Flight 12

Flight 12 – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: HARRY'S DILEMMA

Previously:

• Seth asks for volunteers to fulfill his obligation to fuck one of The Twelve. Harry longs to be chosen but Seth chooses Tim, who had volunteered.

• Ian guides Harry into the woods, `accidentally' encountering Seth fucking Tim. He maneuvers Harry into saying he hadn't wanted Seth to choose him, a fact he later relayed to Seth, who promised not to choose Harry in the future.

In Flashbacks:

• In college, Harry had been invited to join a gay fraternity by Uri, a friend of Harry's roommate. However, at the initiation ceremony, Harry was ridiculed, and, accompanied by chants of `roast the pig', found himself doused with barbecue sauce.

• A year before meeting Seth, Abe was persuaded by Ian (whom he was then dating) to auction himself off at a slave auction for charity in Cleveland. He was bought for $900 by a brute who put him in handcuffs and abused him viciously, resulting in Abe's aversion to handcuffs.

• • • • • • • • MONDAY, DECEMBER 17 * * * * * * * *

THE PHALLIC TOWER – HARRY

Today was the day. My birthday. My date with the chartreuse dodecagon – supposedly. With ten others here to guard me, I should be protected. Especially if the two Stimulever employees were truly on `our side'. I trusted Ian more than Sean, but I wondered if that wasn't just because I'd seen Sean having sex with Seth.

And who would Seth have sex with today? Not me – with five fit bodies available, why choose fat Harry?

Okay, that was uncharitable. Most likely he didn't want our friendship to be altered by introducing sex into the equation.

• (Seth) Don't worry, Harry. We'll keep you safe. And I'm not about to use you to satisfy this stupid sex requirement they've imposed on me. I've spoken to Jasper, he's willing to do it today.

• Thanks, Seth.

What else was there to say? He thought he was doing me a favor, showing me respect, unaware that to feel him inside me was the birthday present I wanted most in the world. And I could never tell him that.

THE PHALLIC TOWER – JASPER

I`d promised my psychiatrist I'd forego sex during my trip. But that pledge was only for a week – and I was now in my third week of abstinence. I was going crazy, longing to plow Gary if only he were willing. Or anybody, really.

And now Seth was offering me sex – only he'd be on top. Okay, I was used to being on top, but you can't be too restrictive. For anal sex, I bottomed occasionally – maybe 10% of the time, which, when you had sex as often as I did, was a lot. But my experience bottoming had occasionally been ill-advised: one time in particular, I had gone home with the wrong guy, and it got scary.

Still, surrendering my ass to a stud like Seth was a suitable way to end my December celibacy. Besides, it wasn't like I had taken the initiative – he had approached me. And it would help us get off the island and avoid a disastrous upcoming year – according to Sean.

See, Dr. Faraday, I have a good excuse. I've been a good soldier, did what you asked. You couldn't expect me to go the whole month of December, could you? This is entirely reasonable.

So why did I feel like I was cheating?

THE PHALLIC TOWER – IAN

Seth had gone into the woods with Augie. Everyone was startled that he was doing so on a day when the paramount objective was to guard Harry, but Sean had told me why. I felt bad for Augie, but if it had to be done, it had to be done.

Harry, observing Seth's departure, was nervous, but I assured him that he still had eight guys here, including Sean and me, and I didn't see how a dodecagon could get past all of us.

• (Harry) Unless it appears ten feet in front of me. Or under my feet.

• I rather doubt that will happen.

• Ian, something I've been wondering about.

• Yeah?

• Seth told me that everyone underground met someone they knew, someone in their sexual history.

• That's right.

• I don't . . . have a sexual history.

• Harry, you might be a virgin, but you've been in sexual situations before, right?

• No.

• That's not what I heard.

• What do you mean? What have you heard? Who could you have heard something from?

• Well, you said it. Everyone who's gone down has met someone they knew before.

• Are you saying there's someone down there I know?

• His name is Uri.

• Oh, no! Not Uri! When I was in college, he –

• Harry. That wasn't the only time you encountered Uri, was it?

FLASHBACK: HARRY (PHILADELPHIA/CLEVELAND) – December, two years ago

I'd been working for Dr. Kwon for a couple of years as her receptionist/personal assistant, basically running the office. When she called me in at the end of the day, I thought something was wrong.

• Harry, it's December, and you haven't taken any vacation days this year.

• Well, you know, I didn't want to leave you in the lurch.

• You even manned the office when I was on MY vacation.

• There were calls that came in. Patients that needed to be referred to other doctors. Bills to pay. Records to –

• Stop it. You're working too hard.

• Am I doing a bad job?

• Harry, you're doing a great job. You always have. But I'm worried about you. You need a break. Look – I'm taking a long weekend. Why don't you do the same? Go somewhere, have some fun. Fly off to Cancún or Disneyworld, relax.

• I don't think so. And I need to be back Tuesday for my book club.

• So where would you want to go?

I thought for a moment. I'd always wanted to visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Cleveland in December wasn't exactly anyone's idea of a dream vacation, but honestly it was the first thing that popped into my head.

And so I was off to romantic Cleveland. And the Hall of Fame was admittedly great – until I ran into him on the steps on my way out.

• Harry?

I froze. It had been seven years, but I knew that face. That face had haunted my dreams.

• What are you doing here, Uri?

• You remember me.

• How could I forget? That was one of the worst nights in my life.

• God, I feel awful about that. You didn't deserve that.

• No, I didn't. Excuse me.

I moved to leave but he stepped in front of me.

• Look, Harry, that was a long time ago. I was young, I was stupid, I was arrogant, I was callous –

• Don't stop now, you're on a roll.

• I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I was so insecure –

• YOU were insecure? You're like the most gorgeous guy in that supposed fraternity.

Oh, that just slipped out. Well, he WAS gorgeous, which is what made the humiliation all the more painful.

• Yeah, I was insecure. I felt I needed to prove myself to the other guys. The fraternity had something of a tradition of making a fool out of one of the pledges. And the guys said you would be the perfect target. I fought them – honestly, I did. But they said there were whispers I wasn't loyal to the frat, and that if I wanted to be president next year – which I did – well, I caved. I was ambitious, I didn't want to alienate anyone, I went along.

He said this with such sincerity that it made sense. I remembered how respectful he was when he first talked to me, and how Josh had said he was such a nice guy. I really thought he was a good person until the tables were turned that Saturday night. But I understood peer pressure, and how he might have succumbed to it.

And it was seven years later. People do change.

• Look, Harry, let me make it up to you. Can we have a drink together? On me.

We repaired to a bar – not a gay bar, but a nice pub in a Polish area of Cleveland. And we had a good time. We shared our life stories – he had gone to law school but was now doing pro bono work in Akron, and had just popped up here for the weekend. He was in between relationships, looking for the right guy.

I said the same, it was hard to meet just the right person. Giving him the impression I had recovered from my trauma, pursued gay relationships, and was living a normal life as a well-adjusted homosexual. After making sure he had never set foot in Philadelphia, I even referenced the Tinderbox and other gay bars whose thresholds I had never crossed. I invented stories about sexy Mario the bartender and guys I'd met who were good times but not long-term. I should write fiction for a living, I'm good at making up things.

Then he had an idea.

• Hey, want to go to a slave auction?

• A what?

• A slave auction. It's for charity. A bunch of guys auction themselves off to the highest bidder. You're into that, right? You said the Tinderbox was a leather bar.

Yeah, and I'd described events that had (not) occurred there. In my eagerness to appear wildly sexual, I'd implied an interest in kink that was not something I'd ever actually pursued beyond my fantasy world.

• I don't know, Uri.

• It's for charity. Look, it's just entertainment. It'll be fun. My treat.

How could I say no? Watching a bunch of hot bodies parading around with a lot of exposed flesh – and no one paying a lick of attention to me? What was not to like?

The establishment was called the Blockhouse, and it was packed. There must have been a hundred guys there. Our tables were assigned to us based on a ticket number handed to us at the door. Because it was so crowded, we shared our table with two guys adorned in full leather gear. ("We came to bid.")

The event was as hot as I was hoping. One after another, sexy hunks paraded around in very little clothing, showing lots of chest, lots of leg, and plenty of ass. My libido kicked into overdrive.

The highlight was the seventh or eighth guy, a short, bearded guy in his early twenties with a fabulous butt and hairy chest. A burly guy maybe a hundred pounds heavier than him bought him for nine hundred dollars, went on stage, tossed him over his shoulder, and walked off looking prepared to rape him right then and there. My cock pressed against my pants, just fantasizing about what he was going to experience.

There were twelve guys in all, and then came a moment which they had announced at the beginning, but in all the frivolity of the moment, I had forgotten.

• And now, we'll choose our thirteenth slave – one of you, chosen at random. He won't be going home with one of you; most of you are doms, and maybe he wouldn't be so cooperative in the privacy of your home. So we'll have a little on-stage entertainment he can't worm his way out of. Everyone's eligible except our successful bidders – check your ticket numbers. And the winning number is –

You know how this story ends, don't you.

I planned to refuse to acknowledge my identity and sneak out unnoticed, but a moment later a spotlight, apparently practiced in zeroing in on specific seats, blared in my face, and the room was suffused with raucous cheers.

Two brawny studs – in harnesses and chaps – worked their way through the crowd to find me. The two leather guys at my table were laughing their asses off. Uri, to his credit, looked horrified.

• Harry, man, I'm so sorry!

I had no choice. Could I make lemonade of this? Could this, in fact, be the moment I had waited for all twenty-six years of my life? Could I turn this into something positive, something exciting?

They led me up on stage, and the emcee proceeded to interview me.

• Hello, victim, what's your name?

• Harry.

• Harry, are you hairy?

• Not particularly.

• Well, we're about to find out. Strip him! To the buff!

And my two muscular escorts, assisted by two other well-built studs, proceeded to undress me by force. My shirt was pulled off, and then my pants, followed by my shoes and socks. I was left in my underwear, to which a pair of shears was soon attached. Snip, snip, off they came, and I was nude in front of a hundred cheering, jeering guys.

I heard a wolf-whistle, followed by derogatory laughter.

• I see we've got at least one chubby-chaser in the crowd.

• (voice from the crowd) I was being sarcastic.

• Oh, thank God. I thought you had really bad taste. Ordinarily, we'd fuck our selected victim, but I'm not sure it's even possible to reach your hole, Harry, considering how fat your ass is. I hope you're a top, Harry, because you're not going to get much action as a bottom!

• (lying) I am.

• Good, it's always more fun to abuse a top.

I looked on nervously as they brought on a padded bench.

• Now, Harry, we need you to lean over this. Give us a nice view of your ass – well, as nice a view as is possible with an ass like yours.

• (uproarious laughter)

I complied. What else could I do?

• Gentlemen, form a line. Each one of you is going to give Harry here a good swat on his bottom with one of these fraternity paddles. Go ahead, hit as hard as you like – he can't sue. It says so on his admission ticket.

Well I didn't purchase the tickets, did I? But the guy was right, anyway – I wouldn't sue. Even if this sent me to the hospital, I couldn't contact a lawyer. How could I ever explain why I was suing them?

There followed the most painful half-hour of my life. One after the other, the audience members came up to the stage and plastered my ass with vicious swings of the fraternity paddle. Whack, whack, whack, whack – eighty-four times. They made me count them. Eighty-four smacks of wood against buttock. Eighty-four times I gasped in pain – or, midway – grunted or called out – and in the later going, yelled.

Which only seemed to encourage them. The last ones whacked my butt so hard I thought I was going to pass out. Any qualified doctor would probably have sent me straight to the E.R. – which would be even more humiliating than this was.

After each man paddled me, he pulled up my head, leaned over, and spit in my face. As if I needed additional humiliation. Uri, at least, was not among my tormentors, although our tablemates were. As the final men were blistering my butt, I turned my head and peered out into the audience. I couldn't tell if Uri was still there or not, the lights were too bright.

As the last painful blow was administered to my ravaged buttocks, I started to get up, glad to have somehow survived the ordeal, and wondering if I would be able to sit down on the plane back to Philly.

• Not so fast, Harry. We have one more thing in store for you. About the only thing appropriate for a pig like you!

And something went splat on my back. And ass. And legs. And head. I didn't need to see to know what it was – I could smell it.

Barbecue sauce.

Barbecue sauce. I knew then that Uri would not be waiting for me, horrified at my ordeal, full of concern and compassion, oh-so-apologetic.

He was responsible. How else would they know about the barbecue sauce? It was all a set-up. He had brought me here deliberately, knowing I would be the `random' victim selected, and he'd told them all about the incident with Kappa Omicron Kappa.

But how did he know I'd be in Cleveland, and just happen to run into me outside the Hall of Fame?

THE PHALLIC TOWER – IAN

My words had had exactly the right effect. I saw Harry disappear into space, reliving a moment in his life that had nothing but bad associations for him. It took him about a minute to recover, then he looked me in the eye.

• Thank you, Ian. You've put everything in perspective. You've reminded me of just who I am, and what I am. And I know what I have to do now.

• I don't understand.

• I'm a loser, Ian. I'm a fucking loser. I'm no good here – I have no role anymore. You're here and Sean's here and Seth's here – that's all these guys need. You don't need me, you can control things. The dodecagons want me; they can have me. They fuck guys down there – at least I'll lose my virginity, maybe even to Uri, which would be ironic but fitting. It's obvious no one here wants me, and no one in Alphaworld wants me. Tell Seth goodbye for me.

And he traipsed off into the woods. I didn't stop him.

THE PHALLIC TOWER – SEAN

• Well done, Ian. One goal accomplished.

• If he finds the chartreuse dodecagon.

• It will find him. Now, what are you going to do about the others?

• Vic's next, right? On the nineteenth, that's two days.

• I don't mean the Twelve. I mean the left-siders. They're still alive. They need to be not-alive.

• I have time for that.

• You do. But don't fuck up, Ian. Or you may find out what it feels like to be a left-sider. And nothing good befalls a left-sider.

THE PHALLIC TOWER – SETH

• You let him go? Ian, how could you do that?

• Seth, he had his mind made up. He felt worthless here.

• Christ, Ian, he's the furthest thing from worthless we have here. Right now, YOU'RE worthless.

• I think he thinks he was doing the right thing. Help you get off the island by going down.

• Oh, jeez, Harry, no. Which way did he go?

Maybe I can stop him.

THE WOODS – HARRY

I didn't have to wait long. I took a random path, sensing that no matter where I went, it would appear.

It did.

When Augie encountered his dodecagon, he had extolled its beauty; he described the sensation of something crawling up his legs, invading his asshole and fucking him – even while none of this was visible to an observer.

Even if it was just a sensation and not a person, if it would fuck me – it would be satisfying.

Augie was right – it WAS beautiful. That six-foot chartreuse phallus – three words you've never before seen consecutively, I'll bet – was astonishingly striking. I understood how the others had been seduced by it. I was seduced by it. I wanted to be taken by it. I wanted to be fucked by it.

I rushed to the dodecagon, hugged the phallus and waited. But my feet did not sink into the surface as if in a liquid. I felt no entity crawling up my leg. I felt nothing invading my ass. It seemed that not even the dodecagon wanted to fuck me.

• Come on, dodecagon! Fuck me!

And then I heard a voice. But it was not the dodecagon answering my plea.

• Harry! Stop! Get away from there!

Seth. And at that moment, my feet did sink into the surface, and I awaited the penetration, the welcome penetration. And I saw the momentary image of an animal – a pig, of course – which amused me as much as it embittered me.

Seth was running at full speed, just as the dodecagon collapsed beneath my feet, sending me plunging into the depths below.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE – STIMULEVER FOREVER]