Dedicated to Poppy Z. Brite and her “Lost Souls” novel.
He sat naked in the old clawed feet bathtub chewing on the Tootsie-row. Chocolate spills down from the corner of his mouth fusing with his stringy black hair plastered to his cheeks. He hears laughter in the living room from the party that has gone on far too long. A phone rings, his two friends that have traveled far with him comes in. The female glares at him and hands him the phone,
“Tell him!” as his fragile male lover hides behind her. He puts the cold receiver to his ear.
“Is she all right? Are you taking her with you? God, I can’t stand this any longer.” There is a sterile voice behind him saying words of clam. August can sense the father shrugging off a person behind him,
“Where is she? She is going with you isn’t she? Promise me …” he breaks down, starts to mummer and cry, “promise me that you will bring her back unharmed. Don’t leave her all alone somewhere.” August glances up at his two friends. They shake their heads, and the female makes a pushing motion with her pallid hand pointed down, the sharp black nails gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the open French doors.
Suddenly, the bathroom walls dissolve from the modern, spacious house to catacombs where fallen bricks lay exposed from a crumbling wall behind which light from a fire glowed upon vaulted ceilings. Party voices mummer. August recalls his rape by the three escaped convicts who had found him alone in the catacombs after his friends had left to find food. He caresses the way he had become increasingly more aroused at each savage thrust of their cocks as they took turns amusing themselves with his naked body. How he had yowled with delight, tucking his head down to view his rigid cock spray white cum and to watch the red blood trickle down his thigh as the last convict rammed his huge cock into his anus. And how he had laid splayed out in bliss, face down in the cool soil staring at the vacant eye sockets of a human skull eating dirt as the criminals curled up to sleep off the liquor. But the humans of dust had become too drunk to abuse his nocturnal friends when they returned with the raw meat for their supper.
By the time the cons had awaken from their stupor, August and his two darklings had slipped away and were long gone. They had found the airy, clean mansion positioned among the hills where rich people lived, empty except for one lone fragile female. Ever aware that the brutal convicts were on their heels, August still had taken her to bed. There, he gently seduced her with caresses and kisses over her pale body, touching each sacred spot with his tongue and licking at the saccharine moisture of her tender skin. He let her touch him in her own time, delicate hands skipping over his smooth skin, letting her pull on his velvet cock while all the time holding back from his ferocious orgasms so as to not startle her. Their souls converged as their bodies conjoined during intercourse. But he had sent her away, feinting a mission just to get her out of her home for a good length of time. The animals were coming.
August suddenly became chilled in the old tub as the spout dripped rusty water down the drain hole. He stares at the gapping pit, his limp cock laying on the chipped white bottom of the tub, and thinks to himself, “I can’t go on like this, lying to everyone including to myself.”
