Boy Crucified (3 page)

By now, officers had arrived to drag her away. Daniel was crouching down, giving me anxious, bewildered looks, as if this was the last thing he expected on his first day of work, which it probably was. Mary Beth was still piping away about whether I was, like, all right or not.

I tried to stand, grimacing at the pain it caused. I was no longer a young man, no longer able to bounce back from injuries the way I had once been able to.

“Man, you need to see a doctor,” Daniel said.

He was certainly observant.

Captain Harlock, my boss, came bustling through the hall and around the desk. “Tommy, what the hell?”

“Stabbed with a syringe,” Daniel said, something in his voice a bit hysterical. Absently, I thought I was going to have to watch that. His first crisis, and he was ready to lose it.

The syringe was still lying on the floor where I’d tossed it. “Mary Beth, why don’t you get the syringe and shut your mouth?” I nodded in its direction. She went about this task as if I had asked her to pick up live ammunition that could take out sixteen city blocks if she so much as burped.

“Will someone pick up the fucking syringe?” I demanded, getting angry now. “It’s going to need to be tested. Are you all complete morons?”

Then, having uttered these words, I passed out. One moment I was fine. The next moment, I felt very strange. I saw the floor rushing up and wondered briefly why everyone had suddenly started shouting.

V

S
HE
had not hit the bone. I was told to be grateful. I found gratitude difficult to come by. My arm and shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch, and my mother had used a dirty needle to do the job, and the doctor had instructed the nurse to draw blood so that an HIV test could be done. Then she gave me a tetanus shot, just to add to the misery. This after the doctor had driven me half insane by endlessly squeezing the wound, trying to get every last drop of blood out of it that he could, for my own good, of course. He finally stopped when I told him I would use my service revolver to give him a free face-lift if he didn’t take his fucking hands off me, and immediately.

By the time Daniel drove me home, I was completely out of sorts.

Home was a two-story brick house with a large backyard, fenced in with hedges for privacy. It had been left to me by my grandmother, perhaps out of pity for what her daughter had put me through. The property was not going to win any awards, but it was comfortable. It was set up on a hill, right off State Line Road, so I could sit on the large front porch, which I often did, and stare across the street into the multitudinous glory that was Kansas City, Kansas.

We stood on the porch as I fumbled for my keys.

“Can I get you anything, man?” Daniel asked.

I shook my head. I appreciated his helpfulness, but at that moment I wanted to crawl off somewhere and lick my wounds in privacy.

“Should I pick you up tomorrow morning?”

“At seven,” I said.

“You gonna be all right now?”

“Of course.”

He did not seem convinced.

I could not hold my hands still enough to get the key in the door. The painkiller they’d given me was making everything swim in front of my eyes. It seemed cold, as if it ought to be snowing.

“Let me help you,” he said, taking the keys from me and unlocking the door.

I went inside.

He followed.

“Thanks for your help,” I said, my tone of voice suggesting that now would be a good time to say goodnight.

“I’ll make you some coffee.”

“That’s all right.”

“What are partners for?”

“I’d rather be alone right now.”

“Oh, come on, man. Why don’t you let me help you? It’s no problem. Really. It’s cool. And you look like shit.”

I was in more pain than I cared to admit, and he probably knew it.

“Should I make coffee?” Daniel asked.

“I’m going to bed. Thanks anyway.”

“I could just sleep on the couch,” he said.

“No, really, you don’t need to.”

“I know,” he said, “but I want to. Chinese style. You’re my boss-man. I’m supposed to help you, make a good impression. Besides, you might have trouble during the night, and you might need someone to drive you to the hospital or something. Really, it’s no problem. It’s cool. You know?”

I frowned at him. Not because I didn’t appreciate his help, but because it was so unexpected. I was injured and supposed to act like it didn’t hurt. He was supposed to go along with me and not injure my male pride by being overly solicitous. He was supposed to pretend, along with me, that everything was perfectly fine even if it very obviously wasn’t.

“I’m going to bed,” I said, turning to march upstairs.

Daniel Qo followed.

I took a shower, feeling generally miserable and very sorry for myself. I made the water as hot as I could stand it and let it pound against my back for many minutes.

Back in the bedroom, I found Daniel in his white underwear, displaying his very finely muscled body.

“Maybe I could borrow some pajamas?” he asked, smiling at me.

I preferred seeing him just the way he was, but I nodded at the dresser. “Top drawer.”

He retrieved a pair but did not immediately put them on. Instead, he approached me, surveying the bandage on my shoulder, frowning deeply, his concern very much apparent.

“Shit, man,” he said, as if that was a complete sentence.

“I think I’ll just go to bed,” I said, the painkiller making me feel groggy. “Just help yourself to whatever.
Mi casa, su casa
, all of that.”

“You got the bandage wet,” he said, his voice accusing. I didn’t really give a shit, not at that moment. He took the towel from around my waist as I crawled naked into my bed, feeling suddenly like I couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer. I thought about how nice it would be if he would crawl into bed after me and press his brown body against my complaining, aching white one, maybe even bugger me while I was helpless to prevent him.

It would be a perfect end to an otherwise crappy day.

I eased myself back into the pillows. Daniel sat on the bed next to me, lifting the covers up to my chest. I pushed them down a bit, wanting him to see my bare chest, wanting him to get suddenly bold and daring. The business between my legs got a little hard at the thought.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked quietly.

I would be, I thought, if you’d throw back these covers and fuck the daylights out of me. I would be if I could lay on my back with my legs spread watching you huffing and puffing—watching those muscles on your chest ripple and tingle, watching you catch your breath and groan and moan and carry on like a dog in heat.

Oh Christ, I would be.

He put a hand to my forehead, checking for a temperature. A needless gesture, but I didn’t complain.

“You’re kinda hot,” he said with the hint of a smile in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I said.

He put his hand on my chest and rubbed a small circle as if I was a little boy with the flu and he was Mama Bear, all care and concern. Would he kiss me on the forehead next? I hoped so.

“You sure you don’t need anything?” he asked.

Pretending like I was relaxing and preparing to go to sleep, I pushed the covers down to expose my belly. I acted as though I always slept with the covers down to my crotch, a bulging cock evident for anyone who had the eyes to see. I closed my eyes and sighed. I hoped it was a provocative, come-hither sigh. In my grogginess, I wasn’t completely sure.

Daniel made no effort to move. I was glad of that, but now, with my eyes closed, I could not see his reactions. The last thing I wanted was for him to get up and leave, thinking I was asleep. I opened my eyes. I let one hand drift over to him. It fell on his leg close to his underwear. I tried to be all nonchalant and everything, which was hard because I was so suddenly and inexplicably horny.

“Why don’t I stay a while,” Daniel suggested. He put a hand on my chest, let it slide to my belly. “You look like you could use a little… help.”

The hand slid down farther into the patch of pubic hair where the beast lurked.

I let my own hand slide a little farther along his leg. I gripped the fabric of his underwear with my fingers, as if I wanted to buy it but had to finger it first to make sure it was the right material for my tastes.

With a very smooth, practiced maneuver, he used his free hand to slip that pair of underwear off, exposing one of the prettiest cocks I had seen in quite some time. I had never been with an Asian man, and now I wondered why.

“Why don’t you relax?” he asked.

Why not?

I closed my eyes. I sensed movement. He pushed the covers farther down; my cock sprang to immediate attention. He bent over me—I was aware suddenly of the warmth and presence of his body—and took the general into his warm, greedy mouth.

Hallelujah!

I moaned. It had been a long time since I’d had my cock sucked.

“What about protection?” I asked.

“Leave it to me,” he replied.

I opened my eyes to the sight of his lean body draped over me, head hovering over my crotch, his back curving before me. I put my hands on that back. I resisted the urge to push him down on me, make him take all of it and quickly. I wanted to savor it, feel it, experience it, relax with it, fall asleep as the juice hit the fan. I’d forgotten all about the murder victim, my mother, the needle, the doctor.

He went down. Down, down, down. Down all the way until his nose was pressing into my balls.

Jesus! Can I get an amen?

Dipping one’s pen in the office ink was not a good idea. I knew that intellectually, but damned if that was going to stop me now.

Daniel put both hands on my hips, spreading my legs, fighting for easier access. I was hoping, expecting, that he would position himself over me so that I could get a bit of cock myself, but he did not. I wanted it. I would have gladly sucked it all night long like a baby with a pacifier. I was very oral that way.

He made no move to force himself upon me. Rather, he moved down the bed and turned his body around so he was facing me—I could see him down there, between my legs, his tongue licking at my privates, his hands cupping my balls, squeezing them gently, urging them to spill their pent-up frustrations in a paroxysm of bliss and release.

He caught me looking at him and smiled. There was too much cock in his mouth for me to see those large white teeth, but never mind. He swallowed me whole, then lifted his head before going down again. He introduced his right hand into the mix, stroking my hardness, letting the fingers spread out into my pubes as he went down.

Christ, it was heavenly.

I felt the orgasm gathering in my thighs and belly. He sensed it too, I think, because he slipped a condom on it, then held on for dear life as if to demonstrate he wasn’t going anywhere until the fat lady sang.

My whole body was now on fire with urgent need. I hadn’t felt this lusty since my last trip to the bathhouse on 38th Street, and that had been more than a year ago. It was all animal now.

I rolled over slowly onto my side—my best orgasms came that way, lying on my side, my cock thrust deep into someone’s glory hole, my hands gripping the hair on the glory hole’s head, my body curling and flexing with delicious abandon.

On our sides now, the entire length of my meat inside Daniel Qo’s mouth, I was ready to shoot my wad. Daniel let his free hand slide between my legs. It went over my buttocks and up to my lower back. It clamped itself there, pushing my hips forward so I could violate his mouth with greater efficiency. The fingers on his other hand were stroking my balls, urging them on.

With a shudder, I let go and the dam broke. The semen shot out of my body. Daniel Qo swallowed around me without a bit of complaint. I was blind to all else, trembling as the juice flowed and my loins emptied themselves into a willing receptacle.

Then it was done.

Daniel refused to release me, keeping my cock in his mouth, his hand rubbing at my back as if to soothe and caress me. His other hand slid up my stomach to my chest. He pinched at my right nipple.

I wanted to taste him, pleasure him, get some cock of my own. Instead, I fell asleep with my dick in his mouth.

CHAPTER TWO
Sources close to the investigation

I

I
WOKE
at just after 5:00 a.m., my injured arm sending bolts of pain up and down my shoulder. The painkiller had worn off. I put on a bathrobe and went downstairs through the dark house.

Daniel was asleep on the couch, clothes draped on the back of my easy chair, his dark hair tousled in sleep. For some reason, the sight of him made me horny. That’s just what I needed, a crush on a younger man. As if my life wasn’t enough of a mess as it was.

In the kitchen, I put on a pot of coffee.

My shoulder ached dully, and a nice bruise spread around the area where I’d been stabbed. I discovered this by removing the bandage, which was annoying me. As I stared at the bruise, I thought about other needles and other encounters with my mother, and a darkness spread itself over my mind. It wasn’t the darkness of depression. It was more like fear and dread and exhaustion, all mixed together and forming a sort of ominous cloud that hung inside me, full of thunder and turmoil, ready to let loose with its burdens at any moment.

While waiting for the coffee to brew, I went into the downstairs bedroom I had turned into a combination library and chapel. The room was lined with bookcases, for the most part, housing my rather unusual reading selections that ranged from religion to science to Stephen King and Patricia Cornwell. It was all there: Krishnamurti, Osho, Inayat Khan, Swami Prabupada, St. Augustine, St. John of the Cross, the documents of Vatican II, various translations of the Koran, Buddhist sutras, books by the Dalai Lama and more, nestling with
A Brief History of Time, Cosmos, The Ascent of Man, Fowler’s Modern English Usage, Cujo, The Tommyknockers, The Grapes of Wrath, Postmortem.