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— Originally published in Honcho
magazine - March, 1995 —
Harder
and Hotter
_____
Gumper's Bar and Grill was having a busy Friday night. The jukebox
vibrated at a sonic level. Spandexed hookers decorated the front
sidewalk. Schemers and dreamers lounged around inside, some looking for
action, some looking for a life. Around midnight, Heliotrope slithered
out of a cab and sauntered inside the bar. He was wearing a silver wig
with soft, fluffy bangs straight across his forehead, a short purple
dress, and white strappy high heels. Fifteen minutes later, when he
swiveled back out, I was parked in front of the door waiting for him.
"Jesus Christ, Mongrel! I thought you were in Hollywood making horror
pictures." He held a pink clutch purse tightly against his crotch, as if
it were valuable and someone might try to steal it.
"Jump in the car," I said. "We gotta talk."
He shook his head. "I got my own ride, Clyde, and we don't gotta do
mouse-fucking-diddly."
I looked at him for a moment. I had always admired his full red mouth
and his large, Bambi-brown eyes, his sleek warm neck, and his steamy,
eight-inch cock. The cock was especially admirable when it was rigid
with lust and excitement, twitching and throbbing in my mouth, flooding
my tongue with tart, syrupy jism. But a couple of years ago I had killed
a serial murderer who was trying to do the curvy drag queen a lot of
bodily harm. The press came up with their own version of the story: *Cop
Kills for Drag Queen Lover*. Eventually the force had gotten rid of me;
said I was a good cop, but too controversial. Heliotrope had also backed
away.
"Two things," I said. "You came in a cab. And we're going to talk."
He opened the car door and plopped down on the passenger seat. His dress
took a natural hike up his nyloned legs. His panties were light purple
with frilly yellow lace. His garter belt was black. I eased the car away
from the curb.
"Nice perfume," I said.
"Where we going?"
"My place."
"The fuck we are!"
I shrugged. "Okay, then. Your place."
He sighed. "What is it you want, Jake? Jesus, I got things to do."
"Yeah, and people to do 'em to."
"So? Is that a crime?"
"Probably. The way you do it."
He rumbled around in his purse, found a long, thin cigarette, and fired
it up with a tiny silver lighter. Then he laid the purse in his lap and
clutched it securely with his left hand. When it was obvious he wasn't
going to say anything else, I reached over and touched his silken thigh.
His body jerked away from me.
"Why the hostility, sweet-face? All I need is some information."
His glossy red lips tightened around his cigarette. His eyes flashed
angrily. "Information!" he snapped. "I'll give you some information,
asshole! That cock-sucker's brains dribbled all over my dress! Jesus, I
had blood on my bra, my underwear, my everything! You shot the
motherfucker and he died right on top of me, squirming and wriggling,
and--and all that convulsing stuff you see people doing in the movies!
He was even cumming when you did it! You hear me, Jake? He had a fucking
hard-on!"
"It don't count that he was going to kill you, huh, peaches? He was
gonna carve your ass into about three million pieces with that straight
razor in his hand, and you know it. I did what--"
"Yeah, yeah, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. God, what a sack of
turkey scrotums that is!" His right hand flapped around airily, his
wrist limp, his purple nails long and slender. "And then you got a
fucking hard-on!" he exclaimed. "Christ, I thought you were gonna rape
me! There you are, standing over the bed with a smoking gun in your hand
and a gigantic cock throbbing in your pants, and this other fucking
hairball is laying on top of me, buck-ass naked, with his brains
scattered all over the motel room, and your eyes are lit up like Dolly
Parton's favorite rhinestone dildo, and you were no doubt getting ready
to cum all over yourself, and I'm lying there with--"
"Look," I said. "I know we should have talked this out a couple of years
ago. But the timing never seemed quite right."
Heliotrope laughed, a low, snorty chuckle about as gleeful as an Edgar
Allen Poe story. "What was there to talk about, Jake? We were lovers. I
played the bait for a serial killer, and you blew him off the planet.
Two years ago? Jeez, I thought it was yesterday."
"Look, it'll go away, peaches. It really will."
"Well, it sucks. All this macho shit sucks. And don't call me
'peaches.'"
"You used to like that name."
"I used to like you."
"You damn sure did. Especially my hands and my tongue, my lips licking
your ass, my fingers jacking your--Hey, remember my kitchen table? You
were quite the dish on that table, peaches. I loved it when you were on
your hands and knees, your dress bunched around your hips, your panties
down, and me behind you in a chair, licking your ass and tonguing your
brownie. You must've shot your wad a hundred times on that table top.
Damn, you could really squirm when you were cumming, doll." I gave his
nyloned thigh a friendly squeeze. He let me get away with it this time.
"You're a genuine rectal opening." he said. "You could have told me you
were going to kill that guy."
"I didn't know it at the time," I said. "But who cares? It's done. And
you're alive."
"And you're not a policeman anymore."
"Well ... my hours are better."
We were on the outskirts of the city now. I found a narrow, secondary
road, and pulled onto it. About a mile farther, I stopped the car and
turned off the lights.
"Gee," Heliotrope crooned. "Just like high school. I get to suck cock or
walk home."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"You're a bad thing." His large brown eyes stared at me. Suddenly a tear
trickled down his left cheek. His lips trembled lightly. I opened my
arms and he came crashing into them, his bra pressing against my chest,
his perfume fogging my nostrils as he buried his face in my neck. I
stroked his back and shoulders for several minutes, then my hand was
under his ass, groping his cheeks, my fingers probing and prying. My
lips found his. Our tongues began to experiment. Slowly, he began to
relax.
Then my other hand was under his dress, sliding his panties down to his
knees. He moaned softly as my lips surrounded his hard-on. His fingers
clawed the back of my head. His ass wriggled beneath my hand. I could
feel my breath bouncing off his crotch, feel his hard-on throbbing
between my lips, warm and slippery on my tongue. He came in large,
steady spurts, his legs quivering, his cock jabbing my face, his jism
rich and spicy as it glided down my throat.
And when it was over, when the grunting and grasping and squirming had
stopped, and he was lying on his back with his hands mangling my hair
and his thighs clamped around my neck, I slid my finger deep inside his
ass. He shuddered slightly.
"This doesn't change anything," he said when I slipped him out of my
mouth.
I kept silent, my finger buried to the hilt in his slot. I could feel
his sphincter throbbing. I lowered my head and kissed his half-hard
cock.
"I'm serious," he said. "We're poison as a team."
"You're probably right," I told him. "But there were some good times."
"There always are."
"Like this one," I said. "This is a good time, isn't it?" I wriggled my
finger in his crack. His cock began to stretch and harden.
"Sheesh!" he grunted. "I thought you were after some information?"
"I am. I'm looking for Hacky Underwood."
"You think I got him in my pocket?"
My finger reamed his ass. His cock was almost fully erect.
"What I think is you've been doing him twice a week at the Blue Sky
Motel on Arizona Boulevard. Usually Wednesdays and Fridays. And
sometimes you dress up like a nun and make him take off his clothes and
crawl under your skirt and suck your dick before you let him back out.
This must be something to see, since Hacky's five-eleven and weighs
around a hundred and eighty pounds, and what are you, five-six and a
hundred-forty? I also know Hacky violated parole last week, but nobody
can find him. Last anyone heard, he bought some phony IDs off Wanda the
Whip, then the cops found her yesterday wearing concrete shoes on the
bottom of Galvaston Bay. So ... that's my story. What's yours?"
"Get your finger out of my ass."
"Certainly, dear." I removed my finger.
Heliotrope sat up on the seat and started straightening his clothes.
When he got his panties in place and his dress down around mid-thigh, he
looked at me, his large, mascaraed eyes plainly worried, his bangs shiny
and silver above his darkened eyebrows.
"Hacky killed this Wanda person?"
"Looks that way," I said. "He bought several sets of ID, then did her in
so she couldn't pass the information on. The whole thing started after
he scammed a construction company for a hundred and ninety thousand in
cash. Now he's desperate. I think he's going to snuff anybody who might
be able to figure out where he's going, then he'll drop out of sight,
with a brand new name and a briefcase full of money."
Heliotrope was silent for a long time. Finally, he opened his clutch
purse and showed me a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.
"Five thousand dollars," he said. "He ... he just gave it to me. We were
at the motel. And he was naked. He likes to flaunt his body, all that
shaggy black hair and those huge, snaky tattoos and things.
"Things?"
"Hmmm. Muscles and flexing. And posing in the mirror. that kind of
stuff."
"Ahhh," I said. "And I suppose he's got a big muscle?"
Heliotrope shrugged. "Big enough, I guess. Anyway, I was in my red and
yellow cheerleader outfit, and he was down on his knees licking my
boots, my black ones with the little gold buckles, and I was
masturbating with my panties, like he told me to do, and ... and when I
was ready ... he stopped and looked up, and he smiled this really weird
smile while I jacked off in his face. After that, he licked my balls
until I got hard again, then he sucked me off while he fondled my boot
tops.
"This was earlier tonight, about nine-thirty or ten o'clock. When he
finally got ready to put his clothes on and leave, he handed me an
envelope, kissed me on the mouth, and said, 'It's too bad you can't come
along for the ride, baby,' I didn't think much of it at the time. I knew
he was getting a little quirky, like having me fuck him while he was
down on his hands and knees slurping beer out of a doggy bowl. But I
just figured he mainly didn't want people to see us together."
"Do you know where he's going?"
The drag queen looked at me and shook his head. "No. Do ... Do you think
he'll come after me?"
I gave it to him straight. "I doubt it, Peaches. He likes you. He tipped
you five fucking grand. But if he gets to thinking he might have told
you something that could lead to his arrest, I'm sure he'll get paranoid
and start looking for you. Unless he's already left town."
His expression turned hopeful. "If he's gone, they'll ... they'll find
him somewhere else, won't they?"
I put my hand on his shoulder. "It doesn't matter where he is, doll.
You'll be safe from now on." I pulled him to me. He came stiffly, his
back arched, his body rigid. I gave him a soft, mushy kiss and slid my
hand down to his waist. "Let's go to your place," I said. "We can look
for clues."
He stared at me, his eyes large and round.
"I'm serious, peaches. We'll have some coffee, talk awhile, and maybe
you'll remember something that'll help me find him."
"Why are you after him?"
"The guys he scammed would like to see their money again."
"Are you ... Are you gonna kill him?"
"No, I'm not gonna kill him." I cranked up the car and drove back to the
highway. A few minutes later Heliotrope had his head in my lap, his hot,
liquid mouth scorching my rock-hard erection. I stroked his silk-clad
ass while he lathered my rod, letting my hand glide smoothly across his
rounded butt and his nyloned thighs. I was climaxing for the second time
when we pulled up in front of the six-story apartment building he'd been
living in ever since I'd known him. He finished his business with my
knob, then raised his head and glanced around nervously. His lips
glistened with saliva and cum.
"Do you think he's in there?" he asked.
I studied the second-floor apartments. All the lights were off. "The
odds are against it," I said. "You see any strange cars in the area?"
He looked up and down the street. "No, nothing. Jesus, I'm not ready for
this freaky-ass macho stuff, shootings and stabbings and throwing people
in the ocean. This shit's *scary*, Jake."
I squeezed his fleshy thigh. "You get used to it, kid. Like they say in
the movies, 'The first one's the hardest.'" I put a finger under his
chin and kissed his mouth. He responded urgently, his teeth nibbling my
lips, his hands groping my belt. Then his feet were on the car seat, his
knees almost under his chin. He started tugging his panties down his
thighs, then he was sliding them over his knees and down to his ankles.
"You can fuck me right here," he said, his voice raw and edgy. "Just
jump me and do it. All night. We'll be safe here. You can love me. And
we can--"
I slapped him. Not hard, but hard enough. "Don't get dippy on me,
peaches. Hacky's probably halfway to Switzerland by now."
"But ... but you're not sure?" He slipped his panties over his spiky
white heels and dropped the skimpy garment on the floorboard. "Let's
stay in the car, Jake. We can do it all night."
"Aw, shit!" I snapped. "I'll go up and check things out, okay? You hang
tight." I reached for the door handle but he stopped me.
"No!" he said. "Wait! I'll go with you." He bent down to pick up his
underwear. I opened the door, pulled my .45 automatic out of its
shoulder holster, and was just stepping out of the car as a loud boom
disrupted the early morning silence. I heard a weak splattering of
pellets somewhere near me, followed by a second boom, then a thick, gray
shadow was charging toward me, coming swiftly from the far left corner
of Heliotrope's apartment building. Cursing loudly, I hit the ground,
rolling from left to right, my gun-sight hunting the shadowy figure.
I fired four times, the noise deafening in my ears. The figure stopped,
pumped another shell into the shotgun, and started forward again, aiming
on the run. I fired two more shots. The figure stopped and grunted. I
fired again. The shotgun clattered on the sidewalk. The attacker
stumbled forward a couple of feet, then dropped to one knee, his left
hand clutching his neck. I was about to fire one more round when he
pitched forward and fell on his face.
I walked over to the body, my blood soaring, my heart pounding. Hacky
Underwood was lying on the sidewalk, face down in a pool of blood. The
shotgun was several feet away. I crouched down beside him and rolled him
over.
"Who ... Who are you?" he gasped.
"Jake Mongrell."
"Oh. I can't see nothin', man. Nothin'."
"Where's the money, Hacky?"
He gurgled. Or maybe he laughed. "Fuck you, Mongrell." Then he died.
High heels clicked behind me. I stood up and escorted Heliotrope back to
the car.
"Is he ...?"
"Yeah, he is."
Heliotrope kept trying to look over his shoulder at the body on the
sidewalk. "Was he ... Did he ... I mean, his thing ... Was it hard?"
I pushed him into the car and got in beside him. A couple of apartment
windows had come to life. The cops would be on the scene in a matter of
minutes.
"He didn't say much," I said. "I think he saw me pull my .45, probably
figured I had spotted him, and he panicked. Started firing when he was
too far away for the shotgun to have any effect. We were lucky, kid. I
wasn't even looking for him out here."
Heliotrope snuggled closely against me. His lips sucked my ear.
"What did it feel like?" he whispered. His voice was husky with emotion.
"Did you get a hard-on?"
"It felt quite a bit better than having him do it to me," I said.
Heliotrope's ass began squirming on the seat. "Jesus, Jake, you do this
all the time!" His hand dropped to my lap. "Ohhhh," he cooed. "Ohhh,
mmmm, you did get one. Oh, God, that's really a boner!" His slender
fingers started massaging my crotch. I pulled his face into mine. We
both had throbbing erections when our lips parted. Sirens began wailing
in the distance.
"Get your drawers on," I said. "And keep quiet about the five thousand
dollars."
"You want half of it?"
I holstered my .45. "No. He gave it to you. But I wouldn't mind catching
you in that nun's outfit."
His face lit up. He lifted his dress and flashed his rod. It was
twitching and throbbing like an overworked heart. A cop car squealed
around the corner.
"Put it on hold, peaches. But keep it handy."
He lowered his dress and started climbing into his panties. His body was
antsy and squirmy. He was probably about to burst a bra strap.
"The movies are wrong," he said, his eyes smoldering with sexual
excitement.
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
He ran his hands down over his hips. I could see the outline of his
eight-inch cock, frenzied and throbbing with passion, wickedly erotic
inside his tight purple dress. He smiled brightly as his tongue
slithered across his upper lip. "It ain't the first one," he said. "It's
the second one. The second time is the hardest." |
