RAPE AT GUNPOINT
T/M oral, (consensual, despite the title)
By Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of gay fiction. It includes explicit scenes of oral sex. If you are underage or if you are offended by material of this nature, please do not read this story. This is NOT a story about non-consensual sex or violence, despite the title.
For Elliott with love
Tinker and I left the house together at twenty after seven on Monday morning. He was in the same grade as I was, even though he was close to two years older than me. Our foster mother had instructed us to go to school together in hopes of increasing the chances of both of us arriving.
"Aw fuck," Tinker groaned. "That cunt, she woke us too early. I am so fucking tired!" He snapped off a yawn in the cold morning air.
"What time you get in last night?" I asked.
"Twelve thirty. "
"Was she pissed?"
"I don't care if the bitch was pissed off at me. Ten o'clock is too fucking early for a curfew, especially on the weekend." His voice was thick with sleepiness and resentment. "I'm telling you," Tinker went on. "I gotta get out of the place. I don't care what I hafta do. I don't think I can stand that bitch and her yardstick one day longer."
I made a face but said nothing.
"It's alright for you!" he groaned. "Shit. You've got no balls anyway. You just do whatever the fuck she tells you to do."
This time I shrugged and smiled uneasily.
Tinker went on but there was no real contempt in his voice. "You're such a pussy, McBain, you couldn't get in trouble if you tried to. How can you stand it? Nose in the fucking books at school all day and then that shitass job at night. The one time I asked you to bring home a case of beer for me, you didn't even have the balls to do it. You're fucking scared, Kid, always doing what they tell you. You never do nothing that even has a chance it might get her down on you."
"When I do something, I make sure it's something there's no way they'll find out." I said mildly. "I did something last night, but I came home on time, so she has no idea what I do."
"What did you do?"
I looked at Tinker through the corners of my eyes. A smirk was threatening to become visible on my face. "Rape at gunpoint." I told him.
For a moment Tinker was so taken aback that he was silent. Then he burst out "Bullshit!"
I said nothing.
"You fucking liar! You fucking only turned fifteen in September. No way. No fucking way, Jose! You're cherry and I know it. You never had a bit of pussy in your life, much less scoring at gunpoint. You couldn't have."
"I scored." I said calmly.
"Bullshit. You couldn't lay your hands on a piece. Where the fuck could you get a gun from?!" Tinker demanded.
"I could get myself a gun." I said. "You don't think I could?"
"Where, man?" He demanded.
I hesitated before I replied. "Barry's Dad has 'em." I said. "He has a few pieces. He's selling 'em off for fifty bucks each."
Tinker went quiet. He was scowling and he shot a few looks at me sideways. I kept my face blank, because I didn't want him to see the smile that kept floating outward to my features, I fixed my gaze on the street and stared blandly in the direction our bus was going to come from. The memory of what I had done yesterday afternoon made my smile keep rising to the surface, so that I could have laughed out loud with glee and self delight.
Yesterday had been Sunday. I'd gone down to the McGill campus. I had the weight of the loaded gun pulling down the pocket of my jacket, but you couldn't see it, because the jacket was a leather one that a drunken man had given me one night underneath the stadium. It was several sizes too big for me and bulky enough that I could hide anything I wanted in the pockets. I also had two hundred 8 by 12 posters which I'd just picked up at the bookstore LaBerdache. They were my excuse for being where I was that afternoon. I had carried them into the office at the Student Union.
"Hi, Squirt." Bill Gordon was the only one in the office. He came around the desk to see what I had. Bill Gordon was a good-looking thirty-year old with a receding hairline. He stood beside me and I opened the package up.
The posters were printed black on lavender. They were bilingual. In accordance to the law in Quebec, the French word GAI was printed boldly larger than the English translation beside it GAY. Below was the word danse. The s was in subscript, which divided from a c by a slash so that the word did double duty saying the same thing in French and English. Below that, drawn in stark black shadows, was an ethereal, androgynous face. I stood beside Bill without moving, waiting to see what he thought.
"You drew that?"
I nodded anxiously, suppressing guilt. I had drawn it, but copied from a picture drawn by someone else. The original anonymously defaced a desk at my school, a small black graphite face lost in the initials and obscenities that covered the surface.
"That's good." Bill Gordon nodded approvingly.
"It's not my printing." I said honestly. "Someone else did the lettering. Mine came out sloppy."
It's good." He nodded again. "Thanks, 'Tit Queue. We can start putting these up tomorrow." He used the nickname that I had around the McGill Gay Students' Association. He gave my shoulder a pat as I looked up into his warm grin.
"I can help put them up." I offered quickly.
"That's okay. We've got volunteers to put up the posters already." He turned around to put the papers on the table on the rear wall, so that his back was to me.
He went on speaking slightly muffled. "Remember we said it was better if you keep a really low profile on account of your age? You know that we all appreciate what you contribute. But you could hardly be more visible when going around the street putting posters up. We really can't afford the kind of trouble it could lead to. I, personally, have no problems with you being underage. I think it's great that you know what you want at your age. But you understand what kind of trouble we could get from the cops."
I didn't say anything.
"You understand, Squirt?" Bill asked gently.
"Yeah, I understand." And I did understand. Six months ago I had caused a real ruckus in the group over how to deal with me sneaking into the back door of their dances and meetings. The compromise of letting me participate wherever I wasn't visible had made me happy.
I stood uncertainly because of the gun. I was not yet committed to using it. Bill was counting the posters out into piles of fifty, so they would be ready to put up. I glanced back at the door behind me. I sidled over. The corridor was empty but I shut the door and turned the small tab on the knob that locked it behind us.
"Two weeks is plenty of lead in time." Bill was saying. "The only trouble is if the homophobes start tearing them down. Then we'd have to put up a second batch, say on Wednesday before the dance..."
"So tell me," I said loudly and clearly. "Have you ever been raped at gunpoint before?"
Bill turned around slowly. He looked at the gun that I was pointing at him very closely. I was holding it two handed, trained steadily at the middle of his chest. The gun was made of orange plastic and had a stopper. I had wrapped a piece of tape around the stopper to keep the water in it from leaking into my pocket.
"What do you think you're going to do with that?" Bill's voice went up. An incredulous smile twisted his mouth.
"That's up to you." I said grimly. "Either you let me rape you, or I'm going to let you have it." I hesitated while I thought of something gruesome and dramatic to say, "And it will spatter your brains onto the wall."
"Spatter a wet spot onto my shirt, you mean." He had made fists and he placed them on his hips.
I lowered the gun until it pointed at his crotch. "How about an embarrassing wet spot on your pants? I mean it, Bill! I came here to rape you." I threatened. I moved a step closer, brandishing the plastic weapon. "Get back against the wall and put your hands up on your head."
He didn't reach out to twist the weapon from my grasp. He took a half step back, and then because the retreating step had established my dominance, he kept backing up while I moved in. His forehead was frowning but his mouth was smiling. "Alright, Squirt. Don't shoot. You'll get the posters wet. See?" He put his hands on his head.
There was no answering smile from me. I was intent. Narrow eyed, I moved in. The man was a head taller than I was. I put us chest to chest and poked the corner of his mouth with the muzzle of the gun. My free hand went to his crotch.
"You let me do exactly what I want here," I breathed. "And you've got a chance of getting out of here alive. Understand? One false move and you're dead meat."
I felt the man inhale as he felt my hand slide tenderly over the material at the front of his pants. His smile had frozen. I found the zip and lowered it. "I want what you've got in here, Mister, and I'm going to have it."
The expression on Bill's face wasn't entirely amused. There was some annoyance in it also. The most visible emotion was disbelief.
"Don't make me shoot you." I said.
"Just what are you doing?"
By then I had found his prick. There was a little stiffness in it, not much yet. I tugged on it gently, squeezing the blood flow into it. The crinkled polite grin on his face slowly dropped away at the hungry, predatory look on my face. I saw him blink. I kept squeezing. "Can't you tell what I'm doing?" I asked.
He stood with his hands on the top of his head as I got down on my knees. I kept my face tilted up to watch him as I brought my mouth to his crotch. I breathed on his prick and then licked. It was warm, stiff and salty.
Savouringly, I waggled my tongue back and forth under the head of his prick. Bill exhaled again, hard. I opened my lips and slid down hungrily. His face went slack. Wet and warm, I swirled my mouth around the head of his cock. It tasted good. The tip of my tongue danced. I flickered up and down, from the pee slit to under the corona.
"Hey, 'Tit Queue..." Bill said breathlessly. His hands started to come down.
Immediately I shoved the point of the gun in, just under his balls. "Get them up! Put them back up!" I demanded.
His hands snapped back to the top of his head. "Okay! I just want to know what you're playing? What do you want me to do?"
"I told you." I said harshly. "Keep your hands on the top of your head, don't move and let me do what I'm doing."
"Okay." The smile was back on Bill's mouth, but it was soft and incredulous now, instead of annoyed. He stood still and let me undo the button and lower the pants and jockeys that he was wearing. His prick bounced up and down as the clothing snagged off it and I followed the bounce, lunging with my lips. I left his pants at his knees and nibbled up and down the end of his prick.
With his cock sliding up into my mouth, I couldn't talk and threaten him. I couldn't keep looking up at him either. I put the end of the gun just under his hairy balls so that he could feel where the weapon was and I concentrated on his cock.
It was a beautiful cock, circumcised, smelling of man and tasting of my own saliva now. I swirled my tongue and sucked hungrily. I shifted my knees as I started to bob. I had a free hand. I slid that in behind the water pistol and squeezed on the bottom cheeks of his ass.
Bill stood there, like a victim and took it. His hard on felt very hot to me, like it was warmer than body temperature. He tried to spread his legs some, but couldn't because of the pants, not far enough for his cheeks to widen. I didn't end up playing with his asshole, just squeezing and fingering his cheeks. I kept working at his prick with my mouth. He gave a sound that was half way between a drawn out chuckle and a moan.
As I worked him closer to cumming, I thought about shooting him in the balls at the moment that he came. It would be dramatic. It would also send the water spattering up into my face and it might piss him off. I decided not to do it.
I was good with my mouth. I don't think I was on my knees as much as ten minutes. His knees pushed forward as he tilted his prick down, trying to squat closer into my face. I had licked and rubbed spit into his balls. My hand was moving swiftly and firmly over his tight balls. I kept the head of his prick in my mouth, swallowing rhythmically to keep my tongue sliding.
I tasted the intense bitterness at the back of my tongue before I heard him give a faint muffled grunt. There was a lot of cum. It spilled over into the front of my mouth and I sucked wetly with the liquid. I stopped bobbing and dropped off with the mouthful of jism. I gulped. The fluid disappeared and the taste remained.
From my knees, clumsily I tugged his pants up. It was harder to put Bill's clothing back together one handed than it had been to get it open. His still stiff cock stuck sideways into his fly and he wasn't zipped all the way, or buttoned at all when I stood up.
I was holding the orange water pistol threateningly again. Bill had forgotten. He had taken his arms down again. His hands were at his sides. I backed towards the door.
"Don't move." I warned. "Don't make a sound. And wait here, ten minutes before you come out of the room or ask for help."
He laughed, soundlessly open-mouthed. That was not the expression that I wanted to see, but I kept the hard look on my face and the gun menacing. He was still grinning as I got out into the corridor and made my getaway.
Monday night, Andrew and I were at the kitchen table with our homework spread out in front of us. Tinker, the only other boy living with Harriet at the moment, was upstairs and we could hear him yelling at Harriet.
"No...! Aw, No. Shit! It was only twelve thirty!" There was a pause. Tinker said something again, more muffled so we couldn't hear it.
"She going to give him the yardstick, just for missing his curfew?" Andrew asked nervously.
I looked up. "He jigged school today." I said. "He left me at the bus stop. I expect she phoned and found out."
"Fuck." Andrew stared down at the notebook in front of him unhappily.
In another moment we heard Tinker's voice again. This time he sounded choked like he was trying to keep from crying. "You fucking bitch!"
"Oh man, he shouldn't have called her that!" Andrew breathed.
I said nothing. I couldn't concentrate on my French verbs but I kept my eyes on the book.
There was a dull sound, faint but audible as the yardstick landed. Inescapable was the roar that Tinker made. When she beat him, he shrieked. We could have heard the cuts landing if he hadn't been howling. Curses and tears were clear through his screams.
"Oh, Man." Andrew sighed. He was a year younger than I was. He squirmed in his seat. As long as the howls went on neither one of us did any work.
"You never got her yardstick, did you, McBain?"
"Yeah, I did." I said briefly.
"He's going to have welts on top of his welts." Andrew said.
"That's what her yardstick gives you." I didn't look up.
The roaring stopped, slowing down to inaudible a few moments before Harriet came downstairs. She looked tired. She hung up the yardstick behind the stove before she sat down at the kitchen table with us and lit a cigarette.
"Let's see your homework."
She inspected Andrew's homework first, carefully. While she sat scanning the pages, he spoke up nervously. "I need some new sneakers, Mrs. B."
"Where are your old ones?" She kept her eyes on his notebook.
His voice went smaller. "I think I must have lost them, Mrs. B. They were in my locker down in the gym, but when I went back to look for them again they weren't there any more."
She looked up at him. Harriet was maybe forty, maybe fifty. She was a short woman with a permanently wrinkled forehead and straight flat hair held to the sides of her head with bobby pins. She considered. "Your old ones were about shot any way."
Andrew exhaled in relief. She passed his homework back to him and I passed mine over to her. She checked mine only cursorily. It was always done and the checking was now ritual and nothing more. She nodded at me. Then she pulled her pack of cigarettes out and offered one to Andrew.
"Saturday. You take the afternoon off and I'll take you down to K-mart." she said to Andrew. He sucked the smoke in from his cigarette gratefully. He was new enough to be surprised at her generosity, but I knew that Harriet often briefly waived her rule against smoking in the house after she took the yardstick to one of her charges. Then she turned to me again. "Remember your caseworker is coming for the regular visit on Thursday after school. Have you told Mr. Nascimento that you won't be in until five or six that night?"
"Yes, Ma'am. I told him." I was gathering my books together.
"Do either of you want to stay up and study?"
"Nope." said Andrew.
"Then get to bed." Said Harriet.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Night, Mrs. B."
We went clattering upstairs to see what kind of shape Tinker was in.
It was three days before the gay dance at the McGill Student Union. I had promised not to show up at the dance and was philosophical about missing it. Instead of the dance I was pitching in to help the guys move the sound equipment and other props into the Student Union. The back of the pickup was jammed with big mysterious black boxes. Some how they could be hooked together to make speakers and amplifiers. There were lights and a great big glass mirror ball. The mirror ball was fragile.
"You sure you can carry that?" Bill asked me.
"Whaddya think I am, a cream puff?" I retorted. The ball was awkward. When I wrapped my arms around it they couldn't quite meet. I held it tightly against my chest while I waited for two of the other guys to shift one of the big black rectangular boxes. The glass squares pressed into the soft skin of my wrists.
"Easy..." The box was heavy. The two guys started climbing the stairs slowly.
Jacques stood beside me waiting. He had put the big spotlight that he had carried in from the truck down at his feet as he waited and he smiled at me with a wide wet grin. He was a good-looking guy but there seemed to me something derisive behind his grin. "Il me semble que tu es trop faible."
"No, I told you I can manage it."
"Bain, mais c'est pas possible pour toi de l'enlever."
"He can handle it." Bill intervened.
I started to follow the two guys up. There was sharpness digging into my palms. The little mirrors weren't glued onto the ball securely. They felt like they were sticking to the sweat on my palms more than to the ball. At the top Freddy held the door for me. He stood in the corridor, hooking his foot around the corner so that I could turn sideways and ease around the doorframe. The Union hall stood grey and empty. The floor was a wide expanse of linoleum tiles. I looked around for a reasonable place to put the ball down.
There was nowhere soft. I carried it carefully across the dim hall into the shadows and eased it onto the floor by the far wall. I heard the little click of the falling glass tiles. From the heat on my palm I knew that I had at least one minute cut. Raising my hand to my mouth I licked it and glanced back at Freddy.
For the moment we were the only two upstairs in the hall. Freddy was back in the doorway, wrestling a black box across the floor. The black box was chest high to him, but it boomed hollowly when he turned it over on its end. Freddy was a skinny young man, one of the students. He always moved as though his arms were loosely jointed. He was probably only nineteen or twenty, but he wasn't cute like Bill or even Jacques. All the same the hall was dark, and I had my gun in my pocket again. I stared at Freddy considering it while I dabbed at the hot spots on my palm with the tip of my tongue.
Then I heard Jacques on the stairs, clumping up. "Eh, Freddy! Bill 'e need 'elp for move the speaker in back the truck." Freddy went with him. I didn't follow them. There wasn't much that I could help with. The black boxes were too heavy for me. I squatted down instead and felt along the floor. Tiny slivers of light guided me to the fallen squares. I picked them up. I couldn't tell if I was cutting my fingertips as I did. Each square was a little larger than my thumbnail. I gathered five of them and put them into my pockets before I went downstairs.
Jacques was standing at the foot of the stairs supervising Freddy and Bill. The men were intent on their work. They ignored me. I passed outside. The glare of the bright afternoon sun on the white concrete hurt my eyes. I squinted. I stood guarding the truck in case someone tried to steal part of the equipment while the guys did the work. There were three cuts as fine as hairs on my right hand and no cuts on my left.
It took the guys twenty minutes or half an hour to get the work done. Bill and Jacques piled into the front of the pickup. "See you, Freddy. And thanks, 'Tit Queue." Bill called.
Freddy stood on the sidewalk looking a little uncertain, as if he had expected to be offered a lift back. He looked even more uncertain when I walked over beside him. He started to walk away but his step faltered when I joined him. I stayed beside him.
"You have afternoon classes, Freddy?" I asked.
"No." The one word came out jerky and flat. He looked over at me a couple of times without saying anything more. He put a smile on and then quickly looked away.
Set him at ease, I thought. "What have they got you volunteered for at the dance? Helping out the DJ?" I spoke up sociably.
"No."
Make this easy for me, I thought sarcastically. I kept my voice light and conversational. "What are you doing at the dance?"
"Tending bar." Freddy spoke jerkily. "So who do you..."
I waited for him to finish what he was asking. He didn't. "Who do I what?" I said. I kept him walking easily along.
"Whose..?"
"Whose what?"
"Who do you go out with?" Freddy didn't look at me. That meant that I could look at him.
"I don't go out with anybody in particular." I said. "I just hang around the Association meetings."
Freddy was looking at the ground at his feet while he walked alongside me. He was walking where I guided him. I had steered him past the road to the Rodick Gates. Now I leaned in to him and got us walking North towards the Dentistry School building. I couldn't tell if he knew that he was being steered.
"Yeah, I thought... I mean, Jacques said, but you're kind of young..." Freddy trailed off again.
Through the long dark hair that fell beside his cheeks as he fixed his gaze on his feet, I could see acne scars on his face. He wasn't a glossy smooth young man, but the scarring did make him look masculine. I stopped walking.
"Up here." I said.
"What?" Freddy looked up surprised. The grassy bank was steep. It wasn't meant to be climbed. In places it was bald, the rubble exposed by small dusty landslides. I crowded him up this bank. He scrambled up, putting a hand on the ground from to time to time to make the climb easier.
"What are we going up this way for?"
I smiled reassuringly. We found ourselves underneath the foundation of a building. An enormously thick pipe went into the cool dusty dark between the concrete pillars. The sunlight came through the cinderblocks, rectangles of light. The space was too low for Freddy to stand completely upright. He stood hunched over on the scree.
"What did you want to come in here for?" said Freddy.
Arrogantly I lifted my chin. I drew the pistol out of my pocket and aimed it at the man. "I brought you here to rape you, Mister." I said. "If you do what I tell you to, you won't get hurt."
For a moment there was no expression on Freddy's face. He missed a beat, but only one, while he figured out what was going on. Then his eyes widened artificially like a doll. "Um... Don't hurt me. Please." Freddy exclaimed.
It was my turn to be surprised. Slow Freddy caught on so quickly and smoothly. I had expected a comment, an argument or a laugh. I turned the pistol sideways, just for an instant to be sure that he could see that it was only orange plastic. But Freddy put on a voice, unnaturally pitched. "Oh, please don't hurt me. I'll do anything."
The look of predatory menace spread cruelly over my face. "Get back." I ordered brutally. "Farther back."
Freddy threw a quick look at the open space behind me. He was no actor. He looked amazed instead of terrified. "Somebody might..."
"They won't." I said harshly. "Not before I've had my fun with you."
"Oh, please..." He said pathetically. I crowded him back. The space was so narrow that he had to sit down.
"Drop your pants." I ordered him.
His voice jumped from mock pathetic to embarrassed. "I can't really let you..." But he was unzippering as he spoke.
"Listen, Mister." I hissed. "I'm going to get my hands on your cock, or else I'm going to shoot you. You make the choice."
Freddy had a cock that was thick and pink and wrinkly even when it stood erect. It came into view as he shoved his pants down. He was still backing up as he got it out for me, scrambling on his heels and his ass on the soft ground. His voice went from whimpering to quick and embarrassed, almost as if he was trying to read two parts in a play. "Oh God, Please don't murder me!" Then, "But I can't really, Tit Queue. I don't..."
His words stopped when I closed in on his cock. I took it in my hand and mouth simultaneously. His hands went back against the ground to avoid my gun, so that he stretched out on his back. My knees were in the soft dirt as I leaned down onto his cock. I held the gun dripping above his chest as I pointed it at his face. I bobbed down and the sleek head of his cock butted back to my soft palate. The mobile skin felt good in my palm. I slid way down until my nose was almost in the wiry soft hair of his bush and I couldn't see his face. There was no acting about the sound that Freddy made. He groaned.
When Tinker came in it was twenty after nine. Harriet had turned us into the living room so that she could sort out Andrew's legal papers on her kitchen table. "Hey." said Tinker. "Who turned the TV off?" He turned it on before he turned around and took in the room. I was seated on the floor. I had lined up the little glass squares from the mirror ball on the coffee table in front of me. I was moving them around like mah jong tiles. Andrew was curled up in an armchair with his chin on his knees and his books on the floor. He was facing the wall.
Tinker stared at him. "What's the matter with Andrew."
"He just got told that he's going to prison."
"Too fucking bad, Man." Tinker exclaimed. He sat down. His tone was sympathetic. "Your lawyer not good enough to get you off?"
I waited for Andrew to answer but he didn't. He didn't even look around at Tinker. "I don't think it's his lawyer." I said. "They've got too much evidence on him and there are the kids that he sold the stuff to, willing to testify who they got it from. They'd rather Andrew goes inside and they stay out."
"They're sending him inside for a first time?" Tinker was indignant. "Andrew never got charged with anything before this."
"He had a whole tackle box full of hash in his locker. If it was just a baggie they might have gone easy on him."
"Andrew's from Outremont. He's a fucking momma's boy, straight A student!"
I shrugged. Andrew had crossed the line beyond where he could not be rescued "At least he's just going up to Shawbridge instead of Dorchester."
Tinker surveyed Andrew. The younger boy had turned around to face us now. His face was set in bleak lines but they were steady now compared to the anguish of earlier when he had flung himself into the chair. Maybe it was his haircut, obviously given to him at a shop instead of in Harriet's kitchen, or maybe it was the neat store-bought clothes that set Tinker off. Tinker summed up the verdict. "The queers are going to fuck you in prison." he pronounced.
"No they won't." Andrew said loudly. "I'll tell the guards. I don't care if it's snitching..."
"Fuck!" said Tinker.
"Andrew." I said gently. "It's not the kids that are in there are queer. Some of them are. But there's guards at Shawbridge, they do the boys. There's one guard, Mr Le..." I trailed off.
"Mr Lefebvre." Tinker supplied. "I was only in Shawbridge for a month last year. That bastard is one mean motherfucker. I was lucky. I was only about a week from getting released when he got put on our section. He had his eye on me but I got out before he got me. He's going to nail your ass, Andrew, him and any of the other guards that want to. He's going to turn you into a lisping little fairy before your sentence is over. He'll make you bend over in the showers and then give you to the other boys as a favour. There's not a thing you can do about it. Homos run the whole show. Shawbridge is run by a bunch of sick pervert creeps."
"Leave me the fuck alone!" Andrew, red faced, stood up. He blundered out of the room towards the stairs.
Tinker stared after Andrew in mild surprise. Then he lost interest and flung himself diagonally on the couch behind me. "So," he said elaborately. "What about it, McBain. Did you do it, you know, score that way again?"
I shrugged. I kept my eyes down, looking at the tiny reflections in the tiles, the shattered smooth-cheeked face that gazed back at me.
"Did you?" Tinker pressed.
"What about yourself?" I countered.
"Fuck, you did!" Tinker sat bolt upright before he sagged down. "Shit! Some guys! Holy Estie. I don't get any pussy and you're going out and bagging it every other week!" He paused. "So what was it like? What did you make her do? What did she say?"
"I got her to lie down on her back." I said coldly. I looked over my shoulder. "And she said, 'Please, I really can't let you."
"Fuck, go on, what else?" Tinker urged. "Where was it? Where did you do her?"
I shot a look towards the kitchen door. "It was on the McGill campus. I took her up someplace quiet under a building and I licked her pussy out; I'm not going to tell you any more."
Tinker gazed at me for a while. "You eat pussy...?" He opened his eyes wide. "You mean, you really like that?"
"Don't you?" I asked. "You can't get much more into a girl than that, when you got the taste of her smearing up the side of your cheeks and you can feel it if she's getting puffy..."
"Man," said Tinker, "I'm dying here! If I don't get some cunt somehow soon...! Fuck, I gotta get out of here, get a place of my own..."
Harriet's step on the hall warned us that she was coming in. Tinker fell silent before Harriet stood in the doorway. She looked down at Andrew's books that had covered the carpet. Neither of us said anything.
"Tinker, have you done your homework?"
The seventeen-year-old scowled. "Jeezus, Mrs. B. I just got in this very minute. I didn't have any time for that."
"Bring your books into the kitchen and show me what you've got." Harriet said.
"Andrew didn't do his homework." Tinker protested. "What are you digging in on me for?"
"Would you get those books picked up, please, McBain?" Harriet said formally. "Take them up to Andrew." Her tone changed as she spoke to Tinker. "The reason why I'm picking on you and not on Andrew is because you can handle a little algebra right now. He can't."
"I don't understand any of that." Tinker groaned. "Algebra is too hard. It's all too hard." He followed her reluctantly back to the kitchen.
I went to Tupper Street after coming off work. It was ten after nine at night. The gun weighted down the side of my jacket. There was a coolness, spreading slowly close to my waist. I could tell that the gun was leaking; the tape was no longer keeping a seal over the stopper. The chill spread about my midriff as I walked from my job at the corner store to ring the doorbell of a flat.
One of Jeffery's three roommates opened the door. I knew Lambert by sight.
"Jeffery home?" I said.
"Nah." He must have recognised me also because he left the door open and went back down the hall. I came in. Lambert had stopped in front of a hall mirror where he was primping. He stared into the glass as intently as if it was the face of his lover. He put both his hands up into his hair and fluffed it up.
"Is Larry around?" I looked up the hall past Lambert.
"Out." Said Lambert.
"Any idea where? When he's coming back?"
Lambert was transfixed on the big mirror. I watched him suck in his cheeks and half lid his eyes. He turned his face slightly to the side, trying to gauge the effect. Lambert had a long thin nose and full lips like a recurve bow. The effect was regal. It didn't seem to satisfy him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket to tug it down and make the lines fall straight and smooth in front of his belly. His very round small ass and long legs were encased in excruciatingly tight jeans. Lambert was a beautiful leather boy.
I tried to remember the name of the fourth roommate and failed. I ran out of people to ask about. "How about the dog?" I said. "Is Jeffery's dog in the apartment?"
Lambert rubbed an invisible spot on the side of his mouth. "No. He took her up to the Plateau with him."
"Then you and me are alone in the apartment." I observed.
"Uh huh." Satisfied at last, Lambert turned around.
He found himself facing my gun. I aimed it his face with a narrow smile. "Don't even think about yelling for help." I said. "I'm going to rape you at gunpoint."
For less than an instant Lambert paused, his face flaring in incredulous contempt. He moved without hesitation. He stepped behind me, hands thrusting hard against my shoulder blades. My water pistol waved at the hall in front of me. I couldn't shoot Lambert because he was behind me.
"Out." Lambert ordered sharply. The irritation was sharp in his voice. "I don't have time for fooling around." I was propelled down the hall almost too fast to react. "Take that stupid thing away and get lost." A moment later I found myself on the doorstep. "Little jerk!" Lambert snorted as he slammed the door behind me.
I stood foolishly at the top of the winding staircase outside. Embarrassment made my ears sing with heat. I hadn't even had a chance to say something to Lambert to cover over the bad moment. I wasn't going to ring the doorbell again. There was nothing else to do, so I tucked the weapon back into my jacket. Crestfallen, I picked my way down the stairs.
The next evening Tinker was waiting for me outside when I left work. He was two doors down, ranging from side to side on the sidewalk in the half dark. The first thought I had at the sight of him was to be glad that he hadn't come inside looking for me, and got Mr. Nascimento annoyed at me. Then I was puzzled because Tinker never had hung around me before. We only met at Harriet's because we both lived there.
"Loan me ten bucks, Kid, won't ya. C'mon. I gotta have it." His voice was half truculent and half pleading.
I had my answer; that was what he wanted me for. Money. "I can't loan you ten dollars." I said.
"C'mon, Kid. I only need ten bucks more. That's all I'm short. Ten bucks. Please? Holy Estie, I know you can spare me that much."
I don't have ten bucks!" I said.
"Yeah, you do. That guy you work for, he paid you today, didn't he?"
"Yeah." I agreed. "And it all goes back to Harriet. You know that."
"But she gives you spending money, don't she? Five bucks a week?" I looked at Tinker sideways but I didn't deny it.
"So you can take ten bucks," He went on. "Bring her the rest, tell her you took your spending money for this week and the next week. She won't mind. You're her little puppy. Nothing you ever do pisses the bitch off. If you tell her you took the money in advance she'll say it's alright."
I sighed. Tinker was right. I had been paid and Harriet did give me five bucks for spending money sometimes. But she didn't give it to me every week, only when she had some leeway in the budget. All the same, I knew that if I went to her and said that I had needed the ten dollars and taken it out, all she would do was nod. I fished in my pocket and found ten from the eighteen dollars that Mr. Nascimento had given me. Harriet's money. I held out two fives.
Tinker barely waited to thank me as he pulled it out of my palm. "Aw-Right! Thanks a bunch, I'm gonna pay you back, with interest. I'll give you a whole lot more for it." He dashed off down the block.
"Hey, Tinker! What did you want it for anyway?"
"You'll see! Yeah, you'll see!" His jubilant voice floated back to me but he didn't look behind.
I watched him go, frowning. He knows somebody who's going to buy him a bottle, I thought. His enthusiasm was unusual. I could picture him crawling home past two in the morning, still half-drunk. If that was what he was up to, he'd get the yardstick again. I sighed, hoping otherwise. I didn't want to have to go without spending money for a month so that Tinker could earn himself another layer of welts.
I was still frowning, discontented as I walked towards home. I took the detour again, below Ste. Catherine Street along Tupper Street. It would be good to see Larry. I wanted to rape him. That would be fun. I wanted to rape either Larry or Jeffery, but I wasn't going to go up to their flat again in case I would see Lambert. I had the water pistol in my pocket. This time it lay lightly. It was empty and dry. I didn't look up at the door of their flat as I walked past.
I was at the end of the street when I heard a hail. "Ey, Tit Queue! Attendez-moi, Gars." I looked up with a smile. It was Jacques. He dropped into step breathlessly beside me. His smile was wide.
"Ey, it's dat boy-chicken. 'Ow you doing, man?"
"Ca va," I smiled.
"Wanna come back, chez moi, 'ave coffee, maybe a joint?"
"I don't smoke it, Jacques. Thanks." Now I was grinning. "Where do you live anyway?"
"Chez moi, it is dans la rue Mountain. Viens-la." He invited.
"Okay." I said. "I have to be back at ten, but I'll come with you."
Jacques led the way quickly, keeping his eyes fixed on me. They sparkled. He told me a story in rapid fire French. I only followed half of it. My French was no better than his English was. It seemed to be a story about someone who had lived in his building, but who had fallen from his balcony when he was stoned. When we got there I looked up. It was a high rise.
"Quel etage?"
"La douzieme."
"He fell twelve stories?"
"Il se mort." Jacques nodded hard. "Boum! 'E still live when the ambulance, she get there, but soon they touch 'im, c'est tout. Il est fini."
The elevator inside was lined with gold marbled mirrors. Images of Jacques and myself rode up with us. He still didn't take his eyes off me. I looked at his reflections, smiling uncertainly at the illusion of infinity as we rode up in the narrow box.
"Qu'est ce que tu veux?" Jacques lunged into the kitchenette of a cramped apartment. "Rum and coke? Du vin?"
"Just coffee, please Jacques. I told you I couldn't stay."
The rooms in the apartment were taller than they were wide. There were paintings of lopsided unrealistic trees. I glanced into the rooms. We were quite alone. My hand slid into my pocket and touched the hollow brittle plastic of the weapon.
There was a long mirror above the sofa in Jacques' tiny living room. I sat myself down putting my back to it. In the small room I kept my knees together. Jacques came lunging out of his kitchen again with the coffee.
"'Ere, she is ready. Drink up." He sat opposite me when I took the mug. I smelt the strong fumes rising to me when I dipped my face in to the mug. The bittersweetness smelt delicious but when the fluid was in my mouth the bite of alcohol burned on my tongue. He had poured liquor into it, a lot of liquor. I swallowed the mouthful, smiling brightly and put the cup down beside myself.
"'Ow you say, she is for going out, n'est pas?" the man suggested.
"I'm sorry, Jacques. I didn't understand that. Je ne le connais."
He looked away. It was the first time he had looked away from me since we had met on the street. He was baffled and trying to find the words to communicate whatever it was that he was trying to say. While his head was turned and his hands frozen in mid-air, I reached into my pocket. Cautiously I pointed the empty water pistol at the man.
A great grin stretched Jacques' mouth as wide as a hooker's ass. His hands flew up. "Oh, 'elp!" he exclaimed. " Ne me tues pas!" He laughed with delight. "Bill, 'e told me the game you plays. I was 'ope you want to play wit me."
"I'm serious, Jacques." I said bravely. "I'm going to rape you, or else I'll blow your head off."
He stood up at once and started wiggling out of his jeans. I sat frozen. He got his jeans down to his knees and his black bikini's with them. His cock stood up from a bush of kinky black hair. Twisting his lips into a moue, he framed his cock in his hands and displayed it to me. I didn't move. I just looked at the organ.
"Allons-y, garcon. Viole-moi!" He urged. "C'mon, quick, go for it, rape me, Tit Queue! I'm ready."
"Sit down." I said.
He sat back on the chair opposite me, knees widely spread.
"You've got to put your hands up."
He put them up instantly on either side of his head so that they framed his eager grin.
"You're supposed to look scared." I said.
"Ow's dat?"
"Look scared. Fais le semblance de je te fais peur."
Jacques managed to smile and to frown with puzzlement simultaneously. He got what I was asking him to do, more or less, when I let him think about it. "Non, non! Ne me viole jamais!" He told me. The expectant smile stayed on his face.
I came forward and got on my knees in front of him. He gave a deep eager breath as I brought my face down to his crotch. The gun was pointing at one of his knees.
"Bill, 'e told me. Fuck man, I say, I 'ope dat boy, he do me like dat."
I said nothing, taking his prick into my mouth and tasting the salt. I rode it up and down. When his hands came down into my hair, I didn't object. I wrapped my tongue about his stiff cock and sucked.
I can probably be out of here in fifteen minutes, I thought and I 'll still be home on time.
Harriet was alone in the kitchen when I walked in. There were no books on the table in front of her, just an ashtray. There were five cigarette butts in the ashtray and one cigarette in her hand. Her face was dour. I glanced up quickly at the clock above the stove. It said ten to ten.
"Homework done?" She raised an eyebrow enquiringly and blew smoke.
"I did it at school."
"Good."
I looked about the kitchen again. The house was very quiet. Of course, it was nothing new for Tinker to come in late and Andrew had gone away in a police car the day before yesterday.
Harriet broke into my thoughts. "We're getting a new boy tomorrow, McBain." She said. "I thought I'd put him in the room with you instead of in Andrew's old bed. His name is Dylan. He's got health problems, including asthma. I'd like to have someone with him at night, in case he has trouble breathing. I can trust you to do that, I think."
"Yes, Ma'am." I slipped into the seat. Her tone, describing the new boy, didn't match the cigarettes. Her voice had a touch of worry in it. The cigarettes didn't go with worry. I looked up at her seeking. She met my regard levelly, giving nothing away.
"Where is Tinker?" I said.
"The police phoned." Harriet's voice was flat with depression. "They arrested him this evening. He was attempting to rob a bar. He'd got a gun from somewhere so he won't be released while he's waiting for trial. They're just going to send him straight up to Shawbridge. I never thought Tinker was dumb enough to turn to armed robbery, but it looks like I was wrong."
I said nothing. For several seconds the silence hung between us. "I'm sorry, Harriet." I said awkwardly.
"Easy come, easy go." She shrugged painfully.
I looked down at the tabletop. They were going to ask me if I knew where Tinker had got his gun. I knew that. It would be in a couple of days, a big blue uniformed policeman would stand large in the hall of Harriet's house and ask me if Tinker had said anything about getting himself a gun. When they asked, I was going to lie.
"Dylan doesn't go to school." Harriet informed me.
"No?" I looked up again. "How old is he?"
"Thirteen." She explained. "He's a Down's syndrome boy. A dummy. But a gentle one. They tell me he's quite harmless. He'll probably die while he's here. My job will involve taking him to the hospital a lot."
"Oh." I said. There was a softer curve at the edge of Harriet's mouth. She was going to enjoy having a gentle dummy around for a while, I thought. It would be more work, but easier on her than Tinker had been.
"Since he's going to be home in the daytime, he's going to need toys to play with. Do you think you could put together some cars and stuffed animals and that? I expect there's some in one of the boxes in the back room."
"Yes. " I said. "I can do that. I'll dig in the boxes before I go to school in the morning. I've got an old water pistol that I don't fool around with any more. He can have that to play with too."
End of story