Phoebe Cooper was stretched out next to her pool. A thin sheen of sweat coated her body. The vinyl weaving of the lawn chair creeping out from beneath her towel stuck to her flesh. She soaked it in. Worshiped the sun and imagined a heat mirage swirling over her disfiguring the scenery, dissolving it like watercolor. School would start soon and she wanted to look exceptional for her freshmen year of college. Her summer had been grueling and she was consumed by exercise but now she had this body as reward for her effort. The strict regimen of exercise included a five-mile run, followed by an hour of aerobics, weights, and ended with an additional hour of yoga. It all paid off, she was a vision, a tan goddess. She would never suffer fat girl jokes again and she would snub the jocks but only after she left them panting with desire.
Her cellphone rang. She slowly opened her eyes and fumbled for the phone. It was her mother, so she ignored it. As she closed her eyes she felt something stir deep inside her. She opened her eyes and what she saw was like a dream. It was something that could not have existed.
It was a man with the body of an Adonis, naked, and striding through the brush towards her. As he grew closer she saw what looked like a tattoo on his chest but was revealed to be a red gummy hole where his heart belonged. His head was wrapped in red fabric like a kafiya and he moved with a poise that made the wound seem casual.
Phoebe sat upright, her face felt flush and her chest was heaving stretching the fabric of her new bikini top. She had never felt this way before she had had crushes, but nothing with this ferocity. This was lust and she liked it.
He stood over her his skin red raw, his cock rested at the center of her vision massive and heavy. Phoebe looked up at him, he touched her face, his fingers were calloused and blistered from desert heat, but she didn't care. Phoebe nuzzled against his thigh breathing in his musk. The thoughts swimming through her head were vulgar and depraved and scarcely resembled anything her young imagination could have conjured. She imagined her reaction if these visions had come sooner, she would have been horrified. Now the thoughts were welcome. This penis, which she was barely old enough to take an interest in, had become the center of her universe, her reason for existence. "Take it," He spoke in a low rasp.
She looked down at his cock almost coyly. She lifted the shaft gingerly. He didn't smile, didn't move, he watched her. She licked the head, he shuddered, she took it in and swallowed it deep. Against all reason she felt whole her world was complete and this God poured into her as she bobbed her head slowly. She felt the distant pang of the schoolgirl she had been only moments before, didn't miss her, barely recognized her and laughed at the carnal things the little girl would see before she died completely. He spasmed and erupted. All Pheobe's doubt was obliterated her former identity sloughed away and all that remained was a thrall.
She heard a scream as she stared into his fathomless eyes. "Rise," He said, which she did. He groped her breast and breathed into her ear "One last test of your devotion," She was ready. Her face beamed as he turned her away. The screaming woman was still there.
"Phoebe!" The woman screamed, the name meant nothing, she was servant, she was disciple, she was his. "Get your hands off my daughter!" Frantically the screaming woman lifted a phone to her ear.
"Murder." He said delicately. Her test, she mused. Without hesitation she was on the woman she no longer recognized, the phone flung into the pool, her hands around the woman's throat. She thrashed, but Phoebe's fervor was too much as she drove the woman to the ground. Her eyes fluttered and almost didn't react when the disciple bashed her head into the hard concrete floor. The feeling was erotic as blood splattered her over her face, arms and tits. The screaming woman rattled one last breath and fell limp in her hands. Her God put his hand on her shoulder, she rose to him, he smoothly stripped her naked, and took her. Her mother's fresh corpse inches from their coitus.
* * *
Henry Goddard was finally happy. He sat in the purple neon glow of a gay bar he discovered two days ago. He sipped at his tequila and looked over the men in the room, none were his type, but they would come, the younger men. Glistening specimens of masculinity, he didn't mind the flamers or the bears, but they weren't what got his juices flowing, he wanted butch. He thought briefly about his wife, he had left her so recently and there were tears, but this was just who he was, he couldn't lie to himself anymore. He had enjoyed his time with her raising their daughter together, but thinking of their sex life sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. This was who he was, he was just glad it was finally out in the open.
He slugged down the rest of his tequila and waved the bartender down for another. He saw the bartender talking to a punk at the end of the bar. The character didn't match this place. He had a thick black mohawk and some kind of tribal tattoos ran down the left side of his face, they spidered down his arms as well. Henry wondered idly where the tattoos ended, it could be a fun night. He and the bartender finished their conversation and they both headed in Henry's direction.
"Crème de Cocoa and a beer," The punk said to the bartender, he nodded then pointed at Henry.
"Oh, tequila please." Henry answered.
"I have this round," The punk announced.
Manners too. Very nice, Henry thought. "I'm Martin Key." The punk spoke without looking at Henry.
"Henry Goddard." He offered his hand.
Key finally turned and smiled, "I know that." He shook Henry's hand. The drinks arrived and they both drank quietly for several seconds before Key finally spoke again. "I spoke to your wife, Celia. She's worried about you."
"What are you here for?" Henry questioned.
"Morgan Primrose. She was a missing person you were hired to find, you apparently found her then quit your practice and left your wife."
"I had an epiphany--"
Key cut him off, "I'm not really concerned with that, you found Morgan, at least that's what you told her mother. Where is she?"
"Client confidentiality, I can't disclose that information." Henry was suddenly scared. The punk hadn't been threatening, or even raised his voice but Henry felt a pit rise in his throat and the hair on the back of his arm stand on end.
"Come on Henry, I'm just doing what my client asked. Second opinion. Just to get it out of her system. She'll tell me she's fine, I'll tell the mother, and end of story. You can go back to gargling tequila or whatever else you're into."
"Look Mr. Key..."
"Just Key."
"Key, I'm not an investigator anymore and I would prefer to distance myself from that horrible job."
