The Midnight Tour

time. She gives you any trouble, stomp her ass.”

Owen smiled. Right on, he thought.

Then he heard the restroom door swing open.

Shit!

He heard footfalls on the tile floor. Someone took two or three steps, then stopped. The door bumped shut.

Silence.

More silence.

Is it Monica? Would she really dare come into a men’sjohn?

It didn’t seem likely...but she might.

Why is she just standing there? he wondered.

He didn’t like that.

“Helllowwww, Owennnn!” Not Monica’s voice.

“Youuu-whoooo.” A second voice. Also, not Monica’s.

One sounded like a female voice, but the other...sounded like Darke.

It’s them.

Vein and Darke.

Oh my God!

“We know you’re here,” Vein said.

“Are you trying to hide from us?” asked Darke.

“I’m not hiding,” Owen said. “I’m having...a little stomach trouble.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” sang Darke.

“We know why you’re here,” said Vein.

“She isn’t coming,” Darke said.

“Nobody is.”

“We’re all alone.”

“Just the three of us.”

Trying to keep the worry out of his voice, Owen said, “Uhhh.... This is a men’s restroom, you know.”

“Woops,” said Vein. “Are you going to report us?”

“No, but...”

Footsteps.

Here they come!

“I’ll be done in just a minute,” Owen said. “Why don’t we meet outside, or something?”

“This is such a nice, private place,” Vein said.

The door of the stall to Owen’s left squeaked open. Footsteps strolled past his bolted door. A second later, the stall door to his right swung open.

What’re they doing?

They won’t try anything...

He tipped back his head.

Vein on the left and Darke on the right grinned down at Owen from the top of the stall partitions. He supposed they must be standing on the toilets.

“There you are,” said Darke.

“Such a modest boy,” said Vein. “Takes a crap with his pants up.”

Blushing fiercely, he said, “I just came in here for some peace and quiet.” He stood up. He shifted his empty glass to his left hand. With his right, he snapped the bolt clear. “You can have the place to yourselves, now.” He pulled the stall door open. Stepping out, he said, “I’d better be getting back to the picnic.”

Vein and Darke leaped from their stalls, Vein in front of him, Darke behind him.

Vein blocked his way to the exit. Leering, she stretched her arms to each side. The motion spread the front of her black leather jacket. He glanced at her canyon of cleavage, at the snowy white breasts bulging from the cups of her bra. “You don’t want to leave,” she said.

“I’d really better be going.” He looked over his shoulder.

Darke gazed at him with languid, half-shut eyes and whispered, “Stay.”

He turned toward Vein. She still held her arms out.

What would happen if I plow through her? She’s bigger than I am, but...

Her left leg swung up. Swiftly and gracefully, she bent slightly at the waist and swept her right arm down and withdrew a knife from inside her boot.

Owen felt himself shrivel.

“Hey,” he said.

Vein grinned.

Owen looked at Darke, then at Vein. Then he turned slowly sideways. As he backed toward the wall, he found that he could keep his eyes on both of them at the same time. They made it easier by closing in.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Some of your blood,” said Vein.

“You’re...kidding.” His back met the wall.

“Do you see us smiling?” Darke asked.

They were both smiling, but not as if much was funny.

Darke came in from the left, Vein from the right. They didn’t stop until they were close enough to touch him.

“You can’t,” Owen said.

“Certainly we can,” Vein said.

“And certainly we will,” said Darke. Reaching out, she took the glass from his hand.

“Somebody might come in,” he told them.

“Somebody might not.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Darke said, setting his glass on the floor.

“You can’t do this.”

“Yesss,” said Darke. “We can.”

Vein took hold of his hair and pressed his head against the wall.

“I’ll yell! Somebody’ll come and...”

His words stopped as his hand was lifted and slipped inside Darke’s open black shirt and guided to a breast.

The bartender had been right.

The breast was a small, smooth mound under Owen’s hand, tipped with a turgid nipple.

Vein’s black lips pressed against his mouth. As her tongue thrust in, Owen felt fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt. As he fondled Darke’s breast, someone unfastened his trousers.

Pinned to the wall, he felt hands and mouths, tongues and teeth, quick hot flicks of the knife.

They sucked him, both at once.

What if somone comes in?

Nobody came in.

Not as they sucked and caressed him.

Not as he fondled and sucked and delved into them.

Not as all three of them sank onto the cold tile floor.

Not as Vein smothered him between her pillowy breasts and Darke straddled him, impaling herself.

Finally, drained, Owen lay sprawled on his back while Vein and Darke climbed off him and glided away.

“Why me?” he asked.

Vein, naked except for her boots, licked blood from her knife blade. “Don’t ask me, dahhling. It was Darke’s idea.”

She raised her left leg and slipped the knife down into the top of her boot.

Bending over, Darke stepped into her black leather pants.