his hair being pulled. Before any sound came out of Cole's mouth, Rheiner began to shove his spewing, massive mauler into it.


            “Keep your mouth open wide, Cole. I want to watch my cum goin' in there and down your fucking throat!” Rheiner shouted.


            Tilting Cole's head back and maintaining a terrible grip on his hair, he rose off the stool and stood over him. He lay the huge cockhead at the entrance of the kneeling man's mouth and began milking his cum into Cole's open receptacle. Rheiner popped huge globs of creamy jism, over and over, onto Cole's protruding tongue. Tilting Cole's head back in such a way made it impossible for the man to swallow, so his mouth kept filling up with Rheiner's thick white wads of scum-juice.


            Occasionally, Cole felt Rheiner splash the head of his cock inside his cum filled mouth and swirl it around between his tongue, teeth and pallet and still it added more and more, shooting at the back of his throat.


            The thick jism began overflowing, spilling out from the corners of his lips, when he heard Rheiner order him to close his mouth around his cock. It was spurting less frequently now. Cole obeyed, raising his head and tasting the bitter liquid he began to swallow in gulps. His tongue automatically squeezed the bulbous, unrelenting cockhead with every swallowing contraction.


            “Yeah, drink it down, shithead. Finish it up,” Rheiner told him, pushing the softening cock in further and holding Cole's head in place. The thick viscous fluid was replaced with something altogether different; the swift and sudden, increasing rush of salty, warm, bourbon bitter piss.


            Predicting Cole's reaction, Rheiner grasped his head more firmly, shoving in more of his urinating cock. “Drink me, fucker! Swallow it!” As quickly as Cole could swallow, his mouth refilled with piss to burst his cheeks. He gulped it down, never spilling a drop, fearing the consequences. Swallowing the last, he was ordered to drink Ron's piss as well, while Rheiner laughed and joked about it.


             By now, the entire growing crowd at Tully's was aware of what was going on. Some were brave enough to take quick glances and run back to tell their friends what they saw. Most waited for the news to get around to them. Cole was not exactly Mr. Popularity, so few patrons were concerned about his humiliation. Others were thrilled. And yes, there were even some who would have loved to have traded places.


             Drinks were flowing. Carlos was working double time trying to keep up. The crowd's mood was shifting noticeably He had a feeling this was going to be more than just one of those nights at Tully's. His worst fears weren't even close to the truth. Fuck it he thought. He opened a small door in back of the bar that shelved extra bottles of liquor, (and his stash). He leaned in, grabbed some unseen items, sent up a sudden flame of light, bent over, inhaled, and was back working the bar in seconds.


            It wasn't very long afterwards that the customer's took up the anything goes attitude. At Tully's, nobody cared what gender you were as long as you were getting it on. And that's exactly what started to happen. Some long hair doper started screwing his lady who lay across a booth's table in the back of the room. She had her legs wrapped around him and her ass hung just over the edge. She had another guy's dick in her mouth as he straddled her face, while he, in turn, sucked on some guy who stood on a booth fucking his mouth to beat the band.


            This activity, at first hidden by onlookers, was too exciting to be merely watched. It spread itself throughout the bar. Even drinks were unavailable for the time being. Carlos was preoccupied holding on to the bar, his pants and red bikini briefs down to his ankles, he pumped away in the mouth of the pretty putana he had squatting in front of him below the bar. His pot high had him feeling supreme.


            Across the room from Carlos, where Geraldine and her group were sitting, was the male counterpart of the booth lady. He was a beautiful blonde youth. He leaned over the table, his hands gripping the outside edges. His naked, little, pearly white ass was getting royally fucked by a husky bearded black guy in a denim jacket. His mouth too, was being fed alternately by two, sometimes three different cocks. Beneath the table, Geraldine was suckling on the boy's dick jutting down from the table's edge.


            A few other men stood around jacking off, some getting their balls licked or asses reamed by both men and women. Most of the crowd, for the time being, elected to watch, fascinated, and stood around covering any view from outsiders passing by the large window at the front of the bar or just arriving at the nearly capacity filled tavern. Someone had moved an entire booth and its table in front of the back door beyond the pool table, successfully blocking any sudden rear entrance, or egress, for that matter.


            Ron was sitting back in his stool, his eyes heavy lidded, very much out of it. Cole, who begged Rheiner's leave to use the john, pushed his way past a couple of guys making out and was caressing the porcelain bowl, feeding it everything his stomach held.


            Watching Carlos' ass muscles in action while his dick was evidently getting one hell of a blowjob, gave Rheiner another idea. “Carlos!” Rheiner hollered just as the young Colombian was spewing his load into the whore's mouth. “Get on the phone and get your little brother down here!” he yelled.


            Shocked, Carlos backed away from the sucking lips. Pulling his cock out from between them, cum still exploded from its tip splashing every which way. Some landed on the whore's face, some underneath the bar, on top of glasses, and in the ice cube sink, coating the ice that would later be swimming in someone's drink.


            “We...we don' haffa phone, man, Mr. Rheiner!” Carlos yelled back.


            “Fuck you, Carlos. Do it!” Rheiner demanded.


            With his cock still hanging out, dropping slowly downward, he bent over, grabbing both his underwear and trousers as one and pulled them up. “Get the fuck out from behind the bar, bitch!” he ordered the whore. He watched her wipe her face and leave as he zipped up and walked over to the phone tucked under a shelf, hidden from public view. Nervously, he dialed home, glancing back at Rheiner every few seconds. “Please, don' be home, Felípe,” he whispered into the phone.


            Felípe answered on the third ring.




Good-bye To Colour

Chapter 12


            Something was terribly wrong.


            Some of the B'anati of the Fourth Triad's newly added Colours were fracturing and being replaced by...something. As soon as the B'anati realized that It had begun to evanesce, the alien requested a meeting with the Council.


            The loss of Colours was of a primordial disturbance. Colour, for the B'anati, was not, as in humans, a mere visual appreciation of hue and tint as distinguished from white, but of living substance. When gathered appreciatively, the individual B'anati eventually divided and reproduced Itself. The Structure grew.


            All such beings, singularly or collectively, were B'anati, with exception of those in the Council, who, with the B'anati, made up the Structure. Since the beginning, through the Council and their law, all gathered knowledge was shared within the Structure. All judgments, all decisions of action, concerning the Twelve Triabs of B'anati, belonged to the Council alone. None would dispute any action committed or requested by the consistory.


            When the troubled B'anati entered the Council's gathering, their Colours converged into shining reflected lights, a rainbow splendor even beyond the human eye, only to be thrown apart by what could be best described as...distaste.


            The consistory swirled around the petitioning B'anati, communicating their distaste by emitting sharp impulses of current and Colour. Drawing themselves into each other, they became a dazzling white light, blasting a tremendous surge of force at the creature no longer pure B'anati.


            Their space was now void of the other's presence. The experiment a failure, and not their first, the Council, incapable of killing Its own, removed the contagious one amongst them, sending It to the only place It might survive, yet never be able to return to contaminate the Structure.


            They would record in their collective memories that B'anati must never again come into contact with the aliens of the Blue World Dimension. The human emotions that infected the B'anati of the Fourth Triad, were considered, in human terms, frivolous and a weakness, which limited mental growth. Allowed to stay, the member might spread Its infection throughout, destroying all the efforts of a millennia in learning and discipline. This was only the second time in their millennia that such an event took place. In both cases it occurred on this strange Blue World. It would never happen again.


            There was no anger or fear in this realization. This was merely in recognition to the needs of their survival as they were aware of it.


            The Council separated and in a thought was no longer part of the Blue World's star system. They would continue their eternal experiments in other worlds, other dimensions, with other species.



Sidney & Kern

Chapter 13


                At eight thirty, Sidney Copps was beaming from ear to ear, wishing his customers good evening as they left his store carrying bundles of his goods, leaving behind their cash and credit card charges in the hundreds. Though there weren't that many customers to come in this late in the evening, what few did, spent lots of money.


            He watched Kern guide the ladies through the store, pointing out a garment he thought would make them look '...really beautiful...without fail!', and the garment was sold. The women would gush all over him, anxious to gain his approval and attention.


            Even the ladies' husbands seemed enamored to this boy, Sidney thought, recognizing his own drawing to the lad. Feh! He was probably just horny again for a blow job. Still...


            When the shop emptied for the moment, he said, “Kern, let's just close up. I know it's early, it's not nine o'clock, but hell, I can't even make change any more! All these twenties and fifties,” he added as he looked at the till. “Besides, you earned the time off. My God, I've never seen anything like it, my boy. You had them eating out of your hand!”


            “I know,” said Kern, quietly standing at the door, staring out into the night.


            “It was like a...a...miracle! That's what it was,” Sidney said, not hearing Kern.


            “Yes... it was.”


            “Go ahead, pull the blinds and lock up,” Sidney told him as he took the money, checks, and charge slips from the drawer and started filling the bank pouches. Shaking his head, he said, “Gotenyu! I am so happy! If I live to be a thousand, from my lips to God's ear,” he added, “I'll never see anything more impressive!”


            “Oh, I don't know, Sid,” said Kern, locking the door, pulling its blinds and switching off the outside lights to the store's sign. “Life is full of surprises.” He walked to the back of the store and locked the rear door, turning off the rear lights and the closet/bathroom light on his return.


            “From now on, I swear, no more part time shit! Full time. Full time for you ...and a raise too! How about that, boy?” he paused after filling the money bags. He looked up a Kern and shook his balding head. “God, that was really something else! I don't know what you got, or how you got it, but boy, you got it! And I'll tell you another thing. No more of this fegeyle, queer, blow job shit either!”


            “What do you mean, Sid?” Kern said in a quiet unemotional voice.


            “Hah! What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean just what I say. No more of the blow job crap! I mean, hell, I know you didn't like doing it, but I figured...you owed me something, right? Well, owe...shmo! We're even. Now you start fresh. Like a person! Hell, many more days like this, you'll be a partner, right? So, no more blow jobs!” He laughed nervously, wondering why he was beginning to feel so uncomfortable.


            “Well, maybe just one more, Sid...for old times' sake,” Kern grinned at the man, his steel blue eyes staring through dark lashes, never wavered.


            “Wha...? You really want to? Nu? Well, ...go figure! Hell, okay. Let me put the money bags away, we'll go to the back of the store....”


            “Leave the money by the register, Sid, and let's stay right here,” Kern told him.


            “Nah, this'll just take a minute,” he said, though his hands never touched the bank bags again and he hadn't moved an inch.


            “Why don't you just turn off the light switch by the register, Sid. Oh, and I didn't get to the front display window blind, so  pull that down for me too, Sid.”


            “What are you talking about? We can't do it right out here in the store,” Sidney told him, and went over to the wall near the register and shut off the switches. “Maybe you're crazy enough for that, but not Sidney Copps!” He walked behind the counter and reached for the display window blind, pulling it down tight.


            “That's good, Sid. And Sid, don't talk anymore, okay? Your voice really gets to me.”


            What was he up to, this putz? Sidney wondered, but stood quietly watching Kern approach him.


            The outside street lamp shone through the blind's slats of the display window, providing the only other light in the store besides the small desk lamp next to the register. As Kern moved closer, the combination created an ominous picture of contorted shadows sweeping his face. His eyes had a predatory glow that chilled Sidney. He tried to say something, but found no voice for it.


            “You seem nervous, Sidney?” Kern said. His voice had a sharp edge to it and as he spoke, his eyes widened, and he smiled maniacally.


            Gevalt, Sid thought, the gornisht is starting to sound like Jack Nicholson. I've had enough of this. I gotta get out of here. But he never moved.


            “You look uncomfortable standing there, Sidney. Why don't you take the weight off your feet and get down on your knees?” Kern pointed to a spot on the floor behind the counter.


            No you don't, you schmuck! I know what you're up to. I'm not getting on my knees for anybody! He knelt to where Kern had pointed. At eye level with the boy's belt buckle, he watched Kern unzip his pants.


            “One more blow job,” said Kern, as he groped inside his pants and pulled out his thickening cock and massive balls, releasing them to the air and Sidney's vision. To the shocked man he added, “Only this time, you're doing the blowing!”


            He's meshugge, crazy! Sidney's mind was dizzy with panic. That's what he is. He knows I don't do that shit! I'm a married man. I never put a putz in my mouth in my life, and I'm not going to start now. Sidney's mouth opened wide, accepting the soft spongy dickhead invading his cock-virgin orifice.


            “Keep your arms at your side,” Kern softly ordered. “Close your lips gently but firmly around my cock, Sid,” Kern finished.


            You crazy bastard! You meshugener mumzer! You may have somehow got it in my mouth, but I'm going to bite this mother fucking schwanz right off your fucking body!


            “Don't bite, Sid. Suck!” Kern ordered.


            Once Sidney's lips curled around the head of his cock, Kern began a slow, short back and forth motion, forcing Sidney to taste the head and salty pre-cum as his dick increased in hardness, length, and width. “That's very good, Sidney. See? Straight women and gay men aren't the only ones who can do it. With time and practice, Sid, you, too, can become an expert. Mmmm, that is good and you're going to get better and better at it, Sid, boy. Now, let it out of your mouth, and lap at my cock and balls, ...like a dog,” Kern ordered.


            No fucking way! He released the boy's hardening phallus and raised his tongue to Kern's hairy ball sack and began lapping at it, sticking his tongue in and out of his mouth and alternately laving up and down the full length of the boy's cock. He slupped and slurped, soaking the young man's genitalia with his spit, then spread it around with his tongue all about his balls then back to the head of his dick, lapping it into total erection.


            “Tell me you love my cock and balls!” Kern demanded.


            Fuck you! “I love your cock and balls!” Sidney conceded.


            “Tell me you want to drink my cum!”


            Never! “I want to drink your cum!”




            Shit! ...”Sir!”


            Kern unbuckled his belt and yanked his jeans down. They fell to the floor unaccompanied by the underwear Kern never wore. He then spun around and shoved his tight creamy ass at Sid's face and ordered him to kiss it. Both cheeks!


            “Now lick that shit crack and get that tongue of yours working deep!” he ordered.


            Throughout, Sidney's mind protested, yet he obeyed every command, finally accepting the boy's strange power over him. Part of him was leaving and something else was filling in. Involuntarily, the muscular organ in his mouth began licking and swirling up and down the fine hairs of Kern's ass his though that tongue had grown a mind of its own. He had absolutely no control over his body now as he reamed the entrance of that youthful, pink hole in front of him. He continued poking the tip of his tongue in and out of it, licking and sucking deeper and deeper, tasting a pungent trace of shit. Even then, he kept probing, kissing, licking and sucking, realizing he could never stop until he was told to do so.


            Sid's eyes watered and his tears began to rivulet down his cheeks in humiliation. While his body behaved mechanically, he realized the boy chose to leave his mind free. Free to comprehend what he was doing to the boy and cognizant of how, doing these things, repulsed him. He was certain that it was within the power of his captor to alter his feelings, making him desire to do these unnatural things, but, preferred, instead, to humiliate him by keeping him aware that he was doing things against his nature and hating it.


            Kern had been pulling himself off while enjoying the excellent reaming Sid was giving his asshole. His legs began to tremble and the pressure in his balls signaled his inevitable climax.


            He turned back to face Sidney. “It's time for your first taste of cum, Sid, boy. Open up. Just the head. Yeah, that's it. Now, suck it, like a big fat straw, man. Suck the juice right out!” He leaned back and felt the sucking mouth drawing at the load working its way up from his balls.


            “Suck it! Suck it! Here it ...ah, ah...comes! Here...it...comes! Aaaaahhh! Yes! In your mouth, Sid! Shootin' it! Squirtin' it, in your mouth. Taste it! Drink it! Swallow it! Oh...oh...oh! More! Drink me! Yeah! Can...you...taste...it? Going...down. Down your throat! My cum! My cummmm. Swallowing my cuh...uh...ummmm!”


            Sidney could, of course, stop none of it. His mouth, against his will, milked and sucked the young man's cock. He felt the first warm splash of Kern's load shoot against the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth. More erupted, coating his tongue and cheeks. He swallowed the boy’s cum and continued sucking the cockhead, drawing more and more of the sticky fluid into his mouth.


            “Keep sucking!” Kern ordered. “There's a whole lot more coming.”


            It was inhuman, this constant flow of jism. Several times, with just the head between his lips, his mouth filled with Kern's thick cream. Yet, because he was told to, he swallowed everything without hesitation or difficulty. A human condom, he thought of himself, and mentally pictured his stomach swelling as it filled with cum. Is this what I did to him? Of course it was! I used him. Now, he's using me. And he drank and swallowed the ebbing flow of Kern's glutinous load.


            He heard Kern's long sigh of spent relief and tasted the small dribbles of cum remaining on his tongue and the rubbery texture of the head of Kern's cock. However, not having been told otherwise, he continued sucking the shrinking cock.


            “Oh! Ooh!” said Kern, reacting to this continuing sucking on his sensitive cockhead. “Yeah, that's it, Sid, boy. Make sure you get every dribble of that good to the last drop of man cum! Ooh. Oh, wow! You'd better be careful or you'll get me going again,” he warned, but kept his dong enclosed in the man's milking mouth.


            “You realize,” Kern said, “I could keep you doing this forever, don't you? No, don't answer” he added quickly, “Just keep sucking until I think of what I'm gonna do with you.” Kern reached for the stool kept by the counter and pulled it to him. He sat down and watched Sidney sucking him gradually to another hard-on. “For your first time, Sid, you did very well. I'm impressed. Although, I must admit I had somethin' to do with making it easier for you! I said you'd get better at it and you did!”


            Sidney kept on sucking.


            “Ooh, the head's getting a little tender. Maybe you'd better go down on it. More …a little more, yeah that's it. That's a lot better. Keep going up and down on it, you're only half way now. If you do good, maybe I'll let you eat the whole thing.”


            Kern quickly amended, “I mean suck it all down your throat. Hmmm, I suppose I'm going to have to be careful of how I phrase things from now on. Wouldn't want any accidents, would we? Don't bother answering that, either. In fact, don't answer any of my questions unless I specifically say, 'answer me', got it?” Sid merely continued his work. “I see you do. Good boy!” Kern added.


            “Sid, you did good. But it's not enough, you know? You've been a prick to me and now you're getting to see how miserable a real prick can be! Go ahead, take some more in your mouth.


            So, what do you think I should do to teach you a real lesson, hmm?


            Ahh, that's nice. Yeah. Keep sucking it.


            Well, let's see.  For starters, you can forget about that part-time, full-time, partners routine. Obviously I don't need you or your shit store anymore.


            “I don't pretend to understand where I got this power from. Anyway, I'm not sure there aren't even more amazing things I can do. I have to test this thing out.


            “Ooh, yeah. I'm getting hard again. Work the whole cock now!


             Still, I suppose I gotta be careful,” Kern continued, stroking and petting Sidney's balding head absently as the man kept knoshing and sucking the entire length of Kern's putz with the ease of a professional.


            “I read stories and seen movies about guys who get powers like this and get crazy with it, you know? They get bent out of shape and want to rule the world or some shit like that.


            Oh, wow! That's really nice! You are good! I bet you didn't know it, but right now, you're the best cocksucker on earth!”


            Sid didn't know it, but because he was told so, it's what he became. He began to swirl his tongue around the cockhead as he rose up from the shaft, and continued doing so adding a slight pressure and maintaining constant suction as he brought his lips down to meet with the hairs of Kern's crotch. His sputum lubricated the shaft with each drive.


            “Well, I don't want to do all that shit,” Kern went on. “You know, rule the world and all that crap. Hell, I'm only twenty-one, what do I want with the whole world? But you can bet, sure as hell, I'm gonna have some fun! Like this. This is fun!” He watched Sidney's new expertise at giving head. He stared in pleasurable delight at his cock appearing and disappearing, as Sidney increased his pace, bringing Kern to another climax The young man tightened his firm ass muscles against the stool and began a thrusting rhythm in time with the man's sucking lips.


            He stood up and began to force fuck Sidney's mouth, shoving himself in faster and faster. Gripping the back of Sidney's head, he pushed in and out, slamming the boiling cockhead ensconced in the man's throat. His legs trembled and his balls began to surge forth their liquid brew. Up, up and out-across Sidney's working tongue and down his swallowing gullet.


            “Fuck! Fuck! I'm  cuh-uh-ummming! Yes! Oh, yeah, take it! Drink it! Eat it! In that hot mouth! Suck! Suck it out! Oh! Oh! Cuh-ummming! Shooting! Cum-min-down-your-throat!” he yelled with each drive forward.


            He shoved Sidney's head to his crotch, propelling his cock all the way down the man's constricting esophagus as he released the last few spurts of yet another tremendous load of cum.  “Christ, I bet you could take it if I was fifteen inches long!” he said to the air above the man's head.  Remembering his experience with the dream-fantasy leather man, he suddenly felt his dick pulsating anew. It wasn't hardening, but expanding within the confines of Sidney's contracting throat muscles.


            “Oh, Christ, Sid! It's fucking growing in there, isn't it? I can tell!” Kern's eyes turned up in their sockets as his hands maintained the crushing pressure against the crown of Sid's head, smashing the man's lips to his groin. “It is! It's fuckin' getting bigger in there! Don't...don't worry, Sid! You can take it! You can take it all!”


            And of course-he could.


            Inch by inch, Kern's pliant prick wormed its way down the invaded tunnel, pushing itself against the malleable lining of Sidney's craw. It slid down until it ceased its growth and lay throbbing deep within the dark, moist channel.


            Kern lowered his head and watched Sidney's lips as he carefully withdrew from between them. Sidney continued his job of tongue swirling and sucking as his throat gave up its quarry.


            As Kern pulled away, more and more of his phallus appeared until at last, his new monster cock fell from Sid's slavering mouth with a loud smack. The boy stood back amazed at the horse-sized dong that now swayed between his thighs, nearly even with his knees. Sid, still working on automatic pilot, bent to take it in again. “No! Hold it, Sid, baby! Just stay there! Don't do anything, just...sit!” Sid plopped down on his ass from his kneeling position and sat, quietly staring at Kern's enormous new equipment.


            “Wow! Oh, fucking wow!” Kern said, grabbing his dick with both hands, swinging it in every direction and spinning the huge tube in circles. “Look at you! You're fucking beautiful!” he said to the glistening circumcised head. It was still his cock in every way, down to the small mole near the bottom of the shaft, but much, much bigger and wider; nearly twice its original size. He raised it upwards and bent slightly at the waist, bringing his lips to meet the head of his own dick. Smack! He kissed it. Once, twice, a third time, and put his mouth around the crown of it, then popped it back out. He looked over at Sid with his eyes shining like a kid with a new toy. “Tastes great,” he said, “but sure as hell, not less filling!” he smiled, adding, “Kiss it Sid! Kiss my new fifteen inch dick!”


            Sidney rose to his knees, kissed the boy's cockhead, then resumed to his position of sitting and staring.


            “This is great! This is so fuckin' excellent! I'm so happy, Sid! You know what? I'm not even mad at you anymore. You know what I'm gonna do?” He released his cock, reached down and began to pull up his jeans.


            “Wait a minute!” he said, beginning to stuff his huge pork down the right leg of his jeans. He realized, while his dick had grown, his balls were minuscule by comparison. “Oh, come on, babies. You might as well catch up, guys! Grow in proportion to my cock!” he ordered, having removed it once again from the confines of his tight pants.


            He stared fascinated as he observed his ball sack, cell by cell, stretching downwards and witnessed new hairs growing along with them. He marveled at the tingling of new veins filling with blood. He placed his hands around them and felt his testes enlarging along with the sack they rest in. “Oh, cool! Let's get rid of some hairs, only the ones on the sack!”


            The hairs already grown began to fade and were not replaced or added to by new growth. This, in no way, affected the bush surrounding his prodigious prong. It remained full and thickly curled. “Fantastic, I'll never have to shave again! And I can grow a full beard in a minute, if I want to!” he said to himself as he began stuffing his equipment into his jeans, shifting and adjusting often, trying to find comfortable accommodation in already very tight pants.


            He could hardly zipper his jeans shut. The entire outline of his cock stretched down to just above the tip of his right kneecap.


            He limped over to the mirror by the dressing rooms and gawked at his reflection. God, it was almost gross. They'll never believe it's real, he thought. People will think I stuffed a pepperoni down there! He thought about it some more and came to a decision.


            “Okay, guys. Let's reduce to about eight inches of cock. At its softest!” he amended. “Balls in proportion!” His reflection appeared striped from the street lamps glowing through the blinds. He watched the mirror, transfixed, as the turgid bulge in his jeans reduced in size to an attractive and yet more realistic length. He could not recall ever seeing any man, outside of his fantasies, hanging flaccid at eight inches! Satisfied with his appearance, and certainly more comfortable within the confines of his jeans, he turned back his attention to Sidney and considered the poor man. He's probably still sitting on his ass staring into space in back of the counter. What's the poor shit thinking, he wondered?


            He heard Sid say, “I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I just want to go home.”


            But, holy shit! Sid didn't say it-he was thinking it! Whoa, this is getting better all the time, he thought. A little scary too! “Sid!” he ordered. “Get up, Sid!” The man rose quickly from behind the counter, belying his age, his true feeling of fatigue and shame.


            “Okay, Sidney. It's all over now. No, no. Relax. I'm gonna be leaving you now Sid, and you're not gonna remember any of what happened tonight, see? So you won't have to worry about feeling guilty or any of that shit, right? In fact, I want you to forget you ever knew me, Sid. I mean knew me, other than as the nice kid you gave a part time job to who had to go home to his sick mother. You'll have difficulty remembering what I looked like. The only thing I'm gonna let you wonder about, is how you made all that money today until your customers remind you. Naturally I want to thank you for the two weeks severance pay and bonus which I will deduct myself before I leave. After all, I'll need starting out cash and 'Mother' may need an operation, or at least medicine.


            “One more thing, Sid, and I'll be off.” Kern walked over to the older man. He said to him quietly, “You're not going to want to do to anyone else what you did to me and probably lots of others, Sidney. No more. Leave the hitchhikers alone. Fall in love with your wife again, Sid.” Kern paused, considering. “She needs you to be kind,” he added. “Here,” He pressed his hand against Sidney's groin. “I left a little present. Call it an anniversary gift. You and your wife will love it.”


            Kern looked around the darkened shop. He reached over to the counter and separated his due from one of the moneybags, placing the remaining amount back. “Well, that about does it, I guess. Start at twenty-five and count down to zero, nice and slow and out loud, Sid. When you get there, everything will be fine. Just fine.”


            He watched Sid begin the countdown as he opened the door to the street. “Don't forget to lock up, Sid!” He grinned, shut the door and went out into the drizzling night.



Hello, Again

Chapter 14


            A few blocks away from the shop, Kern paused beneath a street lamp and lit a cigarette, took one drag, looked at it and threw it down to the wet gutter. No more, he thought, and the urge was gone, along with the remaining pack that he'd tossed into a wastebasket nearby. He was trying to decide what to do next, when he heard a familiar voice.


            “A most interesting exit. And what have you in mind for an encore?”


            Kern spun around to find no one there, or anywhere else around him.




Chapter 15


            Sixteen-year old Felípe Endero hung up the phone after listening to his brother's plea. Something was wrong with Carlos. It wasn't coke. Felípe recognized that particular voice when Carlos was strung out. Now he sounded scared. It sounded like he was being told, word for word, what to say over the phone.


            Thank God, Rosalia was working nights at the hospital, though when she got home at eleven thirty, she would be furious to find her little brother was not there. He could hear her tirade in his mind. At a bar? You went to a goddamn bar? Is that what you think mama would like to know, up in heaven? Her little boy is hanging around trash like that? It's bad enough your brother screwed up to be a fine mess. You have to be like him?


            Naturally, he'd defend his brother for reasons even he could not fully understand. Considering all the things Carlos had done to him, he still loved his brother and found himself constantly trying to please him and win his love in return.


            He loved his sister, Rosalia, too, but she couldn't possibly understand the life he had already experienced on the streets, even in this small town.


            The Anglos were not particularly thrilled about the small group of Hispanics that moved up from the city, and weren't going to give swath to a skinny, pretty faced, 'Spic' boy. There were no separations of Colombians, Cubans, Mexicans or Puerto Ricans in their eyes. A Spic was a Spic, as far as his schoolmates were concerned, to be ignored at best, brutalized at worse, especially if you were a guy who look more like a girl.


            It couldn't be denied that Felípe was pretty in every sense of the word. He had large, animated, brown eyes surrounded by jet-black lashes, creating the wide-eyed innocence of a fawn. His pouting lips were full and pink, hiding underneath a petite, delicate nose, all of which were complimented by glowing, soft, olive skin, showing not a sign of facial hair. Unlike the crown of his head which splayed a mass of black wavy hair falling to the length of his shoulders.


            The children's uncle had them brought to the States illegally after their mother, his sister, died of cancer in Bogotá, Colombia. First living in the Bronx, shortly after, they moved upstate. As soon as they were settled, he was laid off from the local, bankrupt shoe factory. The only work he could find was back in the city. He was resigned to seeing his family once or twice a month when he could get away and get a ride from a friend. Still, he managed to send them money every week to help pay an outrageous rent put upon them by a prejudiced and unscrupulous ass of a landlord who was aware of the children's alien status. Keeping his mouth shut was an expensive proposition.


            Their mother, Maria Endero de Colon, taught school in Bogotá. How beautiful she was, Felípe remembered, and how Rosalia was looking more and more like her. He did not seem to notice his own uncanny resemblance.


            Because of their mother's dream of one day coming to live in America, the children were taught English as they learned their own language. By the time Felípe was old enough to learn the family's second language, he was surrounded by it. He adapted to his studies with a fervor bordering on the manic. His dreams of coming to America carried him through any difficult lesson with drive and determination.


            He would one day be a great scholar and make many American dollars and he would buy his mother everything she ever wanted, he would tell her. Her death wounded him terribly, and he would always carry her memory deeply within his heart.


            The reality of his life in America came most bitterly for Felípe. His feminine looks caused him no end of teasing by other children, in particular, the school jocks who, one by one, brought Felípe 'out' with sexual abuses he could not refuse.


            Still, the boy persisted in his studies, making straight A(s) and skipping two grades. However, placing him with the older students put him in even further social jeopardy. The junior and senior class girls were too mature to take him seriously as a potential dating partner, and the boys picked on him cruelly, some even using him sexually.


            Because of the constant abuses, Felípe began to accept his sexual role, if only to avoid the pain of resisting. His gayness may have surfaced in a more positive form if allowed the time, but he eventually obeyed his urges according to the whim of his older classmates. Eventually he found himself making overtures to the other jocks, who'd previously seemed indifferent or generally ignored him.


            It was his brother Carlos who introduced him to his first adult encounter with Cole Hapshaw.


            In Colombia, with all his mother's cajoling, Carlos could not be induced into being much of a student. He pursued what physical pleasures life could give him in a constant one day at a time philosophy giving him no concern for the future or the possible dangers he could incur as a result of his fast paced life style.


            In the States, he merely emphasized his rebellious behavior. He took frequent excursions to the city. There, he learned the pleasures and demands of cocaine addiction, and added that with his already unquenchable appetite for liquor, pot and sex. He also learned that these pleasures and demands cost a great deal of money and discovered the many ways of getting it by selling the drugs he loved and hustling gay men.


            He was one hundred percent heterosexual, he was sure, and told anyone who asked, but was not opposed to selling his cock to the men who found his swarthy Latino appearance exciting and his trim body sensual. Though not particularly well endowed, he had a smiling, cocky, machismo attitude which made him appear endearing and dangerous and at the same time, hard-to-get and, of course, more desirable.


            It was in one of the city's local hustler bars he met Cole Hapshaw, who recognized the young Colombian from his hometown upstate. Together, they formed a business arrangement which sent Carlos on even more treks to the city, buying drugs for Cole's customers at Tully's and rounding up young boys for the man's pedophile tastes.


            One of the men who seemed to have an endless string of hot young run-a-ways, was a guy named Willie Rheiner, though no one ever called him by his first name.


            Carlos had no doubt that Rheiner was a dangerous man, but he had access to the kind of boys that Cole wanted, so he made the deals, keeping Cole's name out of it. One night, in a drug induced high, he told Willie Rheiner everything. Rheiner, in turn, wasted little time putting the screws to Cole, knowing the dangers and penalties of dalliance with minors.


            It was this hold over Cole that brought Rheiner's frequent visits to Tully's, usually in the company of his 'nephews', which he would drop off at Cole's home before coming into the bar. His prices had risen dramatically, to cover the risks, he would say, and naturally, he wasn't expected to pay for his pleasures at Cole's bar. “Sort of a perk! Right, good buddy?” he told Cole. Thus, Carlos, Cole and Rheiner became a symbiotic triad of sex, drugs and violence.


            Cole, who's resentment of this unwanted partnership, felt Carlos owed him big time as it was the young man's loose lips that brought it about. He demanded an introduction to Carlos' brother, Felípe.


            Carlos was sympathetic to his little brother's problems at school, but he was in no position to help him. Shit, he had to take some pretty serious ribbing himself concerning his heritage and the fact that his brother was being passed around dick to dick by the guys at school didn't help. He'd quit school after a few weeks of that bullshit and, blaming his queer, maricón, brother, he began a period of serious sexual activity with the boy as well.


            When he was high on coke, he'd have his brother fellate him several times during the evening while their older sister was at work. Whenever his drug induced euphoria kept him from ejaculating during the nightly blow jobs, he'd turn the boy over and proceed to fuck his tiny ass mercilessly until he'd cum or fall asleep on top of the seduced boy, exhausted from the effort.


            Felípe would then crawl out quietly from beneath his brother, climb into his own bed and cry himself to sleep. He knew the next day his brother would either forget what he had done, or apologize profusely, begging his forgiveness and making Felípe swear upon their dead mother not to tell anyone. He never guessed how much the boy would have welcomed his advances if there were even a small amount of love during these attacks.


            There were a few occasions when a depressed Carlos found his little brother hugging and comforting him as he cried in a drug induced fit of self-pity. Felípe would kiss his brother's tear stained cheeks, petting his hair and touching softly all over his body. Then, very tenderly, take Carlos' penis into his mouth, softly suckling him to a beautiful climax.


            Carlos, enthralled, passionately kissed his brother on the lips, held him close in appreciation for his loving attention, and again, fell asleep: this time, in the comfort of tender arms devotedly wrapped around him. Those were the reason Felípe sacrificed so much for Carlos when he asked him to, and that also was how he came to meet Cole Hapshaw.


            Felípe was the only boy Cole had experienced that did not come from Rheiner's pack of street punks. He was awestruck by the boy's beauty and incredible intelligence and curiosity. Felípe had never seen a naked, adult male before. Other than his older brother, he had only the brief scenes in the locker room with boys who were, at most, three and four years his senior. He certainly had never been invited into such a beautiful house, nor had he seen such fabulous things one person could possess.


            This was, truly, what being an American was about; to live like this Mr. Hapshaw, whose bathroom had golden faucets and soft rugs and so many other luxuries that boggled his fourteen year old mind.


            Cole would never admit to anyone he was going soft on the boy, but he found he really liked being in the young South American lad's company. When he did have sex with the boy, he was tender and affectionate, coaching him in different methods to arouse him, without demanding or threatening the boy.


            Felípe became a regular visitor, often sharing lunch on weekends, or dinner, or just sitting around watching rented videos on Cole's huge screen television, laughing together while sharing cokes and chomping down bowls of hot buttered popcorn. After awhile, unknown to Carlos, Cole rarely had sex with the boy, finding himself quite satisfied in having their socially intimate time together.


            Cole encouraged the boy to read, lending him his personal hard bound copies of Keats, Shelley, Hawthorn, Rabelais, Wollstonecraft, Capote, Poe, Frost, Kenneth Roberts and other great authors and poets. Felípe was insatiable and always ready with new questions and observations. Most amusing and poignant was his comparison of Rheiner, whom he had only heard about from his brother, to the thieving leader of London street urchins called Fagin, in Dickens' Oliver Twist. Unlike the funny, but misunderstood villainous characterizations in the both stage and movie versions, Dickens' Fagin was a cold hearted, greedy man with little conscience.


            Whenever Cole found it difficult to answer the boy's questions, he'd direct him to his vast reference library. He was often dumbfounded and profoundly moved when the young Colombian, reacting to some simple pleasure Cole provided, would run to him, hugging and smothering him with affectionate kisses.


            They had become content in their relationship, maintaining the illusion of sex for money, with Cole providing a generous allowance for Felípe and opening a savings account for him to place it in. In that way, his sister would not become suspicious of her little brother's sudden, unearned income.


            Cole's influence was far-reaching in local quarters. Unknown to Felípe, he told Carlos to watch over the boy and to send the message, loud and clear, that Felípe was not to be harmed or used by anyone, in or out of school. He was to be considered Cole's exclusive property.


            The following week, at a meeting with his lawyer, he had a new will drawn making Felípe Endero his sole heir, and started the paper work in getting the boy's citizenship in order. His attorney understood, very well, the meaning of discretion.


            Cole's warning to Carlos did not go unnoticed. Guilt and fear discontinued any further of his liaisons with his brother, and although Felípe felt a loss at the lack of attention from Carlos, even if at times it was cruel, he was deliriously happy with the loving affection showered on him by his new friend.


            It was his concern for Cole, after hanging up the phone, that Felípe left immediately for Tully's at Carlos' request. Cole, for some reason, needed him. If he didn't get back by eleven thirty, he would just have to deal with Rosalia's anger later.


            If there was a later.



Getting To Know You

Chapter 16


            Kern spun around to face the leatherman whose voice he thought he recognized from his fantasy. He was saying something about an 'encore'.


            No one was there.


            He looked up and down the street searching, confused.


            “Do not bother to look around. I am here. With you!” the familiar voice said.


            Kern froze. He stood circling his eyes in every direction.


           “I hope you are not going to panic about all this. I am not sure I understand completely what is happening myself."


             The voice spoke, but Kern realized he wasn't hearing it anymore than he heard himself thinking to himself.


            “Nooo, I'm not going to panic,” he said aloud, then turned, self-consciously, to see if anyone else heard him. There was no one to be seen. He stood stiffly on the sidewalk trying to understand this new development in this increasingly bizarre evening. What should he do? What should he say? Who would he say it to?


            “That is better. We can communicate more efficiently if you use your mind instead of your mouth and vocal chords. I have no doubt it will appear more civilized if you are not seen by others as having a one sided conversation."


            “Who are you? Where are you?” Kern asked in his mind. “Wait! Is this...am I going nuts?” he asked himself.


            “You already know who I am. As to your mental stability,.."


            Kern interrupted the voice. “I DO know you! The guy in the shop? The leather guy? You were real? Not just another fantasy?”


            “Partly yes and partly no. Let me put it this way. The leatherman was a real fantasy. It was real for you."


            Kern wished he hadn't thrown his half pack of cigarettes away. He needed his hands to be occupied. He needed to be doing something besides standing around on the glistening, rain-swept sidewalk, probably having a mental breakdown.


            He patted his pockets absently and, surprisingly, found another half pack. Without questioning it, he reached in the hard-pack of Marlboros, withdrew a cigarette and lit it.


            “Must you do that? It really is bad for your body, you know. I assure you, it will do great harm to your lungs, circulatory system, and heart."


          “Huh? Oh! No. No, I don't even have an urge for them anymore. I just didn't want to be standing here doing nothing and looking dumb!”


            “And smoking one of those things will make you look intelligent?” The voice paused. “Just one moment, please. Another pause, then, There is a coffee shop across the street and around the corner. Go in; sit in the booth at the far end, away from the other customers. Order-skim milk, then we will get this thing sorted out."


            “Skim milk?”


            “Before I became a part of you, which, apparently, is what has happened, my former body was indestructible. While my presence, along with the powers I left you, have made many improvements on your own form, I cannot say how vulnerable we are at this moment. You will have to start taking better care of yourself-ourselves. Skim milk, because I detect no lactose allergenic propensity, and, as a certain ethnic people might say, "It couldn't hurt”.


            “I hate skim milk!” Kern thought sharply.


            Within moments, they were drinking hot, black coffee through Kern's lips and continued their deep mental intercourse.


            “Coffee, really, some compromise! Do you have any idea what that stuff can do to a delicate nervous system...?


            “Enough!” Kern thought, taking another indulging sip. “You were going to say?


            The handsome young lad drew little attention from the others in the cafe, except for the occasional raising eyebrows from the plump, acne cursed waitress who noticed him nodding his head or shaking it as in answer to unheard questions.


            Kern learned the voice within belonged to a civilization of aliens called B'anati. The sentient being told him of the experiment he was sent to accomplish and of his evident failure.


            “And being inside me is your punishment?” the boy inquired.


            “You are my reprieve from being void.


            “How do you feel about that?”


            “I 'feel' very little at this time. Although I expect the longer I am a part of you I will begin to take on those emotions, or at least be more empathic of them.


            Kern lifted the coffee mug to his lips and paused. “That's kinda funny, because, right now, I'm feeling numb. I mean, I think I should be scared, or hysterical or something! But I don't feel any of those things.”


            “That would be my affect on you. I also lowered your metabolism and the sudden adrenaline flow you had experienced when I first spoke to you. It is, if I may say, what kept you from screaming and running panic stricken down the street.


            “You can do that from inside me? What else can you do?”


            “Any number of things! I can alter your physical form far more dramatically and faster than the small alteration you yourself made with your new abilities, for one.


            “You know about that? How long have you been in here, and where exactly are you?”


            “To your first question, I know almost everything about you. We are much a part of each other, including your memories. Eventually, I will come to understand, but perhaps not appreciate, your feelings, your emotions if you will. As to the time period I began to share your physical mass: twenty-two minutes and thirty one seconds in your earth-time measurement.


            “As to where I am located, did you notice you asked, 'in here', rather than, in there? I am in the same place you are when you converse with yourself; I am in your mind. That is not necessarily your brain, you understand?


            “It's not?” Kern's body made the involuntary sigh of an educator frustrated by his student's lack of comprehension.


            “If I tell you to picture an image of a white cat cleaning itself on a red satin pillow, then ask you to picture that same image on the counter across the way...


            Kern found himself doing just that.


           “...Has your mind moved along with the image or is it in two places at once? In your head, where you assume it to be? Or, is it over there, on the counter with the cat? No matter. Gradually, as I have come to know you, you will know me. The information you need will just be there as if it was always so.” The alien paused. “You are troubled.


            “This thing about messing around with my body... can you...?”


            “I cannot stop your heart from beating, nor, for that matter, render any harm to you. Even if you desired your carbon-based body to cease functioning completely, I could not bring it about. For our species, living, and being cognizant, one and the same, is all there is. Gathering information and experiencing is living. When this is no longer possible, the B'anati is void. We cannot possibly void ourselves purposely, and you are part of me. I can not completely interfere with you without permission, and so cannot control your own will. I am, for the most part, as you would say, along for the ride.”


            “But if I tell you to do something, ...I don't know what yet, ...but if I do, you'll do it?”


            “Only when I am satisfied it will not bring about a void-or render your form useless. However, I am not your 'genie in the lamp', subject to demands. I too, retain my own will; particularly in, that of survival.


            “This should not interfere with you, as you are free to do whatever you may, and considering your newly acquired and substantial abilities, that is a great deal. You have yet to tap into a third of your skills, which require no assistance from me.”


            “These powers, they came with your...”


            “What you would call, 'ejaculate'. Yes. And in the 'leaving', I was nearly void.”


            “Why?” Kern asked, finishing his coffee.


            “Not having any similar experience to measure with, the answer to that question is an assumption. It was an experiment. It was a chemical alteration of our own reproductive system added to my earthly form's ejaculate, to be used precisely before my return to the Council. They being, as close a comparison I can make, something like your government leaders, as it were.


            “Somehow, it also attached your corporal being with me, causing a rift in my composition, creating, it would seem, a 'feeling of uneasiness' never before encountered by a single B'anati in all of the Triabs, in all their combined remembered existence, which is considerable.


            “Using your earthly jargon, I had a case of the blues; a sensation utterly repugnant to my species. More than one hundred thousand millennium ago the B’anati gave up emotions to a higher plane of existence. The alien was 'quiet' for a moment, then continued. I am not sure they were correct to do so now. I shall be giving it a great deal of thought.”


            “Whew! This is making me dizzy”


            “I concur. Until you have learned to do it yourself, shall I help you lower your anxiety level? I feel it rising. No doubt due to your ingestion of that mug of caffeine! I tried to warn you...”


            “No!” Kern said sharply aloud.


            “Well, excuse me,” said the waitress, huffily, “I only asked if you wanted something else. You don't have to bite my head off!” She left his check on the table in front of him and waddled away with that, what planet is he from, look on her face and mumbled to herself, “Why me?”


            Embarrassed, Kern picked up the check and rose from the booth. He pulled out a dollar bill and left it on the table beside the empty coffee mug. “I gotta million more questions,” he thought to the B'anati, “but I guess they'll just have to wait awhile. Let's get outta here.” He walked over to the register and paid for the java, saying 'sorry about that', to the waitress who was also subbing as cashier.


            Noticing his generous tip, she smiled and said something about it not being a problem and how we all have those days.


            “You wouldn't know the half of it,” thought Kern.


            “Where are we going?” asked the alien.


            “Don't you know?” returned Kern, testily.


            “I do not choose to read your every thought. I pride myself in being able to mind my own business!” countered the B'anati.




            “Hmmm. Did I say pride? Interesting, that! You see? You have already affected my behavior.”


            Kern stepped out of the coffee shop/cafe, into the damp evening and after a moment, walked purposely along the street, noticing the shimmering reflections from the street and traffic lamps in the puddles from the earlier rain. The air was warm and smelled of wet autumn leaves. The October sky had cleared showing off its heavenly jewelry and near white full moon. He fell back into silent conversation with his alien guest as he continued down the street.


            “What do I call you? I mean, don't you have a name?” he asked.


            “In your frame of reference, no. All experiences and knowledge gathered by the B'anati are shared simultaneously and equally among the Triabs. There has rarely been a need for singular contact, with exception to the Council P'gqough. The council created these terms for sapient understanding. It is as close as I can translate our existence with what for us is no language at all. We do not even call ourselves B'anati. It is a title bestowed upon us by intellects from another planet in a galaxy your planet won't know about for another millennium. That is, if you survive another millennium, of course.


            “Since most all other sapient creatures do continue to use a mathematical formulae and aural responsive vibrations to communicate, we have become used to using these terms from time to time. Learning sapient languages has been a part of our gathering.


          “A single B'anati may be assigned a duty to gather information. This is a most grand honor as it makes possible the collecting of new Colour and growth. However, 'calling' this B'anati by a singular name is not done. I do not believe I can verbalize why this is. There are no Earth language similarities. Eventually, my knowledge will be your knowledge as will the method of B'anati communication and then you will understand.”


            “How long will that take?”


            “I have no way of knowing. This current situation is all new to me as well. It will occur, of that I am sure. Perhaps the measure of your own personal mental acuity will influence the rapidity of your understanding.


            “Well, as long as you're here. You've got to have a name. Don't worry, I'll think of something.


            “May I assist?”


            “You have a preference?” Kern thought, grinning. The alien ignored the comment and answered.




            Kern laughed suddenly and loudly, receiving an alarmed look from a couple passing him as they mutually crossed the street in opposite directions. Their surprised look only increased his laughter. “You mean like, 'George of the Jungle'?” Kern giggled.


            “You find the name humorous? Ah, I see you are referring to a fictitious, animated, cartoon and movie character; how remarkably inane. Humans have a great affection for fiction. Assuming it's a form of distraction and entertainment, fiction is, nevertheless, a waste of time. Perhaps, one day you will rise above such a superfluous reading activity.


            “It's not just that,” Kern thought, holding down his laughter as much as possible. “Considering what you are, and all these wild powers you have, the name, George, strikes me as incredibly simplistic and funny. Why, George?”


           “It was the name of your first president, was it not? A human I found most remarkable. An extraordinary officer of war, he found his duties often distasteful at the same time. He held to a rigid belief of the purpose of man and, by human standards, that which was morally correct behavior. Many of his contemporaries thought him stubborn, conservative, boring and dull. I found him to be ahead of his time.”


            “You knew George Washington” Kern's eyes widened in shock.


            “I believe I have stated so, if not vocally.


            “Oh, and I suppose you knew Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson too? Did you write the Declaration of Independence while you were at it?” Kern was emphasizing his sarcasm with diligent nods and swirls of his head. Several more passers-by avoided his general swath.


            “Do not be absurd. I was certainly aware of those two distinguished gentlemen, but had not been formally introduced. I was, after all, merely one of several Aides, serving under General Washington at the time, and that was only for a brief period. My human form was shot to death during a small skirmish not far from this location in New York. Naturally, I had to reconstitute myself at a later time when no one was watching. I soon began a new life.”


            “Naturally” Kern thought, shaking his head in wonder. “Okay, then! George, it is!” he added. “So, tell me, ...George, ... how many people have you been. Did they all have powers like me?”


            “I have been over three hundred personalities, both male and female, of your species. Though they appeared human, they were in actuality B'anait, ergo, I maintained my own B'anati abilities. My duty, however, was to pass myself off as human; to imitate, emulate and learn of their behavior. I was to gather knowledge, share it and eventually return with it. I could not openly use my power. You, on the other hand are unique. Unlike my other forms, you are your own self and I am within you. According to plan, only the last sexual contact was to be given the experimental mixture...oh, I believe you have reached your destination.”


            They stood in front of Tully's bar. “Then you did know?” Kern asked, somewhat miffed.


            “No, I did not...at first. I admit, my curiosity got the better of me.”     


            “Curiosity? Bold, defensive posturing about George Washington? Hah! You're becoming more human by the second.”


            “I will forget you said that. What now?”


            “Now, George, we are going inside to have a drink. Healthy or not, after all this, I want one whether I need it or not!”


            “If you must”, Kern felt his body sigh again. “I will break down the abusive chemical compounds as they enter your bloodstream.”


            “Don't you dare, George!” Kern ordered. “I intend to get high and enjoy it! Maybe I'll get to talk out loud to someone who can speak sentences with contractions in them! Sorry, but you're just along for the ride, so you might as well get ready for a few bumps!”


            “Very well. But if we get ourselves sick, do not blame me!”


            Kern pulled open the door just as small body ran passed him and into the bar ahead of him. He heard him say 'excuse me' in a high pitched, excited voice, then watched him disappear into the crowd.


            “Boy, he must need a drink worse than me,” Kern thought, and walked over to the barstools.



Tully's, Where Everybody Meets

Chapter 17


                 Felípe observed the strange acting, good looking young man approach Tully's and timed his pace to arrive at the door just as the guy opened it. Not wanting him to see his face and realize how young he was, he moved quickly to the far end of the bar in search of his brother.


            The music was playing very loudly and the lights were extraordinarily dimmed. Felípe hadn't noticed the other customers, or what many of them were doing. Cole, having recovered somewhat, was behind the bar when he spotted the boy.


            “Felípe! What are you doing here?” he asked, unaware of Carlos' earlier phone call.


            “Cole!” Felípe cried, relieved to see his friend unharmed, but looking ...well, not so good.


            “Where's Carlos?” the boy asked. “He called me...”


            “Well, well, well. What have we got here?” Rheiner asked, as he reached out and lifted Felípe into the air and turned the boy to face him. “Holding out on me, Cole? Well,” he smiled at the boy, “Ain't you the pretty little thing!”


            “Rheiner, don't!” Cole pleaded.


            “Shut up, dickhead! I'm talking to my little friend here!” Rheiner said, turning his back on Cole.


            “Who are you? Where's Carlos?” the frightened boy asked.


            “Carlos?” Rheiner asked. “Why, he's right over there!” he said, nodding to the rear of the bar towards the pool table.


            Felípe, using his arms to put some distance between himself and this man holding him up in the air, looked to where his abductor motioned.


            Taking a moment to adjust to the bar's darkness, Felípe stared wide-eyed at the customers he saw tangled in various positions of sexual abandon. A young man was lying on his stomach on the pool table. He was completely stripped of his clothing, the dark hair of his head facing the boy. Men were holding his arms on both sides of the table, while another burly giant lay on top of him, apparently having his way with the young man's ass.


            Felípe watched stunned as a fourth man, a greasy-haired, filthy, obese, leather and denim clad biker type, walked over to the ravished man. He had his heavy dick out, pulling at it as he approached the struggling man's head, which he lifted by the thick black hair and proceeded to shove his cock into the captive man's mouth. The tear stained face moaned as Felípe recognized it to be Carlos'.


            “Carlos!” the boy screamed, watching his brother's rape disappear behind a gathering crowd of voyeurs.


            “Oh, now, don't your worry that pretty face of yours. I'm seeing to it that your brother has a good time.” Rheiner grinned maliciously at the boy.


            “What, what have you done to my brother? Who are you? Let me go!”


            Behind him, from the bar, Felípe heard Cole's voice. “Rheiner, what are you doing? You gone completely crazy? Let the boy go!”


            “Shut your face, Cole!” Rheiner warned him. “'S'matter? Don't wanna share the goods?” he asked, eyeing the petite boy up and down. “This is fine! Really fine! Makes my little group of boy scouts look like trash! Oh, I can get a lot for this baby!”


            “It's not like that, Rheiner!” Cole pleaded. “He's a good kid. Don't...hurt him...please!”


            Rheiner looked past Felípe at Cole. “Ain't you got somethin' to do besides run that mouth of yours?” he asked, tossing Felípe across his left shoulder, holding him in place. He backswung his right hand across Cole's face, knocking the man against the back of the bar and cutting his lip. “Go serve your customers. I'll take care of this pretty package!” he said, giving the boy's tiny butt a loud smack.


            “I'm so sorry...Felípe. I'm,” Cole choked.


            “Move it, Cole!” Rheiner demanded.


            Cole reluctantly acquiesced and walked to the front end of the bar. He noticed a young man sitting in Rheiner's vacated stool, apparently deep in thought, but without a drink. He took several orders in their turn then went over to the handsome youth.


            The bar was now packed, with most of the people blocking the sexual activity in the rear booths and at the pool table. Kern was still having a mental tête-à-tête with George when he saw Cole approaching.


            “Very interesting place you have selected. George communicated before Cole had arrived. “Have you tuned in to the activities here?”


            “No. At the moment I'm trying to tune out. I just want a drink,” he thought to George. Aloud, he shouted over the blaring music, “Jeeze, man! What happened to you? You know your lip is bleeding?” he asked the bartender as he came up to him.


            “Huh?” he asked, grabbing a napkin. “Oh, that,” he said, dabbling his lip. “'S'nothin' What'll ya have?”


            “What?” Kern asked. He unconsciously squinted his eyes. “I can hardly hear you! You always have the sound up so high?”


            “It's a party. A special party,” Cole said, nervously abrupt, but louder. “You want a drink?”


            “Yeah! Bud, in a can. And a shot of Wild Turkey!” Kern added, hearing George's version of a moan within his head.


            “Go hide somewhere else in my bodily system, will you?” he thought back.


            “I think you ought to know...,” the alien started.


            “Puh-leeze!”, he said aloud, frustrated.


            “Certainly,” said the bartender, giving Kern an odd look.


            “Very well, as you people say so often, I am out of here!


            “That's 'outta', 'I'm outta here!' you pompous spaciod!” Kern's mind flashed at George.


            Kern felt a tug at his chest pulling out and upwards, then looking up towards the shelves nearest him and at the back of the bar, he noticed the empty long necked Galliano bottle light up with a dim green glow.


            “You're in the right place,” Kern heard, realizing it was the bartender. “Got 'em both!” the man concluded and left to fill the order.


            “Hey, Tinkerbell,” Kern mentally prodded at the glowing bottle. “Just how long are our conversations? Time doesn't seem to pass very quickly when I'm talking to you.


            “I will ignore the sobriquet, and explain to you what I can. The passage of time is relevant to the space a thing is located in. Therefore, in your physical case, time has not altered during our 'conversations'. Mental thought travels at a much faster speed, than other forms of communication, as for example vocal, optic, or aural which demand physical vibration or movement. All of which require the necessary pushing around of molecules in order to be accomplished. This takes, comparatively, a great deal of time. Thought, however, requires almost none of this. Therefore...”


            “Okay, okay. I get it!” Kern answered. “All of that said, and the bartender has only just got to the cooler to get my beer.”




            Looking to his right, Kern recognized the man who was passed out on the bar. He was the same bartender who served him the few times he'd come in during the afternoon, before work. Sidney never paid Kern enough to go out nighttime partying. Even so, he picked up on the kind of mixed crowd the bar catered to.


              “Rough day for you too, huh?” he said to the unconscious man, noticing his pants were around his ankles, his flaccid cock hanging from his underwear. “Hey, you okay, man?” he asked, smiling and nudging Ron's back.


            Ron raised his head quickly, bleary-eyed, he automatically reached over at Kern's crotch and began rubbing. “Right. Right. Okay. I will. I'm sorry,” he said.


            Kern looked down, surprised at the hand that had begun rubbing him and was proceeding to unzip his fly. “Wow! Fast, aren't you?” he said with a grin.


            “Okay. Okay” Ron said, never looking at Kern's face. He quickened his pace and swiftly had the boy's pants unzipped. Kern was not encumbered by underwear, and his newly resized cock was rapidly out of his pants and enveloped in Ron's hot, left hand. Gripping the huge prong, Ron began a slow, tight, up and down motion, pumping blood to the bulging veins, making Kern's cock harder and harder.


            Kern could hardly believe what was happening and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Everyone seemed more interested in whatever was going on towards the back of the room, never giving Kern their attention.


            Cole came over to him and set the beer and Turkey down. “Is he bothering you?” he asked Kern about Ron.


            “Uh, no. No! Not at all! You?”


            “I make it a practice to mind my own business,” Cole said absently, still concerned for Felípe. “That'll be eight seventy-five.”


            Kern reached awkwardly into his pocket, trying to maneuver around Ron's pumping hand and pull out his money. He gave the bartender a twenty and put the rest back in his pocket.


            Cole returned quickly and set eleven dollars and a quarter in front of Kern. Kern leaned into the bar, somewhat embarrassed at what was happening below.


            “Listen,” the bartender told him, “I don't need anymore trouble than I already got here tonight. I don't care what you do, just remember, you didn't see nothin', you don't know nothin'!”


            A high pitched scream over the music stopped him short. Both of them looked toward the rear of the bar in the direction of the sound. “Shit!” cursed Cole, then back to Kern, “You want some good advice? Get your good looking face out of here before Rheiner spots you...”


            “Cole!” Kern heard someone yell in the back. “Get your ass back here! Now!” the voice boomed incredibly over the roar of the music.


            Kern looked up to see who was yelling, but was distracted by the sudden yank from Ron's death grip on his dick. “Hey! Take it easy, dude. It isn't detachable!” he said to Ron and Ron immediately eased his grip.


            “So who's Rheiner?” he asked, turning back to the bartender who was already gone.


            It's like fuckin' Oz in here. People come and go so quickly,” he said to no one. Kern shot down the Wild Turkey and slugged half of his beer. “Are you always so forward on the first date?” he asked Ron, still working Kern's rock hard ten inches.


            Ron said nothing to Kern's little joke but began lowering his head toward Kern's lap and pulsating cock. “Whoa!” Kern said, straightening Ron back up to his stool. “I don't think you even know what you're doing, man. You'd better sober up, don't you think?”


            Ron's eyes suddenly began clearing, along with his sopped brain, and began to focus on the face staring into his own. “Well, hello stranger!” he said to Kern, with a friendly grin. Then he looked down and noticed where his hand was. “Have we been formally introduced?” he asked, keeping his grip around Kern's warm swollen member.


            “Hi, yourself,” Kern smiled back. “Welcome back to the land of the hardly drunk. I have a suspicion you thought I was someone else. You can let go, if you want.”


            Ron glanced down at the drooling, throbbing cock in his hand. “I don't want. Hell, I was hoping to meet your friend here since I first saw you come in here in the afternoons. I didn't know he'd be such a big fella!” he added, shaking the cock back and forth.


            “He wasn't always, he's just grown some.” Kern told him.


            “So I see!” Ron said, assuming Kern was referring to his hard-on.


            “Well, as long as you don't mind, I sure as hell don't. Help yourself. This is a pretty wild place at night. I had no idea. Any way a guy can get another shot around here? The bartender seems to have disappeared?”


            Ron looked over the bar and suddenly everything came flooding back to him. He let go of Kern and stood up, amazed at his sobriety. Looking down, he was stunned to see his own cock was sticking out hard and his pants were past his knees. He bent to them and drew them up, putting himself together.


            “Something I said?” asked Kern.


            “Where's Cole?”


            “Is that the bartender?”


            “He's the owner, but he works the night shift,” Ron answered, lifting the access section of the bar. “I'll get your drink. What was it?” he asked, picking up the shot glass.


            “Wild Turkey, and you might as well grab another Bud while you're there, thanks,” Kern slugged down the remaining beer in his can. “You want anything?”


            “No, I don't think so,” Ron said, reaching for the Turkey bottle and looking nervously around the bar. He grabbed a Budweiser from the cooler and told another customer, who was yelling for service, to fuck himself'. “It's not my shift!” he added and walked back to Kern with the drinks.


            Kern watched Ron getting his order, alternately looking at the Galliano bottle where he presumed George was doing whatever B'anati do in long-necked bottles. “Can you 'hear' me in there?” he telepathed.


            “I can 'hear' you fine, Kern. I am still with you. I have merely extended myself to this location.”


            “Like the cat and the pillow?”


            “Umm-somewhat. More closely compared to astral projection, in your world. Your death could separate us permanently, and if you are not careful...that event may occur quite soon. I suggest that you...


            “Here you go!” Ron said, setting the drinks on the bar and seating himself next to Kern. “On the house!” he smiled, distracting Kern from his conversation with the alien.


            “So, who's this Rheiner, your boss mentioned before he took off?” Kern asked Ron.


            “Hey,” said Ron, evasively, “you put the big guy away,” he finished, looking down at Kern's crotch.


            “Yeah, well, “George” got lonely sitting out there by himself.” Kern said, grinning at his private, privates joke. And that thought made him smile broadly.


            Ron reached for Kern's zipper. “'George', huh. Well, we can't let 'George' get lonely”


            Kern stopped the Indian's hand. “Maybe later, okay?”


            Ron pulled his hand away and reached for a pack of cigarettes someone must have left on the bar. Slightly hurt, by Kern's rebuff, he said, “Yeah, sure. Later!” He took out a cigarette and held it between his fingers.


             “Hey! Don't take it that way. I mean it. I'd like to get to know you-in every way.” Kern spoke gently to Ron and the young man believed him. “But I gotta tell ya, man, you look scared to shit right now and I want to know why? Who's this Rheiner guy?”


            “No-one. No-one you want to know!” Ron answered. Finding a pack of matches nearby, he lit his cigarette and absently offered one to Kern.


            Kern, about to accept one, glanced at the Galliano bottle and thought better of it. “One poison at a time!” he sighed, and finished off his shot in one gulp, chasing the warm heady rush with a swig of beer.


            “I suppose, dubbing your genitalia with my chosen name was an attempt at humor?


            The sudden mental interruption caused Kern to choke and spray his beer. He laughed heartily, “What?” he choked.


            Ron grinned. “What? I didn't say anything. You've got a nice laugh, though.”


            “Thanks,” replied Kern, wiping his moist lips with a bar napkin. He then began to concentrate on Ron, who was scanning the bar again.


            “Listen to your friend's mind.


            At once, a river of images flooded before Kern. Everything that Ron experienced at Tully's that evening, in particular, events that dealt with an extraordinarily handsome man Kern now knew to be Rheiner.


            “Now you see. George softly said to Kern, somewhere within him. The human, Rheiner, is still here. He has imposed his madness on others and is now occupied in the mental and physical destruction of other humans. See the horror of events that could connect human interaction.




Carbon Units Die At Tully's

Chapter 18


            All hell had broken loose at the rear of Tully's Bar. Rheiner's insanity spread itself among the people around him. Having mixed alcohol and drugs of every variety, they abandoned all fear of recrimination or self-preservation, for that matter, and were openly participating in every sort of sexual activity.


            Many were completely naked, their body parts entangled in mindless orgiastic configurations. Most of the crowd stood around, cheering the activity on while manipulating themselves or others around them.


            There were those who tried to leave, but were trapped by blocked doors and the crazed mob. They were being forced to perform sex with the larger, stronger men in the crowd.


            The rear of the bar reeked of sweat, cum, smoke, piss, and alcohol, the odors of which accompanied the visual images in Kern's head. Stunned, Kern watched further.


            On the pool table lay two males. One bigger, older than the other, but their was a strong resemblance in the hair, skin and bone structure.


            “They are called Carlos and Felípe. They are brothers.


            Carlos was on his back, pinned down by other men around him. Some of them knelt on the pool table masturbating over the young man's face and body, already streaked with cum trails dripping slowly down to the green felt of the table.


            Others, perhaps too high or drunk to get aroused, were torturing his naked body, putting lit cigarettes to his teats and tender stomach area, laughing and cheering as the lithe Colombian writhed in agony and humiliation. “¡Felípe!” he screamed, barely audible over the roaring jukebox and the mob around him. ¡Felípe! ¡Dios Querido! ¡Estoy tan apesadumbrado! ¿Perdóneme, mi hermano? I'm sorry!”


            Rheiner's eyes were wide, and glazed in madness. He smiled maniacally as he stood at one end of the pool table. He held the naked Felípe's head to the side, forcing the boy to watch his brother's torture.


            Felípe's eyes were on his brother. The youth's face was puffy and bruised where Rheiner struck him whenever he resisted. The boy bravely struggled against his persecutor, choking down his cries and pleas for help. He hurt more for his brother's agony than himself.


            Rheiner was stripped to the waist, his fly opened, his huge organ exposed. It was being sucked on by a thin boned man with a bouffant hairdo, kneeling on the floor, fighting off other would-be cocksuckers, male and female, from the prize in his mouth.


            From his pinned down position, Felípe's thick hair rubbed against Rheiner's bare, washboard stomach. He felt another man's strong hands holding down his legs on the table while others were roughly rubbing all over his body. Someone was attempting oral sex on his small penis, alternately licking his hairless testicles, and occasionally nipping in those sensitive areas.


            Rheiner grabbed both of Felípe's small wrists in one powerful fist and pulled out a large knife from its sheath attached to his belt. Waving the knife, he yelled, “Get your fuckin' hands, mouths, and dicks away from this baby whore. This one's mine!”


            He handed the knife to the biker who, once again, had forced his cock into Carlos' mouth. “If my puta's brother ain't got enough holes for your dicks, make some new ones!” He laughed loudly and began pulling Felípe across the pool table so that just his firm little ass and legs, held down by others, rested on the table. His thin torso hung over, putting his face even with Rheiner's dick and the skinny guy sucking it.


            “Hi, pretty boy,” the man said, releasing Rheiner's cock. “New in town?” He kissed Felípe on the lips and suddenly felt Rheiner's knee at his face.


            Rheiner kneed the man flat on his ass. “Fuckin' pervert!” Rheiner yelled. The fat uncut head of his wet dick brushed against Felípe's cheek as he hung upside down off the table.


            “Let's see what you can do with a real man's dick, my pretty puta!”


            Cole's dick had been the only other adult cock the boy ever experienced, and it was not much bigger than many of the boys' at school. The monster that swung in front of his face was a living impossibility. Did the man truly think Felípe could handle this? Even get it in his small mouth?


            Firmly holding the boy's wrists with one hand, Rheiner lifted the child's head with the other, smothering Felípe's face with his moist, randy, and hairy ball sacks and ordered the boy to lick them.


            The fleshy, hairy scrotum muffled Felípe's protests. His warm breath and shaking head only served to turn Rheiner on to a greater frenzy, his cock arching and growing at an alarming rate over the boy's face.


            “Get ready baby, 'cause I'm gonna shove this thing all the way down your throat!”


            All at once, a blood-curdling scream shattered the bar and a splash of warm liquid hit Rheiner's face and some of the other people around the pool table.


            The biker, too involved enjoying himself in Carlos' mouth, passed Rheiner's knife on. The new possessor of this terrible weapon was a tall, skinny, pockmarked, drug freak, strung out on PCP. He stood on the other side of the pool table by Carlos' feet holding up a bloody slab of flesh.


            “Yee-ha! Hey look, man! Like, el matador, I got el toro's trophy!” He ranted, waving the severed organ that once was Carlos' manhood.


            Even Rheiner stopped what he was doing, staring transfixed at the massively bleeding Carlos. Torn blood vessels were spewing blood over everything and everyone in close proximity to the screaming Latino.


            One by one, people stopped their activities as though a sinister spell had been abruptly broken. Those who were being held down against their will were released.


                Rheiner bellowed out Cole's name and Kern watched as Cole weaved his way from the front of the bar to the rear, fighting his way through the knotted crowd. Arriving at the pool table, he stopped and gazed in horror at what he saw in front of him. “What the hell have you done, Rheiner? You fool, you fuckin' fool!”, and he tried to reach for Felípe.


            “Fuck you! Who the hell you callin' a fool, you asshole? Get this son of bitch away from me!” he said to a group of skinheads who swiftly grabbed the man and beat him senseless.


            Carlos, now liberated from arms that held him prisoner previously, screamed in agony, again and again. Curled in a ball, he grasped at the bleeding gape with both hands. The blood poured out in crimson rivulets through his clenched fingers.


            The drug freak, who'd amputated Carlos, was the only person who wasn't quiet or still. He cavorted merrily around the room waving his trophy about, splattering blood everywhere while ranting and raving.


            Rheiner, who still held Felípe's wrists, was neither aware that the boy passed out from the blood rushing to his head. nor was he aware of the path being made for a young man approaching the pool table.


            The silent throng parted and watched as the stranger went over to the agonized Carlos. At some point in time, somehow, the drug freak was gagged and the jukebox unplugged. No one breathed a sound as the stranger held Carlos in his arms, whispering in his ear.


            Slowly, Carlos' eyes closed and his muscles began to relax as Kern uncurled him and placed his own hand upon the gaping wound. The bleeding ceased, Carlos lay back, his breathing shallow, his pain passing.


            Rheiner, like the others, watched the young man holding the bloodied body. Carlos' labored breathing became shorter, more infrequent gasps, until the blood stained chest and abdomen were still. His tearing eyes suddenly flashed open and he whispered, “¡Oh, mi madre! ¡A tu vengo! ¡Y a usted, Maria Santa, Madre del Dios! Ahora, perdóneme y... ...” Carlos spoke no more. Kern reached over and closed the eyes of the dead young man, and looked up at Rheiner.


            Rheiner stared at the stranger's eyes and released his hold on Felípe.


            Cole, his face black and blue, his nose cracked, along with several ribs, managed to stand up. Wearily, painfully, he pushed his way over to the pool table, catching the boy before he could fall to the floor. He lifted him tenderly, holding him against his aching ribs. He cried as he kissed the top of the unconscious boy's head, and in racking pain, carried him away from the table.


            Sanity wove its way gradually through the crowd as they began to collect their clothes and dress themselves in silence. No one wanted to see their guilt reflected back at them in another's eyes, so they avoided each other, not sure of what to do, certain there was nothing they could say. They looked to the stranger as a guide.


            But Kern did not see them. He saw only Rheiner. And everything in his life that he hated, and everything in his life that caused him anger, was focused towards the towering man silently and malevolently glaring back at him.




That's All Folks

Chapter 19


            Kern, stunned by the images George was sending, reacted too late when he saw the knife plunging and severing at Carlos' body.


            He held the boy and talked his pain away and even stopped the profuse bleeding, but he could not prevent his dying. Shock and the great loss of blood had taken its toll. He was helpless to do more.


            “George!” he pleaded.


            “The human is void. I can do nothing.”


            “Why didn't you stop it?” he asked, his anger rising.


            “I could not, as I am now. Had I my previous form, I still could not interfere. My interaction with any human was strictly a personal isolated, individual contact within the scope of their desires. Being an amoral race, I could not pick or choose sides based on earthly laws, biases, religious or moral principles.


            “I could only experience your people's actions and reactions to stimuli, and record them for the Triabs, who experienced them simultaneously.”


            Kern's anger lashed out mentally at the B'anati. “Christ you're a cold bunch! Would you have let them kill the boy too?”


            “I could not have prevented it. You, however, are not so restricted. If you recall, I tried to tell you of...”


            “And I told you to leave. Right!” said Kern. “So, this is my fault? I could have stopped it, but was too interested in drinking fuckin' booze and having my dick played with! Is that what you're saying?”


            “I do not know if any action on your part would have prevented anything. The information I was going to give you was in conjunction with your life form's safety...and a natural curiosity of human interaction.”


            “Oh, sure. You and your ever-fuckin'-lovin'-curiousity. And we mustn't allow you to become void if I die, must we?”


            “I can sense from over here, your system is getting out of control. Your body temperature has risen, your heart rate is increasing and you are beginning to hyperventilate. Shall I join you and make the proper adjustments?”


            “No, you will not make the 'proper adjustments'! I'm mad! Humans get mad! I like getting mad! In fact, I'm mad as hell! I'm mad at how my life's been fucked up and fucked around with since I can remember. I'm mad at everyone that I let get close to me, only to turn around and shit on me, one way or another. I'm mad at being deserted, lied to, abused, fucked over, and now I'm mad at myself for not doing anything to help some poor fucking guy, who I shouldn't even care about anyway!” He looked down once again at Carlos, tears of frustration streaking his reddened face. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” he cried aloud “Fuck this shit! Fuck the whole goddamn thing! It's payback time! Look out, you son's-a-bitches, Mr. Magic's coming through!”




There's Hell To Pay At Tully's

Chapter 20


            At first, the crowd watched the two men quietly staring at each other. Then, as one, they felt a building tension emitting from the young stranger standing over Carlos' body.


            Kern's face became redder by the minute as he swore to the world around him. The veins in his temples throbbed noticeably beneath the surface of his skin, and his knuckles whitened in clenched fists. The aura of his fury felt thickly, and horribly solid and spread itself throughout the mob; it panicked them.


            They began moving away from the pool table, backing up, shoving and tripping over one another, trying to find egress, yet afraid to divert their eyes from the source of their fear.


            Rheiner felt it too, but wouldn't move. Still stripped of his shirt, his fly open, and his limp cock protruding out, he stood, arms akimbo, smugly looking into the eyes of a living nightmare.


            All of Kern's anger rose up like some poisonous bile and as his face contorted and twisted into an ugly rage. His anger burst through in a horrible and deafening scream, directed right at Rheiner.


            The horrendous yowl took on a physical force that blasted itself at Rheiner's chest. His entire body rose off the floor and flew backwards, smashed into the bar, slid down and landed on the beer and piss soaked floor amidst the overturned barstools.


            Kern walked over to the man, people scattering away, screaming in horror. He looked down at Rheiner and mentally scanned his brain, empathically feeling his hate, his fears, and seeing within them, the faces of his past victims.


            Rheiner looked up, dazed, his face was panic struck as he watched Kern's features alter, taking on the guise of other people. The two young girls he killed in Toledo, after he brutally raped them. The young men he murdered while assisting a psychopath in Texas, burying them under the house. Hitchhikers he had robbed and beaten, leaving them to die in highway trenches. One of his fellow prisoners who ravished him, forcing him to do the same things he made others do to him.


            “Looking good down there, man,” the image before him sneered. “Wanna suck my dick?”


            Then he saw his father die, pleading for the pills that would stop his heart from bursting, as Rheiner grinned, holding the needed medication clutched in his fist. “Please, please. Help me!”


            Poor Freddy, whom he had stomped to death in this very bar, stood before him again. “I think you just peed your pants, sir. Why couldn't you just leave me alone?”


             “Remember me, dude?” some pug-nosed, long haired greaser had asked. “We did some bad ass shit together, then you slit my throat in my sleep for forty bucks. Guess I'll be seeing you in hell soon enough!” He grinned maniacally. His mouth and gaping neck wound spewed blood as he made the effort to speak.


            “And me? I just gave you a ride. You raped me-made me beg you to let me live. You left my children orphans,” cried a middle-aged housewife with a bullet hole through her head. She turned and displayed the even wider exit wound that removed nearly all the base of her skull.


            “What about me?” the faces appeared and cried out.


            Rheiner suddenly felt his body rising off the floor, untouched. He slid helplessly up the bar until he was lying prone on his back atop the bar counter. A sudden push and he was whisked along the bar top, smashing against glasses, bottles and ashtrays.


            His head and shoulders were painfully squeezed under and through the first of two looping, brass, metal arms that separated the waiter's station, until his head and neck lay just past and below the second divider. His torso was just beneath the first. He threw his arms up to grasp at the bars, but the steel loops came alive and swiftly clamped down firmly on his chest and neck. His hands were frozen to the metal he felt across his torso. Rheiner willed his body to move, but it wouldn't obey.


            He lay motionless and speechless as the metal bands began to lower themselves into the bar's counter. Further and further down, they lowered with a loud, ratcheting, clacking sound, constricting his throat and chest. Gagging and choking he felt them squeeze tighter and tighter. His mouth stretched open-his blue tongue lolled outward. His face swelled to a grotesque purple mask and his ribs began to fracture under the pressure with audible snaps.


            Blood proceeded to trickle from his mouth and nose. His eyes rolled up in their sockets and bulged, blood began to flow from their ducts and his ear passages.


            The brass rods descended still, crushing his chest until bone, no longer resisting, allowed the bars their final descent, smashing him nearly into the woodwork of the counter. His body trisected, his arms, lulled outside of the brass vice, and his lower limbs still twitched and danced.


            Rheiner could not have been any more dead. The metal bars rose and his grotesquely divided body was lifted upright and appeared to stand atop the bar. It shook. His head, barely attached to the remaining thin cords of his neck, lulled back and forth, bloodied and broken, and his legs moved like a marionette in a macabre death-dance. Blood began to stream from the pores of his skin and flow down to the bar. Smoke emanated from somewhere within, swirling around and forming blisters on his face and the remaining chest area that hadn't been smashed earlier. All at once his groin flashed in flame and his body was consumed in hell's own fire which attached itself solely to his body.


            No matter how hard they tried, no one could escape the bar. Some unknown force suddenly sealed every exit. They could do nothing but scream and gaze in horror at what was once Rheiner, was now a melting skeleton and breaking apart in flames before their eyes. The stench of burning hair and skin permeated the bar.


            Kern lost control of his rage and it flew out in all directions once its primary target was no longer available. Light bulbs burst. Glasses throughout the bar flew in every direction and shattered, as well as the full-length mirror in back of the bar, spraying shards of glass everywhere.


            Cole lay behind the bar covering Felípe with his body, when a huge, lightening shaped blade of broken mirror speared forcefully into his back and continued its murderous plunge downward and into the young boy beneath him, joining them forever in a deadly caress.


            Ron Firebrand, trying to reach Kern, pushed through the berserk mob of frightened people and a whirlwind of flying debris and furniture, only to run directly into the path of the exploding jukebox. Fragments of broken glass and CD discs flew at him with incredible speed and force, lancing and imbedding his face and body, throwing him to the floor. He lay dead, one hand clutched half a disk protruding from his throat, and the other rested across the bleeding body of the drag-queen, Geraldine.


            Tables and chairs rose and flew in all directions, hitting anyone in their path. Overturned booths collapsed atop those who sought protection beneath them, crushing them to the tiled floor and to their death.


            Electrical wiring tore itself from the walls, whipping white and blue sparks throughout the bar while water pipes burst, spraying electrocution to those who came in contact with the torrent of water and the flailing wires. Kern watched all of it, unscathed, feeling his powers converting his anger into a terrible, living force. A thundering quake shook the entire building, followed by a piercing howl that came from somewhere behind Kern.


            The strong wind that blew everything about eddied itself into a misty form and whirled its way in front of Kern, towering over the boy.


            It shaped and reshaped itself, forming the image of Kern turned beast. A hellish creature, part physical, part mist, gazed down at the frozen Kern with glowing red eyes. Its maw, filled with needle sharp teeth, salivated and drooled. It was flicking a long, black, spiny tongue down at the boy.


            When its hands, with needle sharp talons reached out, Kern's fear snapped and he screamed. “George! Help me! I can't stop it!”




Wake Me When It's Over

Chapter 21


             Kern bolted up from his stool with a sharp cry.


            “Jesus, man! You scared the shit out of me!” Ron said, jumping at Kern's sudden outcry.


            Kern looked over at him wide eyed, then scanned the bar. Everything was as it was. Most of the customers were still at the rear, and the music was still blasting away from an unscathed jukebox.


            “George?” he thought.


            “I am still here.


            “What happened?”


            “You faced an alternative.


            “None of those things I saw actually happened?”


            “Your part in it did not.


            “My part? But, what about the rest? Felípe, Carlos... Rheiner?”


            “Those events are about to begin.”


            “Begin? My God! I've got to stop them”


            “I knew you would choose to do so, and so I showed you how you might.


            “Oh, Lord, not that way! Was...was that me? Did I have all that power?


            “Human emotions. Fear, hate...love, are very powerful, indeed. Add to them the powers of the B'anati, and unchecked, you could destroy your world. It is an event of our past, and why so many millennia ago, the B'anati, those who survived, strove to rid ourselves of those handicaps.


            “Even love?”


            “What is love without hate to oppose it?”


            “Are you all right?” Ron asked, breaking Kern's conversation with George, which lasted only milliseconds, as did the images the alien sent him previously. “You looked like you were in another world there, for a minute.”


            “Uh, yeah. No, I'm fine,” he said to the handsome man he saw die moments ago. Excuse me. I...I gotta do something. Stay here, okay? I'll be...right back.”


            Though he wanted to go with Kern, Ron couldn't bring himself to leave the stool.


            “George? Will you come with me?” he asked, and watched as the glow left the long necked bottle on the bar.


            “I am here.”


            Kern edged his way to the rear of Tully's and, as it did before, in his earlier vision; the crowd began opening a path, giving him easy access. “I'm scared, George.”


            “I know. I will help as I can, but your will is your own. I believe, though by accident, if such things be, I have chosen well.”


            “Thanks, George.”


            The path before him widened. The familiar pool table appeared before him, but he arrived at a different time.


            “This is real time, isn't it, George?”


            “It is.”

            Kern saw Rheiner holding Felípe by the wrists, the boy's torso hanging down, and watched Rheiner pull a knife from its sheathe, handing it to a biker. The man was forcing Carlos' to suck him off.


            “Rheiner!” Kern said. “Let the boy go!”


            The loud music suddenly stopped playing, and in the quiet stillness, the customers who were otherwise engaged, ceased their activities and began to untangle from each other and stood to watch.


            “Did you do that, George?” Kern asked his friend.


            “I stopped the machine. The people are more curious as to what Rheiner will do to you, than in continuing what they were doing.”


            Rheiner turned his head and looked at Kern. “Get fuckin' lost, punk!” he said, still holding Felípe's wrists and lifting the boy's head, pushing his face into his balls. “Lick 'em!” he told Felípe.


            “George, he didn't stop! He didn't let go when I told him to!” Kern thought, shocked.


            “He is insane, Kern. We cannot reach him with mere suggestions he is unwilling to recognize.”


            The biker, who was shooting off his second load in Carlos' mouth, was also, in his thrall, beginning to pass Rheiner's knife to a tall, skinny, bearded guy standing close to him.


            “You must get that knife before he gives it to that man, Kern. His drug-crazed mind will never give it up willingly.”


            Kern pushed his mind at the knife in the biker's hand and watched as it flung itself up and out of the man's grip, sailing to the ceiling tiles and embedding itself in them.


            As the knife left his hand, the biker stared at its flight then looked back to Kern, his mouth dumbfounded in shock.


            “Go home,” Kern told the biker still kneeling over Carlos, “and take him with you!” he added, pointing to the bearded druggie.


            Pulling his still ejaculating cock from Carlos' mouth, the man rose from the pool table, tucked his sticky, spewing membrane in his pants and grabbed the drug freak by the arm.


            “Whoa,” said the freak. “Did you see that? I'm on some good shit, man! Excellent!”


            “Shut up, asshole!” said the biker in a hushed voice. The two of them pushed their way through the crowd and left through the now unbarred doorway at the rear. Neither one of them looked back.


            Carlos sat up, unbound by anyone, coughing and spitting, wiping his face free, if not his memory, of the humiliating invasion. He turned to find his brother. Instead, his eyes met the soft, brown pupils of young Kern, and for reasons he never knew, he hypnotically lifted himself from the pool table, searched and found his scattered, torn clothes. He dressed quietly and left Tully's in a numbing haze of confusion.


            Rheiner was too occupied, enjoying his pleasures with Felípe, to notice the changes around him. People were wandering off, dressing and slipping silently, shamefully, out through the closest exit they could find.


            Cole waited by the pool table for his chance to save Felípe.


            “Get ready, baby,” Rheiner said to the boy, whose cries had been muffled by Rheiner's ball sacks over his small mouth and held there by Rheiner's powerful hand at the back of his head. “'Cause I'm gonna shove this fucker all the way down your little throat!” Rheiner finished, grabbing the shaft of his huge hard-on, peeling back the foreskin, and bringing the head to Felípe's lips.


            Felípe smelled the stale, raunchy odor of smegma from previous orgasms and felt his mouth being pried open by the enormous, fleshy, invading cockhead, pushing its way in, pre-cum oozing from the wide slit. The huge member snaked towards his throat.


            Panicked, he struggled against Rheiner's hold on his wrists, and tried rising upwards to get away. With no one holding his legs any longer and his torso already off the table, he began to slide backwards towards Rheiner, increasing the cock's penetration; painfully spreading his lips and jaw.


            “Oh, yeah! You want it, don't you?” Rheiner said, misinterpreting the boy's movements. The perverted excitement caused him to prematurely ejaculate.


            Rheiner's cum raced up from his balls and began to spew in Felípe's mouth, filling it and pouring out the sides. The boy tried desperately to swallow the salty thick fluid to keep from gagging, or worse, drowning. As Rheiner tried to pump the boy's head with his hand, Felípe's ass suddenly rose and slipped from the pool table, carrying his legs with him. His lower body falling caused his head to rise, popping Rheiner's cock from his mouth violently.


            The rapid shift in weight loosened Rheiner's grip from Felípe's wrists and the boy dropped to the floor.


            Cole scrambled painfully to the boy; catching his head before it hit the uncarpeted cement floor around the pool table. He felt the spray of Rheiner's cum on his cheek and the nape of his neck as the ejaculating cock leaped up and down, purging itself on everything near.


            “Hey! You fuck!” he shouted at Cole. “I'll kill you!” He raised his heavy boot to Cole's head.


            “Now ... together!” George mentally said to Kern.


            Earlier, Kern managed to psychically touch Carlos and the others in the bar. One by one, they began to remove themselves from the premises, at a loss as to what had just occurred there. By the time he removed the danger of being overwhelmed by the corrupt mob, he saw Rheiner begin to force his cock into Felípe's mouth.


            Not sure of how to deal with Rheiner yet, he mentally nudged Felípe, causing the boy to rear up and slide off the table. He regretted the sudden movement had caused the boy to swallow even more of Rheiner's cock, but at least he was now released into Cole's arms and out of Rheiner's control.


            Kern stood, at first staring transfixed on Rheiner's immense spewing rod, then, on George's command, concentrated on removing the man away from Felípe and Cole.


            Cole had placed himself over Felípe, prepared for the kick that Rheiner was aiming at his head. When it didn't happen, he slowly looked up to see Rheiner no longer in front of them. Suffering his own pain, he quickly gathered the limp, sore and exhausted boy in his arms and carried him away from the pool table towards a room in the back he kept as an office.


            Holding Felípe in his arm, he sobbed audibly at the boy's choking efforts to rid his damaged throat of the massive load of cum he'd been forced to swallow. Cole managed to maneuver his right hand into his pocket and take out the ring of keys he kept there. Selecting the one he needed, he opened the office door. It was a large room, well equipped, including a single bed. There he lay the boy, placing a pillow underneath his head and covering him with a blanket he kept folded at the bottom of the bed. He rose and shut the office door and returned to the small sink near the bed where the boy lay. Cole dampened a washcloth and turned to sit with Felípe. He gently, through blurring tears, wiped the teenager's face with one hand while with his other he began softly sweeping his fingers through the boy's matted hair, comforting the young man as he drifted off to sleep.


            When he was certain Felípe was asleep, he bent and kissed him gently on the forehead. At that time, he heard the door to his office open. “Cole, you've got to see this!” Ron said quietly, nodding his head in the direction of the bar.



What To Do

Chapter 22


            Ron had been obediently sitting at the front of the bar, as Kern had told him to. He watched the customers leaving Tully's until there were only he, Cole, Felípe, Kern and Rheiner, remaining. The need to sit there was suddenly lifted, and having witnessed what happened to Rheiner, he went to find Cole. Together they left the office and the sleeping Felípe.


            As they approached the pool table, Cole stopped short at the vision before his eyes. Awestruck, Cole gazed above the table. Surrounded by a dazzling blue-white aura, which flashed green and yellow sparks from within, Ragin' Rhino, Willie Rheiner was hanging in midair. His arms and legs were flailing and kicking. He was apparently screaming as well, but no sound was escaping his mouth. He was still stripped to his waist; his balls and enormous, flaccid cock were whipping about outside his opened pants, as he struggled to free himself from his singular prison.


            Kern stood, arms folded, his brow creased, looking up at his prisoner.


            “How? What?” Cole asked


            Ron, staring up, smiling said, “Something, isn't it?”


            Cole looked at the handsome youth with the worried face. “I remember you...at the bar! Who... what, are you?” he asked.


            “That is not important right now.” Kern/George answered in harmonic resonance. “Right now, we have to do something with him!” they said, keeping Kern's eyes fixed on the weightless Rheiner.


            Cole, at first stunned by this odd vocal counterpoint, looked back up at Rheiner, his anger renewing. “Kill him! Kill the son-of-a-bitch!” he spitted savagely.


            “No. Something else.” Kern said softly.


            “What? What else? He's a monster! A mad dog!” Cole raged.


            “What about doing to him like the others? Can't you make him just ...leave?” Ron offered.


            “His mind will not take that suggestion. He is incurably mad, and very dangerous. He no longer possesses any reasoning faculties.”


            “What's he saying? Can you hear him?” Cole asked.


            “I can. He is shouting obscenities; defying me to kill him. That he is floating there in a psychic bubble does not concern him. His hate and fury are greater than his awareness of his unique situation. Yet, part of him knows I will not kill him. I certainly cannot keep him like that eternally, but I must do something to keep him from abusing and killing others.”


            Rheiner began manipulating his cock, mouthing something at Cole.


            Cole shook his fist in a jacking motion and said, “Fuck you too, asshole!”


            “That does not help,” said Kern. “Obviously, the law cannot be brought into this. Too much to explain.”


            “To say the least!” Cole added.


            “Can you change him? Turn him into a cockroach, or something?” Ron asked, fully accepting the possibility.


            “I can alter him, but not to that degree,” was the reply.


            “You know, you're talking kinda funny. You don't sound like yourself.” Ron observed.


            Kern turned his eyes to the Indian. “No, I guess I don't,” he said purposefully, and smiled.


            From behind Cole and Ron, a small voice said, “Make him blind!” Felípe stood wrapped up in a blanket, looking up at Rheiner's floating figure.


            “Felípe!” Cole said. “You should be lying down.” He went over to the boy and crouching down, held the boy to him.


            “If you take away his sight,” the boy continued in Cole's arms, “he won't be able to hurt people he can't see.”


            “Is that what you would have me do?” Kern asked. Felípe shrugged.


            Kern looked up at Rheiner and thought to George. “Well?”


            “He would still be mad” Returned George.


            “He would be harmless.”


            “Not to himself, and not necessarily to others. Felípe was not correct. If handed a knife, a blind person could stab another person, or, with Rheiner's strength, choke them to death with their bare hands. No, you must alter his mind.”


            “But we can't! You said...”


            “He would not, willingly, allow the change.”


            After a few moments, Kern nodded his head and turned to the others who watched him in amazement. “Go into Cole's office, all of you. I will call you out later.”


            Rheiner watched as the group left obediently. They entered the back room and closed the door. He turned back to Kern as he felt himself being lowered to the pool table.


            His body was laid prone on the hard, felt, booze and cum covered surface, his arms and legs, invisibly bound. The aura that had once surrounded him had vanished. As he felt the power return to his lungs and vocal chords, Rheiner lifted his head to see his brown, leather, work boots unlacing themselves and sliding off his socked feet. His belt was undone as well as the top button of his jeans beneath. He laughed and snarled at Kern as his hips were raised by strong, invisible fingers and his trousers were unzipped, pulled down and removed.


            “Couldn't resist, huh? Had to have some of ol' Rheiner yourself? Well, go ahead. Eat it, fucker!” The corners of his lips foamed. His spittle sprayed as he talked, his cock rising again to full hardness, and he laid his head back down and roared with laughter.


           “I have adjusted the chemical composition of your seed. You must give it to him and I shall direct it and myself into his body.” George told Kern.


            “What will happen to you?”


            “I believe I will be with him.”


            “You believe? You don't know for sure?


            “I have never done this before. However, I see no reason it should not be possible.”


            “You're going to give him your powers? This maniac?.”


            “He will be no more than a microscopic part of himself; neither void nor fully alive.”


            “But if you take away his will, even though insane, you'll be interfering! I thought...”


            “I am no longer singularly B'anati. I will never be again. ...I am now B'anati-Kern.”


            “What... what happens to me?”


            “You will be almost as you were before we met. You will not be unhappy.


            “Will I remember? Will I see...know you anymore”


            “Kern, you must do this now, while I have made these adjustments. There is little time.”


            Rheiner watched as Kern stripped off his own clothes. His eyes widened as Kern's already ample cock began to alter and stretch downwards. Ten, eleven, twelve...thirteen inches swung flaccid above his ball sacks that were rushing to grow in proportion beneath.


            “What the fuck you think you're gonna do with that thing?” Rheiner growled, as the boy walked over to the table.


            Kern climbed upon the pool table, placing his shins just below Rheiner's now outstretched arms, held in place by that invisible force, and kneeled over the man's face.


            Rheiner, aware of what was coming, screamed, “Get the fuck off me, faggot!” and clenched his jaw tightly.


            Kern pressed the huge cockhead to Rheiner's lips.


            Rheiner twisted his head away. “You put that in my mouth and I'll bite the fucker off, you cocksucking son-of-a-bitch-mother-fucking-faggot!”


            “No you won't,” said Kern, softly. “This is a concept you can accept in your mind, something you've done to others and have had done to yourself before. Now, put it in your mouth and get it hard. You will not even scrape, much less bite me.”


            “Fuck you!” Rheiner said, returning his head and opening his mouth to say something further, letting the bulbous head swiftly slip in.


            Kern's cock worked its way in through the mumbled sounds of protest, over the man's tongue, past the teeth that, incredibly, could not touch the surface of his cock, and continued to jab its way down Rheiner's gagging gullet. He watched as it increased in size and hardness.


            Only a third of it appeared and disappeared in and out of Rheiner's lips as the cock's width expanded, stretching the man's jaws incredibly. Saliva and pre-cum drooled from his sucking mouth. His eyes bulged with fear as they stared up at his assailant. His eyes watered and mucus ran from his nose in his effort to steal breaths of air.


            Fully erect, Kern removed his colossal hardness from Rheiner's aching jaws and stood over the man.


            “You fuck! You bastard! Let me outta here! I'll kill you!” Rheiner screamed, looking up at the slick, wet and dripping titan shadowing his face.


            The force that held his arms and legs to the table, tossed his body over onto his stomach as easily as a leaf in a breeze. His arms stretched out as before; his legs spread widely apart. His face turned to the side, he tried lifting his head and twisting it back. There he saw Kern, kneeling well below his ass preparing to shove that behemoth between his spread legs and exposed asshole.


             “Don't you fucking dare, you prick! Nobody ever fucks Rheiner. Nobody! You hear me. You prick-faced, mother-fuck...eeeeeeeya!” He screamed as Kern began to push his way in, using only the remaining spit from Rheiner's mouth as lubricant.


            Only once, in prison, had Rheiner's ass been abused, and the guy who did it was later found beaten nearly to death in a small room off the cafeteria. No one else touched him that way again. Now the biggest cock in the world was forcing its way through his shithole. In and out. Going deeper and deeper. His ass was on fire and Rheiner felt as though his entire insides needed to fall out, and would, once the gargantuan phallus was removed.


            Kern could feel the pleasant, sensual squeeze of the resisting anal muscles as he drove himself deeper, but incredibly, he was not enjoying this. Conversely, he felt badly about it.


            “Concentrate!” He heard. “You must finish, and soon.”


            Kern pushed even harder pass the resisting constraints of Rheiner's butt muscles, until his cock was buried completely in Rheiner's hot firm ass. He proceeded to withdraw and reenter at an increasingly phenomenal pace, his body sweating profusely against Rheiner's back. Hunching his own ass and pushing down again, his cock's pre-cum began to lubricate the inflamed intestinal wall making it easier to fuck Rheiner all the more faster. The tight sphincter of his ass was clutching and releasing the invading marauder. A cock, feeling like the size of a man's arm, was plunging in and out of the Rheiner's captive and punished asshole.


            With every heave forward, his ample balls smashed against Rheiner's firm ass cheeks and every time he felt the muscular orbs against his groin, his cock flexed within.


            He humped the man faster and harder as together, their voices sang a sexual duet of pain and pleasure, all in heavy short breaths.


            Kern began to feel the warm churning in his balls, and his cock, gorged with blood and peaking in steel hardness, prepared to unleash the flow of semen that was rising to its tip.


            A moment before orgasm, Kern withdrew more than half of his length and drove it forcefully all the way back in. His cum flew to the surface and began to splash against the walls of Rheiner's intestines.


            Rheiner screamed horribly.


            Kern, with that first enormous wave of cum, howled, “Geeeoooorge!”


            Exhausted, his heart thrumming, his cock still cumming, Kern let his weight fall on Rheiner's strong, sweat soaked back, panting heavily and enjoying the warm pulsation's as they ebbed inside the heated tunnel of Rheiner's abused asshole. Rheiner lay quietly as Kern felt his cock reducing in size inside the man.


            Raising himself up, weakly, he looked down at the unusually subdued man. “George?” he asked aloud.


            “I am here,” George said through Rheiner's lips. “Would you mind removing yourself from me? I am rather uncomfortable and terribly sore. I shall have to make some repairs to this body.”


            Still inside Rheiner, Kern yelled out, “George! George, it's you!” he said to Rheiner's back. “I didn't forget you! I remember everything!”


            “Kern, please,” George begged.


            “Oh! Oh, sure!” Kern said, removing himself from Rheiner's, now George's, ass. He climbed off the pool table noticing his cock was spotlessly clean and flaccid and returned to the eight inches which he had increased it to at Copps'. He was confident that it would increase to more than ten inches when hard.


            Rheiner's body rose and sat up. “Well, why don't we put on our clothes and get everybody out of here?” George said, sounding very much like Rheiner, but with a much gentler tone.


            I hate to tell you, George, but you just used a contraction!” Kern grinned.


            George merely sighed and rolled Rheiner's eyes.



 And They Lived...

Chapter 23


            It would be anti-climactic to suggest that certain lives were not changed by past events. They were. Five years have past since that night, when mystery and magic ruled over all reason and logic. At twenty-one years of age, Felípe and his adoptive father, Cole, currently run a successful Hispanic/American restaurant in a building that once held Tully's Tavern. Felípe graduated from college with honors and began, privately, studying business and restaurant management.


            Cole also adopted Felípe's sister Rosalia, and their brother Carlos, with their uncle's blessing, assuring their citizenship. Rosalia married just a year ago and moved to Chicago with her husband. Carlos, who remembered almost nothing of that evening, shortly after the adoption was legalized, he drifted down to the city and disappeared from contact.


            Ron and Kern set up house together and worked at Cole's restaurant. They had been allowed to keep their memory of the events of that evening, as were Cole and Felípe. Kern's powers, however, were gone, but there were some residual effects. His brain had become of warehouse of information. His new found intelligence got him through his GED and night college courses easily. He received a degree in both behavioral and social sciences and thought about becoming a sex therapist. Ron firmly protested that idea. Kern could keep his very adept knowledge of sex at home he felt, since another residual effect was that beautiful cock of his as well as a continually ravenous sexual appetite that Ron wanted to enjoy all to himself.


            Upon leaving Tully's that night five years ago, Willie Rheiner also left town, his whereabouts unknown. There were a few exceptions, but for the most part, he was not missed.





             The eleven o'clock, evening business hours were just getting started for some people. Rain splattered against the pavement and eddied reflections of city lights in the puddles below the curb. Passing tires eradicated them completely.


            A handsome guy, of huge bearing, walked up to a young, Hispanic man standing near the corner of a well known Manhattan meat-rack. The swarthy Latino, standing in the shelter of a bookstore doorway, was holding his crotch and looking at passers-by suggestively. His eyes widened with fear in recognition at the stranger's approach.


            “H...Hey, Rheiner!” the young man stammered. “I thought...maybe you was...”


            “Hello, Carlos!” Rheiner said, in a gentle voice that surprised the young Latino. “Let's talk,” he said, putting his arm around the boy's shoulders as he walked with him down the street. Their figures disappeared into the drizzling rain and the crowded Manhattan streets They were unnoticed by the preoccupied young lad huddling only a few steps away  in another  doorway, also trying to earn a living and stay dry at the same time.


            “Boring!” he thought to himself.








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