Santa Claus did not forget him.
The smal man with the bruised and battered face and the nervous, desperate eyes of a cornered animal, tiptoed gingerly into the dingy hal way. Joe slammed the door behind him. They both stood in the ancient vestibule eyeing each other greedily.
'Superman,' Frank whispered softly in appreciation, as he looked the big muscular col ege kid over from head to toe. He fel into Joe's arms and tried to kiss him. Joe shoved him back against the wal and pinned him there with one arm.
'Uh-uh. I'm not that way.'
Frank looked frightened but he was excited.
'I didn't think you were gay, but then why am I here?'
'To be eaten.'
Joe produced a smal slim scalpel and
Frank's breath quickened.
'You… you said you wouldn't hurt me.'
'No, I said I wouldn't kil you and I won't. But there wil be pain. I'm sure you'l like it, though. Jack off if you want. Get the endorphins going. You'l enjoy the pain once your adrenaline starts racing.' Joe unbuckled Frank's jeans and dropped his pants. Frank's cock was hard as granite and glistening with a sheen of precum. Joe wanted to slice it off and eat it but he held himself back. The frightened little man took his eyes off of the scalpel in Joe's hand for a moment and looked at his surroundings.
The wal s were al cracked, with paint peeling from them in long sheets.
Everything was covered in cobwebs and dust and the hal ways were al dark.
There was a reception desk with a shattered mirror in back of it and an overturned chair covered in rust and dust.
'What is this place? Does anyone actual y live here?'
'This is nowhere. Now turn around!' Joe commanded.
The smal man turned to face the wal.
He leaned his face against the drywal but left his hands free so that he could stroke himself as the man he'd known as SuperPredator online and simply as Joe at the SAA meetings began to cut
Frank's trembling buttocks. Frank shot a hot stream of semen al over the filthy wal and down onto the cracked tiles at his feet as the huge muscular man sliced off a chunk of his ass.
Joe was overwhelmed by sensations as he brought the glistening blood-wet meat to his lips and slurped it into his mouth. Just as he'd expected, he could taste the little man's soul as he devoured the smal sliver of life, absorbing a smal piece of him and assimilating it in his stomach, becoming one with the diminutive masochist. He could taste the little man's fear and pain and ecstasy vibrating on his tongue like he'd just licked a coke spoon. He could feel Frank's life marrying with his own, surging through his blood like rocket fuel, and was surprised when he found himself suddenly gripped by his own orgasm as the tender meat slid down his throat. His body jerked and bucked as if having a seizure. Frank looked up at him in awe. He couldn't believe the man was cumming just by tasting him. They both col apsed onto the hard dusty floor, panting heavily.
'Oh my God! That was incredible!'
'You should go now, Frank.' Joe's breathing was stil heavy, but his voice was cold and hard. He didn't look at
Frank as he spoke, but rather stared straight ahead into the shadowy lobby.
'What? You want me to leave? You're not going to fuck me? You don't want another taste?'
'If you don't leave now, I'l never let you leave. Do you understand? This is the only chance I'm going to give you to save your life. Leave now and never come back here.' He was stil not looking at Frank. His body was tense now and his erection had come surging back to life. Frank wanted to take the man's cock down his throat. But something in Joe's voice let him know that staying there any longer, getting the SuperPredator aroused again, would have been a death sentence.
Frank gathered up his clothes and scampered out into the street, stumbling as he tried to run and step into his pants at the same time. He slid his underwear up over his wounded ass, wincing from the pain, and hopped down the street with one leg in and one leg out of his jeans and the blood saturating his boxer shorts. Joe slammed the door behind him.
The next day Joe went online again and was instantly assaulted by instant messages from Frank begging for a repeat performance. He logged off and left the cafe. He had to stay away from the Long Pig Message Board for a while. It was easier to cure an addiction when there was no supply. Eating that one slice of flesh from Frank's buttocks had been the most intense sexual experience he'd ever had and he wanted more. Much more. He knew now that whatever was wrong with him was beyond his control and that if he saw the little man again he'd probably murder and eat him. He had to get more serious about finding a cure. There was no way
SAA could handle this problem.
After a quick shower, Joe caught the
BART train back to campus. He kept his head down, trying not to make eye contact with anyone as he made his way across campus to the university library. He was afraid that his eyes would betray his thoughts. There was a smal piece of gristle between his teeth from his recent appetizer. He worked at it with his tongue, trying to worry it free. Each time his tongue brushed the miniscule piece of flesh a fresh tingle went through his loins.
Chapter Eight
The library emptied out as even the diehard medical students and political science majors final y returned their dusty old books to the shelves and dragged their tired minds back to their dorms. Joe had heard it said that when you slept your mind let go of al logic and structure, al sanity and order, for the madness of dreams. Joe wanted anything but madness. He was actively trying to fight it off. He was convinced that he was onto something, something that would explain the insatiable hunger roiling within him.
Joe knew that he was not a monster. Not Joe knew that he was not a monster. Not by choice. Maybe none of the others were either? Not until they were altered by whatever sickness had infected him.
If it was a disease, not a disease of the mind but a true physical virus that was somehow transmitted from one person to the next, then it could be cured. There might be an antidote.
Piled before him were three stacks of books four feet high that encompassed nearly two centuries of rape, murder, and superstition. Joe poured through the tal stacks until the moon had traveled from one side of the sky to the other. He knew that the librarian must have been dying of curiosity. She had seen him there every night for over a month scouring through books on serial murder, vampirism, and lycanthropy, doing computer searches on war criminals and mob mentality, sexual fetishes, and cannibalism. He knew that she must have been curious to know what it was he was working on, but she had only asked him once and when he hadn't replied, she'd had the good sense to avoid further inquiry. It was a good thing too. She had just the sort of ass he liked, plump but firm.
More than once, Joe had masturbated sitting right there in that library, imagining tearing into her voluptuous buttocks with his teeth and devouring the tender flesh in huge gulps. He'd hid his frantic hand movements behind an unabridged dictionary and sprayed his semen from neurosurgery to nightingale. Then he'd left quickly, sure that she had noticed. When he returned the next day she smiled politely and gave no indication that she was aware of having been the star of his gruesome masturbatory fantasies.
Just last week he'd even painted her portrait. He'd composed several sketches of her, stealing glances at her generous buttocks as she scuttled back and forth between the rows of dusty books. When he'd gotten home that night he'd let out his pent-up sexual energies onto the canvas. He'd masturbated several times as his passion boiled over and his paintbrush whipped across the canvas in violent slashes of reds, whites, and beiges, mixing his own blood and semen into the paint. When he was done he'd hidden the portrait away in his little apartment across town along with al the others. Anyone seeing it would have immediately recognized his obsession.
Even in the abstract she looked like meat.
It was past three o'clock in the morning when Joe's eyelids would no longer remain aloft and his head came crashing down into the middle of Colin Wilson's
