By Royal Decree
I hesitated at the doorway, looked left and right down the corridor, then knocked. Knock-knock, pause, knock-knock-knock, pause, knock. The code I’d paid for. God, I hated these places. Couldn’t believe I’d sunk this low.
I turned the knob, sticky from god-knew-what—I didn’t want to know.
“Welcome.”
A youthful voice. My lips pulled back into my cheek. The right side only. I felt it. The pull. Felt it because I tried not to show my delight.
I stepped from dark corridor into darker room, let the heel of my snakeskin boot tap the door closed.
“Make yourself at home.” The youth’s words, syruped with drink, stumbled from across the room.
A light flashed. Moved through the air. Landed on a stubble of candle wax. Phosphor smell burst through the air, then poof, disappeared, replaced by the scent of vanilla, and something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. A rotten lemon? A decaying tuna sandwich? Vomit? My stomach tightened. Why couldn’t I turn around? Leave?
“Don’t be shy. The bed’s right there.”
Now I could see who owned the voice. Nice looking. Had me by an inch or two. The hair reminded me of Black Minx, the horse I’d lost a bundle on at Doomben. On a photo finish no less. Should’ve listened to Charlie Hersch. He warned me that filly would stay undefeated. The Minx’s mane was longer than the kid’s, which fell just past the collar of his shirt. Looked like a silk shirt. Black silk. Or maybe midnight blue. Or deep plum.
I slid my fingertips across my bottom lips, thinking—color, not a difference to make a difference. I rubbed my bottom lip against my teeth, an old habit I had no intention on breaking, except in front of news cameras. Now skin color? That would make a difference. A big difference.
But Billy Ray knew where I stood on that matter. Christ, every voter in Dawson County knew where I stood on that matter.
Candle light flicked shadows across the kid’s pale face.
I loosened the tie around my neck. “Where’s the goddamn air in this place?”
“A.C.’s down. Billy Ray says heat’ll add to the atmosphere.”
“If I wanted to screw in a sauna, I’d go to my club.” No. Not my club. Somebody else’s club. “Shit.” No A.C.? In fucking west Texas? “I paid Billy Ray good money. I should have comfort.”
“Billy Ray isn’t into comfort.”
“Flexing his sadistic muscle, is he?”
“Paying me to provide the comfort.”
I unbuttoned the top button on my shirt, forced my breathing to slow, forced my blood pressure down. No sense getting worked up over something you couldn’t change. Wasn’t that what I told city counsel just this morning?
“I’ve had my fill of arguing,” I told the kid. “Got enough of that with people at work. Every fucking day. Makes the goddamn office a pressure cooker.”
I removed the linen handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my forehead. “From one pressure cooker into another, huh?” A chuckle strangled my windpipe.
“You’re smiling.”
“Pretty funny.” Wasn’t funny at all. I ought to get a medal for how well I hold it together. “I’ve got a right to let off steam. Any way I see fit.” I removed my jacket and tossed it on the bed.
A sandstone-colored sheet I assumed was once white covered the mattress. Spotted, dark stains reminded me of Old Joe, the mongrel who shared my home for fourteen years.
Where the hell did that thought come from? Old Joe was dead. Dead for three fucking years. What’s that mutt doing raising his ugly head now?
Maybe that’s what I need, a new mongrel. One who runs to me when I come home at night, wagging his tail, lapping my hand, slobbering his delight.
“Sheet’s clean.”
I jumped when the kid whispered, close, sudden, into my right ear. Nearly peed my pants. God I hated being startled.
The kid placed a gentle hand on my forearm. “Sorry.” The word almost dripped, like thick, raw molasses. “I didn’t mean to scare you. . . . unless you want to be scared.”
“I . . . ah—”
“All you need to do is describe your wishes.”
Wishes? My wishes? I’d made a living out of bartering other people’s dreams. My own had died long ago.
“Your first time?” he asked.
What a laugh. “Yours?”
The kid glanced away, hesitated. “I’ve got experience.”
Hmm. A dodge. I’d obviously struck a nerve. I tried to keep my eyebrows level, my lips from smiling. I’d heard first timers worked harder to please. I waited for the squirm.
“Why don’t you give me a name I can call you?” he said. “Bob, Leonardo, Mr. Smith . . .?”
“It’s . . . King.” A slight rise in my voice tipped off my deceit.
The kid hesitated again, either spotting the lie or about to make one up. “Then King it will be.”
Now I did smile. Wise kid. Knew a big tip depended on making nice.
“And you can call me . . . Prince.” He took my arm and guided me to the bed. “Come over here.”
He had a knack, this kid. He almost made his voice sweet as a woman’s. A new admiration spread inside me. So did Hope. The hope that I’d find what I was searching for, what I’d had to deny needing. Deny needing for way too long. I could help the kid get somewhere in this business.
I sat on a mattress that must’ve been stuffed with the county’s best caliche soil. Hard, lumpy, and moist. “Christ, it’s hot in here.”
Prince stood before me and unbuttoned my shirt.
My shoulders dropped and I rolled my head from side to side, heard the crackling as I stretched out the kinks. Prince must’ve heard it too. He slipped warm hands under the opening of my shirt, kneading the tension from my neck.
A burst of needles radiated from my elbows, ran cold prickles through my arms and chest as my torso shivered. A sound I didn’t even recognize as my own moaned from deep inside me.
“How about a drink, King? Be right back.”
A drink? Now? Did the kid think I wasn’t ready? He trying to enhance my pleasure or get me loaded, make his work easier? Or maybe it was the kid who wasn’t ready. Maybe Prince was as confused as I.
I used the time while Prince was out of the room to scan the nightstand, not really a piece of furniture, rather a pile of cinderblocks with a wood slab on top. A candy dish with a half dozen assorted condoms and finger rubbers sat in the center. An opened package of Juicy-fruit gum, a matchbook with “The Hot Spot” embossed on the cover, and a ballpoint pen lay to one side. A Gideon Bible sat toward the back, looking as crisp and untouched as the day it was printed.
Was the Bible a reminder? A portent to go home? Prince returned with a glass of pale amber liquid. I held it for a long while before drinking it. What if it was spiked? Or poisoned straight out? I twirled it under my nose. It smelled like weak beer. It tasted flat, stale.
“It’s my own concoction,” Prince said. “How do you like it?”
“Different. It’s different.”
“That’s me. Nothing common about me.” Prince pulled his tee shirt over his head and tossed it onto a chair. Cream-colored skin flickered in the candlelight. Obvious the kid didn’t work outside, but he did do some sort of physical work. Tight abs. Defined muscles. He nodded to my glass. “Feel better?”
“Sure, thanks.” Actually, I did feel better. Relaxed. I reached out and touched the kid’s hard chest. The softness of his black hair reminded me of the negligee my wife wore on our honeymoon. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Damn thoughts keep popping into my head.” What the hell was happening to me? I gulped down the rest of the unnamed elixir. “How about we talk first. Okay?” My words surprised me as much as the thoughts about Old Joe and my wife.
“Sure.” The muscles in Prince’s face softened, his eyes relaxed, his shoulders lowered.
Or perhaps it was a reflection of my own relief.
“‘Your nickel’ as my grandfather used to say. As long as you realize the meter’s still ticking, talk away, King.” Prince lay on the bed, his arms bent, hands under his head.
The pose oozed an invitation I fought against receiving.
I paced the short length of floor by the side of the bed. “How much is Billy Ray paying you, Prince?”
“Why?” More curiosity than distrust. Good. Definitely an amateur.
“Maybe I can pay you more. If you can be discreet.”
He got up on his elbows. “I’m listening.”
Ah ha. He needs money.
“You clean?”
“I don’t have any drugs, if that’s what you’re looking for. But if you’re worried about sex, I’m cleaner than a bar of soap.”
“Why you doing this?”
He sat up. “None of your damn business.”
I sat next to him, laid a palm against his cheek. Clean shaven. Smooth. “I want to make it mine. Bet your family doesn’t know you’re queer. Bet that’s why you sell it—to get it.”
His jaw muscle pulsed. He pulled my hand from his face. “Sorry, King, I’m not paid to give you my family history. You want to talk, tell me about yourself.”
“I can’t do that.” I stood and took a fifty out of my wallet. Placed it on the nightstand.
He looked from the money to me to the money again. Then crossed his arms over his chest and gazed straight ahead. I took another fifty from my wallet and waved it in front of him. He followed my movements. I laid the bill atop the other.
Prince stared at the money and exhaled between pursed lips. “It’s complicated.”
“Always is. Do they love you?”
He looked off to his left, ran his gaze along the side wall, up and down, sucked in the corner of his lip. He shook his head, just tiny back-and-forth movements, while staring at the wall. His gaze lower to his hands and they closed into fists. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and released his clenched hands. He took another deep breath, then sprung to his feet. “So how do you like it, King?”
I yanked off my boots, dropped my pants. “I’ll show you. Get undressed.”
Prince stripped and I regretted the command. Without saying a word, his body, lean and full of youth, shamed my soft chest, my flabby gut, my marshmallow derrière. Christ, I’d become my old man. “No!”
“No what, King?”
Sweat hid under my hairline, ran like sideburns past my ears, dribbled down my forehead. I glanced at the door. He’d be coming home from work soon. Don’t you love me, Daddy? My hands flew to my head. “No!” My son’s voice? My own?
I recoiled from the bed. Two steps and my back was to the wall.
“Hey, man. It’s all right.” He took a small step forward, tested the ground for explosives. “It’s all right, King. No one’s going to hurt you.”
My vision blurred. My son came toward me, whispering, Don’t you love me, Daddy? My son morphed into me, I was approaching my father, whispering, begging, Don’t you love me, Daddy?
Love you? How could I love a queer like you? Was it Daddy talking or was it me? “You disgust me.”
“Okay,” Prince said. “If this is how you like it.”
“Like it?” How could a man like having a homo for a son?
“I can get you to like it.”
In one step Prince was in front of me, pressing his bare chest against mine. Pressing an erection next to mine, crushing me against the wall, whispering in my ear. “You’ll like this.” His fingers grabbed my hard, oozing cock. Christ, I couldn’t help myself. I moaned and threw my head against the wall, arching my chin to the ceiling. Prince tightened his grasp and my knees went weak. I pressed against the wall to stay on my feet.
“Yeeeeessssss,” I called to the ceiling.
Prince licked my chest, sucked on a nipple, dragged his tongue down the center of my body. He took me into his mouth, working his tongue and suction in harmony, his hands crawling around my ass, kneading and pressing and probing. I spread my knees like a cowboy posting a horse. Oh, god. Why’d I stay away for so long? The kid was so fucking good. I grabbed Prince’s head and thrust it harder against me, pushing myself deeper into the kid’s throat. I came quickly, shuddered and shrunk in the kid’s mouth. My back traced the wall to the floor.
Prince lowered himself with me until we were both lying on the small floor, not even caring about the last time it was vacuumed. Prince propped himself on an elbow, pulled a hair off his tongue, wiped the sweat off my temple with his fingertips. “That wasn’t so hard to like, now, was it?”
I closed my eyes and pulled in a big draft of air. I could have said no, but the word caught in my throat.
“Good,” Prince said. “You want to give it in the ass now? Or you want me to give it to you?”
I jerked myself to a sit. “You think I can’t come more than once, kid? You think I’m not the man you are?”
Prince rolled to his feet. “I didn’t say that.”
“Hand me your belt.”
Prince cocked his head, arched an eyebrow.
I stood and pulled on my pants, zipped and buttoned them. I stuck out my hand. “Now.”
Prince pulled the belt from the loops of his pants. “This’ll cost extra.”
“I know what it’ll cost. Now hand it to me. Bend over that dresser. I’ll show you what I want to do with your ass.” I folded the belt in half. With the double ends in both hands, I snapped the leather twice.
I could tell Prince tried not to jump, but he couldn’t help himself. I tucked the belt under my armpit and freed my hands. With both palms I rubbed Prince’s bare ass, separating his crack, pushing it together, feeling the softness, losing myself in the kneading, my eyes closing, my head tilting up, extending my neck, feeling the heat of his skin, hearing Daddy ask, So is this what you do with those boys?
“You want sounds?” Prince asked.
I bent and kissed the center of each ass cheek, a hard, deep kiss. When I stood, I told him, “Not a sound. Not a whimper. Be a big boy and I’ll go easier on you. Show Daddy you’re not really a faggot.”
Zzzwhack. I slapped the belt across the kid’s butt. The soft skin vibrated with the assault.
The kid grabbed the handle of a drawer. Said nothing.
Zzzwhack.
A welt erupted along the trail of the first strike. The mark of the second strap was instantaneous.
“Turn over.”
“This’ll cost you an extra three bills. You got it with you, man?”
“Man. Strange word coming from you, queer.”
The kid stood, his eyes moist with unspoken pain. “I think you should go.”
“I’m going nowhere.” I snapped the belt. “I need you to show Daddy you’re a man. A goddamn fucking man. My genes didn’t create any fucking fags.” I pointed to the bed. “Screw her!”
The kid shot a look at the bed. “Scenes’ll cost you another two. And I don’t run a tab.”
I raised the belt and he flinched. I slapped the leather on the bed. “I told you to shut up, girl.” I stepped to the bed, made sure her hands and feet were still tied. “You ought to be proud of yourself, girl, proving your brother’s no sissy.” I pointed to the bed again. “If you want to belong to this family, prove you’re really a man. Fuck her.”
The kid’s eyes roamed over his sister’s naked body. His beautiful twin’s body. He stood there staring at her. Just staring at her. I lifted the belt and he inched his way onto the bed.
“I’m watching you, boy. You fuck her good, then spread her legs and pleasure her till she cries out for more. You hear that girl? If he pleasures you, you better cry out for more. And if you beg for more, by God, he’d better deliver. You don’t cry out for more, I’ll know him for the fag he is. He’ll no longer be your brother. He’ll no longer be my son.”
I glared at the kid’s crotch. “Get it up, boy, and show your sister what a man can do.”
I instructed the kid how to fuck the girl, at times demanding he pull his torso back so I could see his penis enter her. At times, I’d stick my finger inside her to demonstrate where the kid’s tongue should go.
The girl cried out and I shouted, “Again.” She cried out for more and I ordered, “Again.” She cried out and—it wasn’t a cry of delight. Her face glistened with tears. Blood colored the sheets, from her wrists, from her ankles, from her—
The kid lay limp and exhausted beside her.
“What have you done?” I grabbed the kid’s shoulder and pushed him off the bed. “What the hell have you done to your sister? You think fucking a virgin will make you a man? You’re sick, boy. I can’t bear to look at you.” I rushed to my jacket and hauled out my .38.
The kid backed behind a chair and glanced at the door. “Easy, man. I didn’t do anything to anybody’s sister. I fucked the damn mattress is all, doing what you told me. Now put that thing down.”
Look what you made me do. Why’d you do that, Daddy? I was floating. I couldn’t let Daddy get away with—Daddy says God’s got to punish queers. I was Daddy. I pulled the trigger. The kid, me, Daddy slumped to the floor. Red or crimson or scarlet spouted from his pale chest. Color, not a difference to make a difference.
The gun burned with fever, its sweat made it slide in my hand. Had it made a sound? I hadn’t heard anything. I listened now. No footsteps running in the corridor. No siren.
Holy shit.
What had I done?
I shoved the gun into my jacket pocket, poked my arms into my shirt sleeves.
God’s gonna punish you. I smacked my temple with an open palm. “Shut up, old man. You crazy, fucking old man.” Christ. I needed to get out of here.
I pressed my heels down hard inside my boots. Pocketed the money on the nightstand. My money.
Blood spun in my ears like in a centrifuge. My mind whirled, my thoughts gyrated. But I had to think straight. Ha. Daddy’d have a laugh at that one: me, thinking straight.
Billy Ray would know what to do, how to clean up the mess. He wouldn’t want a spotlight on his business. Besides, helping me would be like earning a get-out-of-jail-free pass.
I made a quick sweep of the mess. Prince’s crumpled, nude body had stopped gushing blood. I took his shirt and covered his privates. My hands were vibrating like a goddam dildo, but I gently closed his eyes. “Cradle this young prince in loving arms, Lord. It’s about fucking time he had a good father.”
Horror Sleaze Trash 