FRICTION FICTION: CRUISE OF DEATH by Allen Markham (1980)

[monshanjik]

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CRUISE OF DEATH

By Allen Markham

(Numbers.July.1980.)

The dry Hollywood heat receded behind me as I plunged into the cool,
murky darkness of The Dungeon. It was early in the evening, not yet nine
o'clock, and most of the old, leather covered barstools were empty and
lined up at the bar like a regiment of diminutive soldiers.

An older man near the entrance eyed me lustily, trying to look macho in
his leather jacket and jeans, but not succeeding. I flashed a
non-committal smile, and waded deeper into the gloom. I paused briefly
at the pinball, watching two handsome young men in mock battle. Their
faces were lit by flashing lights, too much beer, and a joint or two,
most likely. The game came to a bell clanging conclusion, the two men
hugged, and stumbled laughing to the bar. I walked to the far end of the
bar, and ordered a beer from the leather clad bartender, then settled
down to watch the evening unfold.

The Dungeon was aptly named. Its decor suggested the basement of a
crumbling old castle; heavy timbers supported the ceiling, cobwebs and
chains hung from the dank stone walls. An Iron Maiden stood implacably
beside the cash register, and ancient instruments of torture were
scattered here and there, as though they had just recently been laid
down by some long dead sadistic torturer. The overall air of the place
was gloomy and foreboding, but the cus-tomers really went for it. On a
Friday night like tonight, the place was packed, men of all ages and
descriptions lined the bar, waiting, watching and sweating.

I was staring into my second beer. People were already beginning to
filter in from the oppressive heat outside. By ten o'clock, the place
was a madhouse.

A young guy in denim was watching me intently and soon came over to
introduce himself. We sat and talked, bought each other a few beers, and
were about on the verge of going home together, when it happened.

I don't know how to describe it. It was like suddenly not being able to
breathe. I felt this compulsion to look behind me, and as I turned, my
breath caught in my throat, and my hands began to shake.

He was watching me carefully, tall, with jet black hair and eyes you
could drown in. When our eyes met it was as if everything else in the
bar had ceased to exist. The veils of cigarette smoke drifting on the
air froze, the men at the bar paused, their lips inches from their
upraised beer mugs. The pinball paused in mid-clang, and the room was
dead silent. He smiled, and with a pop like a cork exploding from a
bottle of champagne, everything returned to normal. I'd never
experienced anything like it!

I staggered to my feet, denim boy completely forgotten. I pushed my way
to the bar, never losing sight of the piercing eyes which pulled me,
tugged me, led me until I was beside him, mumbling and numb all over.
His hand touched mine, and warmth and quiet wafted through me. The
steamy sloshing of beer in my brain slowed and stopped, and my eyes
cleared.

"Too much beer, my friend?" His voice was rich and full, soothing and
masculine.

"I guess so! I'm lucky I didn't fall on my face!" My voice was quavering
from excite-ment This guy was absolutely gorgeous.

"My name is Walt." The rich tones of his voice immediately calmed me.

"I'm John. It's nice meeting you."

We fell into a long conversation about a lot of things, and the clock
ran its relentless course. Soon the last call blared into my awareness.
It was time to go.

It seemed like only moments passed before we were in my bedroom.

Walt was beside me, his arm across my shoulder.

He smiled and drew me closer, kissing and chewing my lips. His hand
massaged my chest and continued working down to my crotch. My cock rose
to meet him, and I moaned as he began stroking me. We fell back on the
bed, and he began stripping off my clothes.

When we were both nude on the bed, he kissed me again, then wandered to
my nipples, which were hard and sensitive. His tongue expertly tickled
each one, then began a slow, sensuous descent to my navel, which also
got a good workout. I moaned loudly as his lips met my cock, and gasped
as he took me deep into his mouth. I reached down to feel his own
throbbing meat. It was long, thick, and well shaped.

Abruptly, he shifted his weight, and spread my legs apart with his
knees. Before I could protest, he was inside me. The pain wasn't as bad
as I thought it would be, and the intense pleasure of being fucked and
blown at the same time quickly cancelled out the discomfort of being
entered without lubrication.

I felt drugged. The waves of sensation pouring through me were bringing
me closer and closer to orgasm. I must have sensed my nearness for he
quickened his thrusts, and sucked more hungrily on my cock. We were both
breathing fast, our breath coming in choked gasps. I looked down, and
our eyes met. Something glowed in his eyes, perhaps a trick of the
light, or my own beer soaked imagination. But light or imagination, a
smoky redness lurked there, curling and writhing and growing. I stared,
intrigued.

His lips worked harder, faster, and I began to feel that familiar
exhilaration, the tightening, squeezing sensation I knew so well. His
eyes were blazing with fire, but I was too lost in my own ecstasy to
think about it. A tiny explosion went off in my brain, and then each
little neuron and synapse and nerve strand followed suit, and I came and
came and came. In the midst of my earth shattering orgasm, there came a
sharp pain in my cock, but I hardly noticed it. I was writhing all over
the bed, my cock pulsing in his mouth, his cock gushing deep inside me.
My brain was on fire, smoky red fog surging in waves against the shores
of my consciousness. Then I blacked out.

I awoke sometimes later. It was still dark, or it was dark again, I
wasn't sure which for I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping. My
throat felt parched and dry. My stomach heaved with nausea. Walt was
gone.

I dragged myself out of bed, and after a hot shower I felt better. As I
was toweling dry, I noticed a tenderness in my cock, and looked down to
inspect the cause. There were two tiny, ragged holes in the shaft, near
the base! I was suddenly sickened. Walt had bitten me! That goddamned
bastard! I cleaned the wounds with alcohol, pulled on some boxers and
went into the kitchen.

I put a glass of milk and a sandwich on the table, and went to see if I
had a paper. The newspaper on my doorstep said it was Saturday. I had
slept a whole day! Back in the kitchen, I drank the milk and ate part of
the sandwich, and immediately threw it all up. I was still hungry, and
my throat felt like sandpaper.

I went back into my room. Stripping off the boxer shorts, I saw that the
punctures had disappeared.

I sat down on the bed, my mind a whirling mess of fear, revulsion, and
gnawing hunger. I decided to go back to the Dungeon and try to find
Walt, to make him explain. I threw on some clothes and left the
apartment.

When I got to the Dungeon, it was already eleven o'clock. I asked
around, but no one had seen Walt that night. I ordered a beer and found
a seat next to a tall, blond guy. As I sat down, he turned to me and
smiled. I smiled back, and took a sip of my beer. It was all I could do
to keep from gagging. I excused myself and went to the restroom at the
rear of the place. After vomiting I stood in front of the mirror and
sponged my face with water. My reflection looked milky and wavery like
when you get out of the shower and the mirror is steamed. As I watched,
the reflection, my reflection, wavered and then winked out. I was
staring at a blank wall, the wall behind me! Some hangover, I muttered
to myself.

The blond guy, who introduced himself as Darrell, had saved my seat for
me, and I rejoined him. He told me a little about himself, and I bought
him a beer. I didn't dare try to drink more beer.

After several minutes, he began stroking my thigh, looking at me
expectantly. He smiled.

"Want to join me for a few drinks at my place?" he asked.

My cock was stiff from his touch, and I was horny as hell. I nodded yes,
and we got up and made for the door, him in the lead. We had to cut
through an alley to get to his car, and when we were out of sight of the
street, he turned to me and kissed me hard on the mouth. He unzipped his
jeans and pulled out his already stiff cock. He leaned back against the
wall, and pushed my head down.

"Cmon, man, suck it!" he moaned.

I knelt before him, pulling his jeans down to his ankles, and took him
deep into my mouth. He squirmed, thrusting his hips forward. I sucked
him with long, slow strokes, and unzipped my pants.

I began jerking my meat, sucking lustily on Darrell's rod, listening
intently to his breathing so as to alert me to when he was ready to
shoot.

My head was buzzing, and my vision seemed obscured by a reddish haze. My
throat burned, and I felt dizzy. Darrell was moaning loudly, but I
barely heard him. A crashing wave of red fire washed over my brain just
as Darrell began to shoot his load down my throat; He came and came and
came, the sticky hot liquid pouring down my throat. There was a roaring
in my ears, and I came all over his legs in hot, thick jets. Still he
came, filling my mouth with his sweet . He sagged against the wall,
and then slipped to the ground. I didn't take my mouth off of him until
he was in a sitting position. I looked up, expecting to see a grimace of
pain and fear.

His face was becalmed with pleasure that took me by surprise because it
appeared so familiar in the dim glow of the nearby streetlight.

"Welcome to my world," said Darrell, "I hope you slept well last night."

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Thanks to K. Possum of the Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group for this!