Stephen Dixon - Friends - More Will and Magna Stories

“Don’t throw up on me, I warn you. I’d kill you just for that.”

“I won’t.”

“If I’m too big, I won’t push you that far on me again — that’s my one consolation.”

“Okay.”

What I’m feeling is I can’t stand this. My eyes are shut when he brings me down on him again. I’m trying to imagine I’m someone else. Or that thing is something else but it can’t be. Or I’m someplace else. Not with another man. At the moment I hate all men. I’m trying to think this isn’t happening to me. I’m trying to think this can’t be happening to me, it’s a dream. And I’m a machine. Someone has turned me on, put a coin in the slot, put a plug in the socket, something, a battery in my head and me the machine I’m just performing as a machine would, top half of me going up and down on some other machine, doing a machine function but not with a man. I’m made of metal, solid, cold, disposable or with some crazy man, because my mind can’t seem to change him into a machine, who likes doing it with a machine, but I can’t feel it or him or even be thinking of that now because a machine can’t feel or think.

But his finger’s still in me and hurting my vagina. I don’t want to get wet nor can I get wet at will. I try pulling out his finger. He keeps it in. I tap his hand holding my head. He keeps doing what he’s been doing. I slap his hand. He lets go of my head and I sit up.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to slap you but your finger’s hurting me a lot. I told you I have a serious infection.”

“You also said you were bleeding and have the flu.”

“I do have the flu. I wasn’t lying. And my bleeding stopped this morning but sometimes I can bleed more than a day after I think I’ve stopped. But the infection’s real. I can’t have sex. It’s going to stay dry because of the infection. You’re hurting me a lot down there, still hurting me, please let me alone and go.”

He takes his finger out. “You’re lying. And you have to have something. Every woman has something like Vaseline. Baby oil. Even regular cooking oil. Get any of those. Now which is it going to be?”

“I have some baby oil.”

He goes with me to the bathroom, gets the baby oil out of the medicine chest and tells me to sit halfway off the seat and I do and he squirts oil into his palm and smears it in me. He grabs my wrist and leads me back to the bed. He shoves me into the bed. I’m on my back. I try to turn on my side but he slaps my chest and I stay on my back. He gets on top of me and sticks his penis next to my mouth.

“Open.”

“Please.”

He forces my lips apart by stretching the corners of my mouth till they hurt. He does the same thing he did before with my head. My neck aches this time and for the first time he’s making groaning sounds. I look. He’s staring straight down at me. I close my eyes. I wish he’d just come and then go. Maybe I should help him, jerk his penis a little to get it over with. I touch him there.

“No tricks. I want to do it fast but slow, my own speed. Hold it if you want.”

I take my hand away. He does it the same way with me for minutes. My entire head hurts. I feel like choking but open my mouth wider so I won’t. I can’t get used to it or block it out. I even try to think he’s someone I like doing it with, but nothing in my imagination works. I hate it, hate him. I want to bite him, kill him. I should do something. Biting him, he’d kill me or come close. Biting him off, I don’t think I could do all the way through or even near to it and I have to do something I know for sure will incapacitate him completely and for minutes and that I know I also can do. Because I now think there’s as much chance of him killing me as not. Before I thought there was more of a chance he’d just rape me and go. Now I think he’ll rape me and then wait around taunting me and rape me again and maybe even a third time and then he’ll hate me so much for having been raped by him or for whatever I am or have become to him or for any such reason that he’ll kill me or knife me badly. Just to stop me from identifying him he could kill me. So I have to do something to him. All this while he’s pushing my head back and forth on him and using his finger.

Then he stops both, takes a big breath, pulls on my earlobe almost tenderly and bends over and starts kissing me. Sticks his tongue in. He’s very wet around the mouth. His spit pours through, dribbles down his chin onto mine. He nips my lips with his teeth. Nips them harder and my tongue and I shriek and jerk my head away because he bit through my lip and I can taste my blood.

“I get overexcited,” he says.

“Don’t bite. You want to kiss, I’ll kiss.”

We start kissing. He puts his arms around me and I put mine around him and rub my hands up and down his back like he’s doing to me. I want to get him involved with the kissing while I think of something to end all this. It takes a lot of concentration to kiss as if I mean it while same time trying to think hard about something to save my life. The knife. At the end of the bed on the floor. Not that I could get to it as he’s much stronger than I and with one blow if I lunged for it he could knock me off the bed.

I could scream. He’ll kill me. Fight back. Overpower me. Jab him in the eyes. I might not hit them right and then he could tie my hands up or something and I couldn’t do anything more. His balls. I know they can hurt. I know how delicate they are for sure. Some of my men friends. Several times over the years I just touched their testicles a little more than a little and each one of them said it hurt. Don’t even pat them one of them once said. One man’s I just squeezed affectionately I thought and it gave him one of the worst jolts of anyone I ever saw. His stomach pain and being doubled up lasted half a minute or more and if a ball had hit it as happened a few times in his life, he said, he’d have dropped right to the floor. How in the service, he or another man said, one soldier was being strangled by another on top of him and when the top one wouldn’t stop or get off, the bottom one smashed his testicles between his hand and the man on top was knocked unconscious by the blow and had to be hospitalized and almost died.

He stops kissing me. “Now spread your legs.”

“Let me do it once more to you down there with my mouth.”

“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly beginning to like it.”

“As long as you’re going to do it with me, I might as well enjoy it — I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“The truth. Just lick it a little. I’ll see how much you like it. You can be sure I’ll get into it more if you do. Try anything funny though, you’re finished.”

“Lie back comfortably.”

“I’m fine where I am.”

He’s sitting up. I bend over his penis and hold it with both hands and start to lick it. Then with one hand I stroke his testicles and then squeeze them real hard and he jumps and he’s screaming but stops and starts coughing and choking and falls back on his back and bounces up and down on his shoulders and then I release them a little and shout “Don’t move, stop bouncing, don’t touch me, stay there or I’ll squeeze them so hard they’ll break and you’ll die right here on the bed or else never move again — I know, I’ve worked in hospitals, so don’t even try and get up, you hear? Say yes, say yes.”

“Yes, yes.”

I maneuver my knees to the floor while he’s crying and saying “No, no, oh stop, please, oh,” and I say “I’m going to let you go. But I’m first going to crawl you to the door while I squeeze your balls. I won’t scream for anyone. I’ll talk softly as I am now. You’ll have to put up with the pain. I just want you out of here. You carry your pants while I crawl you to the door and put them on in the hall. What you do once you get out there is your business but I’ll give you five minutes to get dressed and out of the building and then I call the police. That’s a promise. But make one bad move, don’t fool with me — try and hit me or get away, anything, whatever you try and do before you get to that outside hall and by the time your arm swings around or anything, I’ll smash your balls in with my hands, okay?”