98 Wounds Read Online Free PDF Page A

bemused by the action on screen, and all he remembered thinking was: in our lives, who among us hasn’t had to eat the shit out of someone else’s cup?
    The dealer pulls the dildo out.
    He almost passes out from the pain when the head of the dildo pops out of his ass. How could relief feel so painful? he might wonder, if he could even think. He is quivering, trying to quell the racking spasms. The dealer takes his forefinger and dips it into a baggie, coating his finger up to the first joint with the powder white crystals; crushed chunks and shards stick to the finger like fake snow frosting on shopping mall Christmas trees. Like coconut frosting, he thinks. The dealer puts his finger right into the open hole.
    He feels his hole close on that finger like a Venus Flytrap. The finger feels strangely cold. Everything else feels magnificently hot. Soon, very soon. Everything will burn.

    â€œDo you want a line? Here…” He takes the small packet and taps out a neat line on his belly. The sweat mats the fine powder. He gives me the McDonald’s straw that has been cut into a manageable inch-and-a-half length and I sniff up what’s not stuck to the sweat and the fine hairs, those I lick up, savoring the bitter taste of the powder and the salt of his sweat. I lie back down. He takes my dick and flops it onto my belly.
    â€œDon’t move,” he says, and he taps out a line on the underside of my dick. The tweakered dick plumps up as he does this. He sniffs that up noisily. He takes my dick into his mouth to suck up the leftover powder. His tongue starts to go numb.
    â€œLike Novacaine,” he says.
    â€œLike sucking spermicide,” I say. I should know, and I do.

    The deal was that I would collect a small vial of my cum and he would do likewise. Then we would pack it in blue-ice and FedEx it to each other. What would you do with my cum? he had asked. I said I would eat some of it, dribble some of it on my chest, and use some of it to jack off. And what would you do with mine? He said he would drink most of it. That’s what he did with all the cum he got from all those men all over the country. But he never e-mailed me back his address and so the small bottle that once contained Body Shop Elderflower Eye Gel sat in my fridge, tightly capped and covered with aluminum foil, filled with a week-and-a-half ’s worth of daily (twice, thrice even) jacking off.
    One day, a trick came over. A real cum pig. He wanted to drink my cum, he wanted to feel my juice on his face, dripping into his mouth. I have something better, I said. I got the bottle from the fridge. I opened the bottle and the smell of cum hit us. He was excited. I held the bottle out to him and he stuck his tongue into it. You want it? I asked. Oh yes, he begged rather all too convincingly. I let him lap at the bottle like a dog. The smell of that cum was mesmerizingly clinical, so medicinal. As he was lapping at the cum in the bottle, I noticed that a layer of mold had grown on the inside of the lid, and then I noticed a spindle of mold floating in the bottle. I held his head back, pried his mouth open with my fingers, emptied the bottle down, and shut his mouth and held it, made him swallow it all, like how you make dogs and cats take their pills.

    John has put Joe in a smart pair of white y-fronts and a dog collar, and chained him to a pole. Joe’s hands are bound a little too tightly and he can feel his fingers getting tingly. John is sitting in an armchair chain-smoking Camels and watching Joe. Joe is expecting something to happen. He is expecting John to give him some orders, maybe spank him, maybe some cock-and-ball torture, titclamps, clothes pegs on the nipples and scrotum, butt torture with a series of dildos, each one more menacing than the next, the dirty balled-up gym socks in his mouth as John rapes his butt; maybe John will stuff those filthy socks up his butt, or use them as a condom to fuck him. Joe’s dick