The Willing Unwilling (or How to Mung Friends and Influence People)

Mark cocked his bored, spikey head and looked from Dick to Dill, sighing through his turned-up nose.

"I'm keeping it," she said.

Dick's eyes remained on the ground, and as he spoke, his head wobbled from side to side. "I'm not ready to be a father-"

"You should've thought of that when you fucked me without a rubber-"

"You should've thought of that when you told me you were on the pill-"

"I was!"

"Yeah, right-"

"It's only ninety-nine percent effective-"

"You sucking my chode is only ninety-nine percent effective-"

"Oh, you son of a bitch-"

"Fucking boogit-"

Dill sat down on the bed and let out a short yelp. "You are so fucking frustrating-"

"Moi?"

"Yes, yoi. And why the fuck do you say boogit all the time?"

"Because it's fucking awesome, that's why-"

Dill looked over to Mark.

Mark nodded. "It is pretty awesome-"

"You fucking guys are all alike-"

Dick finally looked up. And looked Dill in the eyes. "I can give you the money to take care of it-"

"You damn will give me the money to take care of it. Every fucking week-"

"No, to take care of it now-"

"Fuck that-"

"No, fuck that-"

Dill sighed. "Look, I've always wanted a baby. And I want this one. I'm keeping it."

Dick looked over at Mark. "I don't know what to do-"

"Mung," said Mark.

"What?"

"What?"

Mark laughed. "Nothing." And he laughed some more, crossing his arms and rubbing his hands over his taut triceps. "Anybody want a drink? Dill?"

"Yeah, a Coke. I can't drink alcohol while I'm pregnant-"

"Nick?"

"Dude, it's Dick, for the last time-"

Mark giggled. "Sorry. I just like calling people by other names. Shit, I call myself Mike half the time. What do you want?"

"A Coke too-"

Mark winked at Dick and rose. The plastic covering the floor creaked under his bare feet as he made his way to the bedroom door. In the kitchen, he poured Coke into three glasses, slipping two tiny, white pills into the third. After it dissolved completely, he stirred it with a spoon and took the stairs two at a time, the three glasses tight in his two hands. He opened the bedroom door and almost dropped the drinks as he walked into the middle of a deep kiss between Dill and Dick. "You fucking sluts," he said, giggling. "Isn't this how all this started?"

As they separated, Dill leaning back onto the bed and Dick sitting back into Mark's desk chair, Mark handed them their drinks. Dick gulped his and sat it on the desk, next to Mark's keyboard; Dill finished hers in a swig and placed the empty glass on the windowsill next to Mark's. Mark climbed up in the bed next to Dill, their legs pressing together. He looked to Dick and raised his eyebrows. Then leaned over and grabbed Dill's mouth with his own, his tongue barreling between her teeth.

As he came up for air, Mark looked back at Dick, who was already naked and hard, then turned back to Dill, his hands working fast at her clothes and his own. Completely disrobed, they rolled onto the plastic-covered floor, panting and moaning like zombies out of a B-movie, Dill on her back, Dick at her obese pussy, and Mark straddling her face, his pinprick of an asshole staring Dick in the eye familiarly.

Mark rubbed his shaved sack against Dill's lips, his cockhole dripping pre-cum onto her nose, until he saw her eyes flutter then roll back into her head. He put a hand over her mouth and nose to make sure she wasn't breathing anymore. Then stood up, turned around, and leaned against the wall. With two steps, he jumped as high as he could, his knees hitting his chest, and stomped his heels into the top of Dill's stomach at a 45 degree-angle with all the power of his legs, his feet tearing through the flesh and fat to the womb below.

Dick fell back against the opposite wall with a loud bang that the empty house couldn't hear, choking and smeared in blood, shit, and amniotic fluid. He picked furiously at his face, pulling from between his lips a small, slimy boomerang of rubber that was his son or daughter. He threw it onto Dill's concave stomach - the skinniest she'd ever been, no doubt - and it bounced onto Mark's left foot. He looked up to Mark, one hand still clawing at his slick face and wide eyes, the other shaking uncontrollably on his side. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"You said you weren't ready to be a father-"

Art for Bette's Sake

"What? I'm just looking at it-"

"I know it's small-"

"No, it's not small. It's...cute-"

"Whatever. I don't care. I just make do with what God gave me-"

"So you believe in God?"

"No-"

"But then why-"

"It's just a phrase, a figure of speech-"

"What do you believe in?"

"Nothing-"

"Nothing?"

Mark craned his head and looked at his wrinkled inch or two of penis in Bette's hand. "Hmm. I believe in me. In you. In Art."

"Really? That's it?"

"Yep." Mark sat up on his elbows. "I don't care if it's the smallest thing you've ever seen-"

"It isn't the smallest thing I've ever seen-"

Mark's eyes opened wide. "Really?"

"Really-"

"What about Jacob-"

"Oh-"

"I'm sorry. Touchy subject-"

"No, no, it isn't. Not about that. But to be honest, he was really big-"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah-"

"How big?"

"I don't know, 8 or 9-"

"Wow. Lucky bastard." He flipped his legs over the side of his bed, his cock from Bette's hand. Christ, violence just wasn't any fun without sex and vice versa. "Speaking of Art," he said, "I've got something for you." He walked to his desk, deftly wiping the pre-cum oozing from his cock hole with a quick flick of his finger, which he jabbed in and out of his mouth so rapidly Bette never saw it. "It's just a sort of late birthday present-"

"Awww-"

He returned to the bed holding out a book to Bette. She grabbed it and analyzed its cover without blinking. She frowned. "The Sluts?" she said.

"Yeah, it's a favorite of mine. I thought you might like to try something different. Or maybe have something for your contemporary lit class-"

She turned the book over and her eyes jigsawed back and forth over the blurbs and book summary. She took in a deep breath. "I don't know, Mark, this book sounds pretty intense. A little too...racy? for a class-"

Mark flopped next to her on the bed. "What? For adults? Are you insane? This book is excellent for exploring the themes of identity in the internet age and the whole concept of perception versus reality-"

She leaned over him and slipped the book into her bag. "I don't know. I'll give it a chance. We'll see." She put an arm over him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for my gift-"

The Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice" blared from her bag. She leaned back over him and grabbed her cell phone, looking at the display with a wrinkled brow. "Hello?" she answered. After a minute, during which her eyes widened so much that it seemed they may fall off the sides of her head, she finally spoke: "Jesus Christ! Yes, yes, I'll be right over!" She jumped over Mark's semi, her tits bouncing, and grabbed her clothes off the floor. She jammed her bra and panties into her bag, then took all of 5 seconds to throw on her blouse, jeans, and flip flops. As she slid her feet into the latter, she looked up at Mark, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"What?!"

Between chokes, she said: "My nephew. He's been missing since last night. Nobody's seen him. Not my sister. Or his friends. Or his friends' parents. I've gotta go over to Jenny's right now. She's about to die."

Mark stood up naked and faced her. "Oh, my God, Bette. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, no, you stay here. I'll call you when I get there." Quickly, she hugged him and threw another peck on his cheek. She grabbed her bag and glided out the door like a ghost.

When Mark heard the front door shut, he bent over and pulled up the bed skirt, exposing his duffel bag. "You aren't missing, are you?"

The Nephew

The little boy who was helping him find his dog lay chloroformed on the thick plastic that covered the New York Giants bed-sheet and half of the tiny bedroom, his knees tied tightly to his elbows with thick rope, his lips sealed together with the duct-tape that circled his head in several clean loops. Mark checked the lock on his door again, threw the half-empty enema bottle in the trash can, then dropped his boxers to his feet. Side-stepping one of the several stacks of books on the floor - textbooks, novels, chapbooks of poetry, comic books, graphic novels, porno mags - he slid onto the bed on his knees, his hard, little dick hovering above the boy's tiny, wrinkled sack of balls.

He put a jagged fingernail to the boy's anus and scratched up and down. He watched the boy's face for a reaction but received none. It was amazing how much he looked like her even though he was just a nephew - same hair color, wide eyes, turned up nose, and mousey lips. Leaning forward, he kissed the boy on the lips as he dug harder at his asshole. Then bit a hole through the boy's left cheek. At which the child's eyes stammered open and a vague scream tried to escape through the several layers of duct tape, as if the kid was yelling to his mother from the depths of a black hole.

Mark grinned and spit the flesh onto the boy's smooth chest, right between his nipples, which seemed much too close to each other, and licked the blood that tasted like everyone else's blood from his lips. He thought about removing the duct tape, but no, Sarah would definitely be at the door after the next howl. So he squeezed the boy's nostrils together until his body stopped squirming, his eyes began to shine with stillness, his unsuccessful yelps abated - at which he let go and watched, grinning and bug-eyed, as the boy regained consciousness and began to cry once again, the tears from his left eye running over his temple and diluting the blood that pooled under his ear.

He dipped his finger into the hole in the boy's cheek and lubed his diminutive dick, which may have been bigger and harder than it had ever been, with it and the pre-cum that had smeared the boy's genitals. Scooting closer, he touched the glans to the boy's asshole for a second, then fell forward with a pump of his hips until he was all the way inside. Five pumps and he delivered a load of semen into the boy's rectum, his eyes fluttering, his ass tensed as the boy's head swiveled from side to side.

Without pulling out, he grabbed the scalpel he'd stolen from the medical supply store from his nightstand and sat up, thinking briefly of Irwin Cook and the man's pathetic screams. His dick hardened again - Jesus Christ, was it even harder than a minute ago? - as he put the scalpel to the boy's sternum and drew an invisible line to the base of the boy's floppy inch of cock - a line - no, a piece of art! - that took a minute to open with all the force of the boy's pulsating innards and spewing blood.

He watched the boy's eyes and nostrils, the former blinking rapidly, the latter swelled so large that he could have fucked them and not felt a thing. Then began to pump the tightest asshole he'd ever had around his dick again, slithering his fingers into the crevice of the boy's abdomen until he thought he could feel his spine. He dug down and through the slimy coils of intestines, towards the movement of his pistoning cock, until at last his slender fingers were around it and he could feel it throbbing through the boy's colon.

He squeezed hard and pumped harder, sure that his cock would explode if he didn't come soon. He watched what had been 5 or 6 years of life expire in the boy's light-brown eyes, at which he finally came - he swore he could feel the cum hit the palm of his hand - and removed his cock and his hand at the same time. His cock looked as it always did and his hand looked as it had so many times in the past. He wiped the latter clean on the boy's legs, then cut the rope around the boy's knees and elbows with the scalpel, which he lay in the boy's open abdomen, unsurprised when the legs and arms didn't fall onto bed but just remained crooked in the air.

Mark jerked off once more to the images he'd just witnessed - nay, created - ate the cum in his hand, then sat on the edge of the bed. He laughed as his breathing resumed normalcy. And thought of Bette and all the things he wanted to do to her. And of Dill and the thing he wanted to do to her. And of Nick and the things he wanted him to do with him.

After a final kiss, he carefully wrapped the boy's beautiful corpse in the plastic, securing it with the last of the duct tape. Then shoved it into the duffel bag he'd bought at the Army-Navy surplus store a month earlier. He pushed it under his bed and looked around his room. He took quick piss in the bathroom across the hall, pulled his boxers back on, grabbed a comic book from one of his stacks, jumped into bed, and began thumbing through the latest adventures of that pussy Superman.