I only want it if it’s sick and twisted and makes us bleed on the outside. That’s the sad truth. The thing on the tip of my tongue that I can never bring myself to say to another person outright. My dark imagination keeps me enthralled in the fantasy, but the confines of this world limit the potential of externalizing my pain. And so I begin my search the only place I know…the internet. Some gay networking websites. For an eighteen year old it is the greatest thing since porn.
I’m constantly overwhelmed by the mechanics of the keyboard, the quick flashes of artificial light, and every loud beep. It all keeps me on edge. With my eyes ticking back and forth I feel like a drug addict. I’m in love with the feeling of doing something wrong. There it is, a new message. The picture of a faceless muscular torso meets me as I scroll down the web page. They’re all becoming just like everything else, an empty blur of superficial lights. They mean nothing. What does matter, what does mean something is this conversation.
Hotmguy4587: Hi, how are you
You seem cool, want to hangout?
Naughtyboyxo5: Maybe, what would we do?
Hotmguy4587: Did you read my profile
Naughtyboyxo5: No
Hotmguy4587: I have some fetishes
Naughtyboyxo5: That’s cool I guess
Hotmguy4587: want to meet up
Naughtyboyxo5: sure
I never actually meet someone from the internet. Normally it is enough to just see the words play across the screen, the novelty always amusing enough. But today, he’s catching my attention. The strangeness of fear seducing me. I can’t stop my mind obsessing and after sometime I agree to meet him at the cafe of a local mall.
There’s a cafe at a local mall, I drive to meet him there. I try not to think about what I’m doing, a full block against morality. I park and find my way inside the cafe. I open the door to a sprinkle of different people. One man is old enough to be my father, I know this isn’t him, of course the fear always persists of someone sending fake information. This is why we meet here.
“Hey,” I hear from the opposite direction, and turn to meet a predatorily sick smile. I sit across from him at a small round table in front of the window. He’s sitting without coffee or anything else. I gaze without shame as he does the same, noticing he’s pretty short, fatter than in his picture, and older than I thought. For some reason my eyes are drawn to his yellow teeth and the dirty ugly shoes he’s wearing, socks sloppily sticking out.
I smile but do not utter a single word. It’s funny. We are stuck in silence because I don’t know his name and he doesn’t know mine either.
“I’m Mike. How are you?” he asks shifting as he leans in closer breaking the silence.
He’s unsure of what’s appropriate but moves closer anyway, as I shutter.
“Nick. I’m good,” I try to form a smile with my lips. “Just got done class and came here.”
“Nice, nice. So what do you want to do?” he asks me, but I know he’s really just checking the temperature, which is cold, extremely cold.
“I don’t know”. I sit and wait for what I don’t know.
“You don’t seem comfortable,” he says.
“I’m fine,” I say looking down at my fingers. It’s all I can do not to shudder or run as he presses one of his small ugly hands on my arm. I’m stuck in this position for maybe 10 minutes with his fake sincere questions.
“I actually have homework to do,” I suddenly become very serious. I know this acting thing is best when an exaggeration is thought of as truth, not for him but for myself.
“Ok,” he says. “I’ll walk you to your car”. I can’t help my upper lip lifting in the corner in tics, as I walk away with him following me like a puppy. At the door of my car I turn around to say goodbye. Mike is inches away from me, much too close.
“I had a really good time,” he says. I nod and smile slightly, but I don’t hide that it isn’t natural. Suddenly his mouth is on mine, opening sloppily with his eyes closed, and headed for me like a devouring cave. I try to get away but my car stops me. I open my mouth slightly. I don’t want his tongue in my mouth, but he tries to force it. I push him back.
“Nice meeting you,” I say.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” Mike asks while feeling down the right leg of his jeans, the bulge now apparent. He places my hand on it, and it’s warm and inviting unlike the rest of his body.
“I can’t. I told you I have to do homework,” I say.
“In your car,” he whispers feeling between my legs. I hate him, but slowly I am growing ambivalent. We get into the back of the car, looking around to make sure we are alone in the mall parking lot. I don’t know what I expect, but it isn’t for him to start undoing my shoe laces. He slowly unties them, fascinated as if opening a present, purposeful and intrigued.
“What are you doing?” I ask more curious than anything else.
“I want to get a look at these hot feet,” Mike says. When both shoes are off he places them side by side, very orderly on the floor as if they are precious. He takes both sock covered feet in hand and rubs them slowly, feeling every inch. His mouth now starts to pant a little and he closes his eyes in ecstasy, as I watch curiously skeptical. I pull my feet away.
“I don’t…,” I begin. He places a finger on my mouth, and comes closer for a kiss. I turn my head to the side, in a complete shut down. He sits back on the other side of the back seat, taking my feet in hand again.
“I can pay you,” he whispers softly, as if speaking to my feet.
“I’m not a whore,” I say bitterly.
“They’re just so sexy. I’m just going to lick them,” he gasps. He takes off my socks unable to control himself any further. I can’t hide my disgust as he sucks my foot heel to toes. Pretty soon he is erratic. Mike falls against the seat, eyes rolling back, as he unleashes a girlish and immensely unattractive moan. He grips the door as he buckles until finally lying breathless in climax. I pull my foot away as he composes himself.
“That was fun,” Mike says. He gets out of my car, leaving me to put my shoes back on and head home, having learned a valuable lesson.
*
This time I must ask questions.
Naughtyboyxo5: What are you into?
PHillyMechanic3: Kissing, oral, fucking, spanking.
Naughtyboyxo5: You like spanking or getting spanked
PHillyMechanic3: Spanking
I let the word float around in my mind, then I agree to met Bobby the Spanker. His apartment is in the city, a good half hour ride by subway. I sit unable to confront the turn of events. I think only of how I need to get out of my current state of mind. My phone keeps vibrating with my ex-boyfriend Dylan’s calls. It has been happening less.
I choke up a little when I meet Bobby at the station. He’s average height, and a tan muscular blonde. He’s laughing mischievously when he see’s me walking toward him. Time slows as I take in everything around me and we meet for the first time.
“Hey,” he says cockily.
“Hey,” I say nervously, as we begin walking through the city street side by side. He doesn’t enter my personal space, or say all that much, not that he needs to. He lives in a fairly nice loft. The house is contemporary and bare like a factory, lacking any sentimental human qualities. Once he closes the large steel door, which covers a large portion of the wall like a garage, he moves in taking hold of the back of my neck. He sneers at me, fighting me to his bed which lies on the side of the room on the floor. I laugh myself as he takes control while kissing me along my neck like a vampire, sucking away my soul with each breath.
“You like that? You sexy slut?” I feel his fingers roughly pressing against my body in passion. We make out for a little bit, until I crawl over his lap, suggesting he take advantage of what I came here for. I turn my head to watch him and seductively bite my lower lip. His large hand comes down hard, and immediately I am lost. My face is blank as I loose every emotion. What was once overwhelming is now empty as I’m treated the way I feel.
*
I don’t think I ever actually broke up with Dylan, if we were ever really dating anyway. He began chasing me in high school and just never stopped, even though I could never understand what he saw in me. I just stopped answering his desperate attempts to pacify me. He’s my age and attractive enough, actually too attractive. Everything I remember about him makes me hate myself. His confident walk and his wide innocent gleaming eyes which opened in a magnetic joy that seemed to emanate from him. His jokes always made me laugh. The way he knew to pull me close in the rain, slowly finding my mouth with his soft tongue. But the worst was how he whispered those awful words about loving me in my ear.
We were driving on the highway, the rain creating a heavy mist. I just kept my focus outside of the car while leaning my head against the cold glass. It really wasn’t his fault but he’s the one that dragged me out of bed this morning with his smiling pleas. We were coming to an exit which sat next to an open field of dead stick like growth. It looked like dead or burned grain, but wasn’t.
“I have an idea,” he said, looking at me amused. I gave him my usual vacant stare, his optimism gradually torturing me. He got out of the car and closed the heavy door with a loud bang, heading into the rain. I continued staring straight ahead, hoping a drunk or teenage girl texter would meet him. He tapped on my window and looked down at me with that goofy smile. I couldn’t help but laugh. I saw his few front teeth which twisted just slightly, and began to hate him again realizing even these imperfections were sweet and beautiful.
He brought me out into the field holding my loose arms in his strong gentle hands. He wasn’t satisfied with my feet touching the ground, he wanted us far out in the nothingness. I guess he didn’t know that I didn’t need to be in the middle of a field to get the same exact feeling I had in the car with him. The highway was only on one side, and far enough away that all we could see were trees and the dark gray clouds blooming overhead as they drenched our clothes tight against us. It felt strange having the cold of the water, and warmth of his body wrapping around me. Then he kissed, and I opened my mouth, but did nothing else to aid this. After a few seconds I couldn’t take it anymore, and looked away, as he held me even tighter.
“I love you,” he whispered smoothly interrupting the soft silence of the wind. I pushed him away as I lost my footing and fell to the grass throwing up. He came over right away.
“Don’t touch me,” I said shuddering as I felt his fingers graze my shoulder. After that day he called less. I never answered so it eventually just stopped.
*
Naughtyboyxo5: Hey, What’s up
SaMman324: Nm just got home from work, horny. Hbu
Naughtyboyxo5: Same, just doing some stuff. How old are you
SaMman324: I’m 42
Naughtyboyxo5: 18.
Is that cool
SaMman324: Yeah. What are you into
I pause. I know where this conversation is leading.
Naughtyboyxo5: idk, what are you into
SaMman324: Rough top here
Do you want to meet yes or no?
Naughtyboyxo5: I’m not sure
SaMman324: It’s up to you
Naughtyboyxo5: What would we do?
SaMman324: I don’t talk. You coming or not
I should be able to live, day to day, with this hum-drum of life without seeking some kind of release, yet I can’t. I watch everyone quickly moving around me, I am one of them. I wonder if they are feeling the same, this intense burning deep inside as everything rushes forward, anxiety building up even when you think it has nowhere else to go. Sometimes I pull at my hair from the roots, but now I’m on my way to this stranger’s house. I feel the anxiety bubbling-up in my stomach, stretching to my limbs. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this, so paralyzed by fear. Making the decision should have ended my fear, but instead it was only transforming.
I drive, the lights and road pass beside me, and I’m entirely unaware of any differences in the landscape. Nothing else left to do. This is my last chance. I can turn around and go back, never return, and think about this as some unfinished joke. I already know that I’m not going to turn back. I’m held on this path for better or worse, resigned to my fate and ready to accept the consequences.
Soon I’m driving with the dense trees and sparse homes braking up the open fields . This makes it difficult to find the house. My hand is shaking as I pick up the my phone to call him. I pull over in the middle of the empty road as I wait to confirm a full turn around.
“Hello,” Jack says in his gruff voice.
“Yeah, I think I missed the turn,” I say.
“It’s the blue house on the left, I’ll come outside” he says sounding annoyed.
“Ok.” I hang up and begin to turn the wheel.
I pull in at the same moment he exits the back door of his house lighting a cigarette. The porch light is bright but incomplete. With smoke rising around his face I can only make out his massive form and cocky presence. The shadowy figure stands calmly waiting. I feel a grip tighten in my stomach holding me down to the seat. My fear is telling me to run, then I remind myself that this is what I want. Isn’t it? He opens my door, and I see his mouth as he pulls me from the car. His lips taste bitter like an ashtray but sting like a shot of liquor. He forces me further along and into his house with my feet almost dragging in the dirt.
Everything stops the moment I feel him slap me. Nothing goes unnoticed as he does what I ask, and what I beg him not to do. For once I am free of everything, the disillusioned longings, the bitter resentments, the insensitive hum drum of the day to day. Only I know that I am paying in pain and my threshold has been crossed hours ago.
Once inside he leads me to his bedroom. It’s not well lit but I can tell the large bed is made, and the room is clean and bare. He steps behind me. I take in a large breath trying to steady myself. I feel like passing out. I’m visibly shaking under his strong hands which come to my shoulders. They massage painfully manipulating my bones and muscles as if I’m clay under his grasp.
“Undress,” he orders me. I turn to meet his gaze behind me. His face is entirely serious, there is no room for humor in this room. He doesn’t wait for me to respond, pushing me forward to bend over the bed. My pants are quickly pulled down. Before my bare exposed skin is used to the coolness from the air, a burning sensation rides up my spine with his rough hand coming down on me.
“You’re a fucking whore, you know that?” he whispers into my ear keeping his full weight on top of me. I don’t fight him, but I know that I’m not leaving this bed until he lets me.
He spanks me again and again. At first there is nothing too strange about it, and even though I exhale air quickly with each smack, I find myself moving my hips to meet him. But then I feel something else. In one quick motion the beautiful pain turns into something cruel. It’s a piece of leather, probably a belt. I don’t just feel the leather, but also a piece of metal. I scream out as tears involuntarily start to run.
“No,” I say simply. I’m trying to pull up my pants while simultaneously getting on my knees to make a run for it. He grabs the back of my pants and forces me flat on the bed again.
“You think you can fucking tease me slut?” he asks.
“No,” I say, my building fear worse than the actual hit of his belt.
“Shut the fuck up,” he tells me and I do. He’s moving around behind me and then I feel the coarse spindles of rope wrapping around my wrists which he forces above my head.
I pull them away, and he’s not prepared. My arms are free for the moment, and somehow my elbow has hit him hard against his chin. I stand up, as he rubs his face in surprise. Then I’m two feet from him, standing and watching him, my pants loose around my thighs. His eyes are on fire, and his mouth is trembling in anger. His hands are on my shoulders before I have a chance to move or even think. Then his fist hits my stomach. I can’t breath. Then my face. I’m lying on the floor of his bedroom with the force of the man’s fists hitting me until everything goes black.
When I wake up, it’s because he’s on top of me moving himself in and out of me. I’m not tied up, but it’s hard to move or see. Something wet is on most of my body, and it burns when it leaks into my eyes. I can only groan as he has his way with me. He’s still not gentle. The pain inside me burns, but I can take it with the distraction of the rest of my body.
He leaves the room and I take advantage of the absence to crawl my body across the hard wood floor. I go out of the front door and down the steps to my car, watching the dirt stick against my wet fingers and limbs. I frantically dig my way, fumbling as I try not to fall under my weak knees. The only thing I feel as I reenter my car is luck and perhaps gratitude. I can feel the wetness on the back of my head from where he spit down on me when he was finished.I look back one last time now inside my car. He’s been watching me from the door and laughing.
I can’t stop crying. My rib cage burns along with my insides, the pain a kind of intense rush. When he hit me it felt unbearable, but now it is almost enjoyable driving home with the smell of blood, now crusted to the corners of my mouth. I don’t know why I do this, or at least I’m not ready to admit the reasons to myself, but I can’t help feeling relief after what happened. Something hurts but it isn’t the bruises or the cuts. It is something deeper, something inside my head. I pull over still crying. I look at myself in the overhead mirror. Why am I doing this to myself? Do I hate myself? I do, but I will never admit it. I would rather face a thousand beatings than admit that I want to be hurt because I am the sadist and my body is my victim.
I decide to call Dylan. He answers almost immediately with that stupid surprised voice he has. I hate him in this moment, but my revulsion lasts only a second.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wiping away the wetness of tears on my cheek, hoping that it makes me feel more whole as a person, at least enough to pretend I’m not broken.
“I’m just getting some stuff done,” Dylan says. Of course he’s always doing something logical or practical, never without reason. I can already feel the boredom creeping into my limbs to escape, even though I can just hang up. “What are you up to?” I stay silent, unsure of how to proceed. “Are you alright, you sound kind of upset?”
“No,” I laugh. I hate it, but I know that I only sound worse off, and that I’m now leading him to question me further so I quickly interrupt him. “Can I see you sometime?”
“Of course. You know you can whenever you want,” he said. It’s so easy for him, he just lets me do what I want, which is the only thing I don’t want.
“Alright, well I’ll call you later,” I said. He tries to say something else before I hang up.
I finally get home to a dark house. I make my way to the bathroom, breathing deeply with each stab of pain. The hot steaming water of the shower begins to coax the dried blood to depart. I just stand under the water, my mind now empty. I spend most of what feels like hours thinking of nothing. I’m only standing, feeling the water. I am free.
I fall into bed exhausted, and quickly fall asleep. The last image I see is Dylan’s goofy smile. I’m not angry, but sad. If I die tonight I will never see that smile again.
*
“What the hell happened to you?” Dylan asks behind his front door. It’s been a week since the night “it” happened, but I’m still bruised up.
“Nothing. Do you want me to come in or not?” He can’t stop his happiness overtaking him, even if he’s disturbed at the sight of me. I watch suspiciously as I enter the house.
“My parents are gone for a while,” Dylan says.
“Cool”.
It’s still awkward between us. We go to his room and I sit on the end of his bed staring into the distance.
“Why did you come here?” he asks trying to seem busy on his computer, as if this question were simple bullshit small talk. I don’t answer.
“I mean, I’m glad you did. I missed you. I’m just wondering because of your call, and now showing up here like that,” he says.
“What?” I ask sarcastically. He points to my face. “Oh, that’s nothing”. I lift my shirt to reveal my ribs which are now a mixture of deep purple and pink from my arm pit down to my thighs. He grabs my shoulder.
“What happened to you?” I look away from his gentle eyes.
“I met a stranger online, went to his house and let him beat and fuck me,” I say as he shudders away from me. We have somehow exchanged places, and now he’s quiet.
“Why do you care?” I’m sitting next to him, but not too close.
“I love you,” he says.
“Why would you love me?” I ask seriously. “Don’t love me. I’m disgusting. Look at me”. I take his head and force him to look at my face with the knowledge of how it became this way. I can’t tell if this is a conversation that I could have had with him in the field that day it rained. He takes my face gently in his large hands and kisses the cut on my eyebrow, and our faces meet, no kissing just cheek to cheek with heavy breathing. He lifts me up, and in an instant we are standing.
“Is this what you want?” he asks me. “You need this?”
“Yes,” I say, as Dylan presses his hands further against my throat, placing me between him and the hard cold wall. His eyes are no longer so large, no longer so bright. He doesn’t look at me longingly anymore. I’ve hurt him too much. The love he had for my unattainable mind is gone now that it’s open for him to view. He only loved me when he could put me on a pedestal, painting an image that never really existed. I’m slowly losing consciousness as my lips fight for air like a fish. The wet flesh of his taut angry mouth touches my mouth. He’s not smiling anymore. I fall into a kind of darkness, losing him, myself, and everything with it. I am free and even though I want him I know I will be back online before the week is through. It’s scary, dangerous, stupid, but I can’t help myself. He could never love me, no one could.
