When Phil, slapped her and kicked her out of their home after she confessed, Jason just looked at her, disgusted by her actions. "Why would you f.u.c.king confess? Real villains don't feel like they've done anything wrong....You were stupid to tell him!" She cried those same pitiful sobs that he remembered having cried himself what seemed a lifetime ago.

He left Stephanie at her mother's house, weak and crying. He drove away before she even walked through the door. He was long gone before she drew the hot bath, before she swallowed her mother's Percocet. He had driven away from her and forgotten her before she even had a chance to bleed out in her mother's bathtub, still gripped by those painful, gasping sobs. He wouldn't have cared if she had done it in front of him, anyway.

It was not that he was heartless. He didn't want her to take her life. The tired, over-loving heart that once beat in his chest and drove him mad with grief, was simply worn out; bled dry by years of abuse. He could not bring himself to care for anyone, not even himself. He indulged in near-death nightly. Many a morning began with the familiar c.o.c.ktail of Xanax, wine, and Vicodin.

He felt Nate and Mark's hands grab him roughly under the armpits; the Xanax and Bud Lite had done their trick again, creating a moment lost in chemicals forever. Jason had been back in time, thinking about the first night he met Stephanie here. That didn't explain how he got over to this side of the bar. Why where his friends carrying him out of the bar? Who was that girl whose pants his hand had been in? The questions and answers would have to wait as they dragged him down the rickety steps to the exit of the bar, barely keeping their balance.

Leo was already in the car waiting for them. "What the f.u.c.k, guys?" Jason started as they let go of him.

Mark opened the back door and pushed him into the car. "Shut up, Bro...Leo, get us the h.e.l.l outta here!" Leo hit the accelerator and peeled out of the dirt lot leaving a cloud of dust with Phil and his friends behind them. Jason didn't know they had been out to catch him.

"Is anyone gonna tell me what the f.u.c.k is going on?" Jason blurted.

Mark started to tell him the evening's events. "I saw that guy Phil in the bathroom and heard him and a bunch of guys talking about taking some punk out back for a boot party and then curb-jawing him. The first thing I thought of was your drunk a.s.s. Anyway, when I get upstairs there you are swapping spit with some lil' girl and fingerin' her right at the bar. I grabbed Nate and we got you out of there just as these guys were walking up to kick your a.s.s."

"It was like the Marines doing a rescue on a downed pilot, man!" Nate couldn't hide his excitement about the whole scene. Jason started laughing. They slowly joined him and in a few seconds, the whole car was laughing and celebrating Jason's adventure.

Through the laughter and congratulations, something caught Jason's attention out of the corner of an eye.

What he saw wasn't possible.

Someone he could not have seen was walking along the street. He must've been feeling the effects of the Percocet c.o.c.ktail he had been drinking all night.

He could not have seen that long red hair or that confident strut.

He lost himself in the song that his friends were all singing badly at the top of their lungs. Atreyu's "The Curse" was the soundtrack of their drunk nights and not one could end without the alb.u.m being played-and sung full blast-until whoever was driving was about to pa.s.s out. Tonight would be an extra long night. Mark brought along some amphetamines.

They turned onto Route 21. The light drizzle, which threatened hours ago, finally came through on its promise of rain. The skies broke open on them as they took their first turn on the squiggle that was a ten mile stretch of highway. It didn't matter; pretty girls were bleeding mascara...and song and laughter filled the car.

Leo took the turns like a pro. They knew this road so well they could drive it home under the influence of any substance known to man, and probably had done so. They roared towards the last set of S curves that would bring them past the cemetery and into the streets of Newark.

The cemetery bordered Route 21, Jason stared absently as the trees, and grave markers zipped past him. He jumped as the face pressed itself against his window. The green eyes and red hair he knew, but that mouth was not as he remembered. The mouth he had seen was gaping, twisted, as if someone had forced their fist down her throat and ripped her soul out from inside with a violent hand. He looked at his friends, still lost in song, and shook off the vision.

They hit the city and made the turn down to the river that would take them home. As Leo swerved around the corner onto the bridge, Jason saw the girl in the middle of the street. She stood frozen in their drunken path. Leo did not see her. He was lost in the song on his lips or the drugs in his mind. Jason reacted instinctively; he jumped forward from the back seat, grabbed the wheel from Leo and jerked it to the left, away from the poor deer in headlights that stood in their way. "Jesus, Leo, LOOK OUT!"

"JASON! What the f.u.c.k are you do-" Leo's final words never got finished.

The scream of metal meeting metal drowned out Nate's cry as his door met the rails of the bridge and crumpled crushing him. Bits of gla.s.s twinkled in Mark's empty eyes as the car made its first flip onto the bridge's narrow walkway. Leo's head struck the ceiling with a sickening crack.

Jason was flung back into his seat by the initial impact and now just sat and watched his friends die, as he was sure he himself would when their car hit the water. But the feeling in his lungs lasted much longer than he thought possible. As the icy water flooded the car in torrents-and turned even darker as his friends' blood seeped into it-his brain desperately chanted Hold your breath, don't inhale, hold your breath, don't inhale...It took three minutes and thirty-six seconds until the air in his lungs burned away, and he finally inhaled the blood-water. It felt like acid was filling his body as everything went black.

Jason felt as if the world had flushed him like so much s.h.i.t. Water dripped from him, and stank of death. He looked around trying to clear his eyes of the muck that ran down his cheeks. He didn't recognize the road he was on, it looked like something out of an 18th Century painting of h.e.l.l. He suddenly felt someone in the dimness around him.

The tall, black figure that loomed in the darkness before him stepped into sight. He was beautiful-not frightening, as Jason had imagined all his life. His smooth, light features were almost androgynous. As the pale blue eyes looked him over, he could feel himself becoming aroused...but aroused by a man? Jason's desire shrank in disgust.

His eyes met Jason's and he felt all the awesome power hidden beneath them. He could feel his soul being touched, molested...raped. Jason saw and felt every deed he had ever committed to bring him here, but not as he saw it in life. He saw all his actions through the pain and tears of those that he had hurt.

"You have done a fine job, my dear Jason, a fine job. I could not have asked you to be a better servant. Even if I had struck a bargain with you that night and told you what you would be doing for me, I do not think that you would have served me better than you have."

Jason couldn't speak-but he didn't have to. The ent.i.ty in front of him had no use for his words.

The tall man caressed Jason's cheek with one strong, velvety soft hand, drawing blood with the long fingernails that tipped each of his digits. He brought them to his mouth and obscenely licked away the blood. He gently took Jason's face in one powerful hand, removed the fingers from his mouth and slipped them inside Jason's own to feel the rough, wet texture of his tongue. The taste of herbs, smoke, and altar wine filled his mouth. His soul pleaded for this to stop, but his body gave into the beauty before him, as disgusted as his mind was by this action.

"Did you not feel it, all this time?" The figure asked. "You took your life that night you said you would not wait forever. That is what you said, and you did not. You simply swallowed all of your favorite pills and you stopped waiting."

Jason saw events replay in his mind...differently, now. He saw himself standing in front of the mirror again, his face covered in tears, but this time he smiled at himself as the pills spilled into his hands and gulped lethal mouthfuls of them as he washed the snot from his face. He saw shadows closing in over his limp body on the bathroom floor. They played their hands across his body as he lay there. Suddenly they dispersed. He could hear laughter-deep, seductive laughter. Then he woke up from the floor.

"You just could not remember to lie down and die, as you cannot remember some of the nights that you've lived since then. Typical; so euphoric that you did not even know you were dead. You were the perfect agent for me. You wanted to be a villain and in your drunken death, I made you to be just that. You corrupted the innocent, you helped others on their way to sin and the tastiest moment of all, you led your best friends to their deaths. You were a better collector than even Jessica." He laughed a cold laugh and the gleam in his eye brightened.

"Jessica?" Jason could not believe what he was hearing or seeing. This is not happening. It CAN'T be happening.

The tall man laughed. "Now, now, do not pretend that you never wondered how someone could make you commit what to you was the ultimate sin, and still make you feel so good, so right about it?"

"No!" Jason was finally able to speak; the accusation of having caused his friends' deaths stirred something in him. "YOU killed us, not me; you put that girl in front of the car..."

"What girl, Jason? There was no girl. I do not believe in ghosts...and the souls that come here do not get to seek vengeance. That is part of their torment. There was nothing there but your chemically fueled imagination, Jason." That deep laughter filled the chamber again and seemed to come not from the man but from the air itself. "Ghosts! HAHAHAhahahaha..."

Jason's frail grip on his composure broke. "NO!" he clawed at his tears; fell to the ground and punched slabs of rock. "G.o.d! Why, G.o.d?" he screamed as his knuckles broke. Blood and tears flew from him like sweat as he clawed at his own wet cheeks.

"G.o.d isn't here. He stopped looking after you a long time ago. He gave you to ME! And now, I'm giving you to her..."

Jason felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into blue eyes-eyes he had seen love him so many times before. Jessica wiped his face as she stood him up.

She was as lovely as he'd remembered, for the most part...her flesh was noticeably paler, though, and her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s lactated blood in dark streams down her naked body. She was more muscular now, her thighs and calves bulging as they tapered down to cloven hooves. Huge, membranous wings grew from her shoulders and wrapped around him as she lifted his face to hers. "I'm sorry, we have to go now." She led him down into the darkness and heat. The screams of torment filled his ears and shook his soul with dread.

Below him, up to their throats in a sea of boiling, flaming blood...or perhaps magma...was a legion of scorching, screaming sinners, stretching to h.e.l.l's smoking horizons.

Directly below him, he saw Leo, looking up at him in confusion, then realization, then with the raw hatred of betrayal. Brain tissue trickled out from the crack in his skull. His roar of YOU MOTHERf.u.c.kER, YOU PUT US HERE, GET DOWN IN HERE WITH US...was understandably lost in the 'roar of the crowd', but Jason could still hear it clearly in his mind...

Mark, glaring up with empty eye sockets filled with broken gla.s.s, weeping dark tears of blood, as he would forever...but Jason still knew he could see him, blame him, d.a.m.n him...

Nate, reaching up out of the magma with both arms-giving Jason the finger with his whole arm, and ostensibly trying to do the same thing with the other, that had been smashed into a pulped, flopping tentacle from the accident...

Psychic agony tore through the remnants of Jason's mind. He had put them here, he'd grabbed the G.o.dd.a.m.ned wheel and spun his best friends right into the lake of fire...and none of them deserved h.e.l.l, they drank and f.u.c.ked and cursed like everyone else he'd ever known; they weren't evil, but here they were. He wanted to say I'm sorry, guys, I f.u.c.ked up, I know...but nothing came out of his throat. Then he remembered saying Real villains don't feel they've done anything wrong...

Jessica smiled at the sight of his fear. "Don't worry about them, Jason, you're one of us now. You've turned. You'll be bringing them here. Get used to the screaming." She then led him through a dark pa.s.sage and returned him to his life. "Remember when you said you wouldn't wait forever? Well...this is forever."

He glanced over his shoulder at the misery he'd barely escaped; the misery he would spend eternity bringing upon others...

...And in the shadows of the tunnel, he caught a glimpse of red hair.

Back to TOC.

s.e.x, as we all know, is the mechanism that puts us all on the planet, it's proof positive that G.o.d wants us to feel something pleasant while we're here. Having said that...it CAN be a 'slippery slope' leading some individuals to a Pandora's Box of perversions that can destroy any hope for a healthy relationship.

There were two shocking, cult-cla.s.sic horror tales in a genre all their own: one is "Love Doll" by Joe R. Lansdale, another is "Somebody to Love" by Robert Bloch.

And now, courtesy of Mr. Joseph Pinto, there are three...

Plastic.

By Joseph Pinto.

He'd only f.u.c.k his type.

In actuality, he became quite the fusspot. He desired athletic women. They didn't have to be sculpted from stone, but they did have to have lean arms, and they did have to have long legs. Pretty feet, too. That was important. Very important. He didn't think it would be at first, but his tastes had matured. He joked with friends at work (they must've believed him to be a real hoot for they laughed an awful lot when he was around; odd he should still be waiting on an invitation to lunch or even happy hour, for that matter) that he was like a fine wine, better with age, blah blah blah, but when asked what he meant, he offered something ambiguous.

He couldn't tell them the truth. They'd never understand.

Pretty feet. An odd thing. A breathtaking body scored points for sure, but appalling or misshapen feet would kill the deal. Long toes. Crooked toes. Fat toes. Callused toes or even callused heels. Pretty feet. It was important. He was a harsh judge. Now toenail polish he wasn't such a stickler about, as long as the polish wasn't flaking off. That skeeved him. Yep, a real deal killer.

He enjoyed t.i.ts; all applicants were welcome. Perky t.i.ts. Saggy t.i.ts. Booty mama go go t.i.ts. Whatever. He didn't do much to them anyway. Sometimes he sucked on them. Occasionally he'd stick his d.i.c.k between them. Mostly he liked to look at them. t.i.ts were never the deal-killer bad feet could be.

The a.s.s he preferred a bit bubbly but tight. An ironic thing, because his own a.s.s was a pockmarked, lumpy thing. Just a mess. He never worked out. He was the complete opposite of the very women he preferred. He ignored the man in the mirror; the only thing he focused on was the whole fine wine thing, blah blah blah. Back to the a.s.s. Tight. Yes. He usually took his women from behind and needed something to hold onto - a small waist, a wide firm a.s.s. Lovely.

Smooth skin soothed him. Smooth and cool. Cooler the better. He liked to rub the length of his own body against theirs before f.u.c.king.

But there was one thing his women couldn't have.

A head.

Fairly simple. He didn't need to look at them. He was f.u.c.king them, after all. No head. Clean, cut and dry.

He looked his girls over. Monica, Jasmine, Katelyn, Sarah and Bunny all in a row. He knew Bunny wasn't her name. It was a stage name, but he never questioned her real ident.i.ty, never pressed the issue. He chose five girls every night from the many that shared the house. How many were there now - fifty, sixty maybe? First floor, second floor. Attic. Bas.e.m.e.nt. Every closet. The girls were there. He'd always find them. They couldn't leave. Why would they? He took good care of them. Besides, he was a good f.u.c.k, if he said so himself.

He took his time. Choosing five girls from the lot was a difficult task. His tastes changed all the time, sometimes several swings over the course of a given day. Choosing one girl from the five was even thornier. Nerve-wracking. He certainly didn't want to offend anyone. He didn't want to offend any of the girls, ever. It wasn't a matter of picking the best, he'd tell them. Just picking the best to accentuate my taste for the day, he'd explain. They knew he had specific tastes anyway. They understood he was like a fine wine.

The girls stood. Motionless. He rubbed his chin. He'd dallied enough. Time to make a decision. Who would it be? He nodded, took one by the hand.

Bunny. It'd be Bunny. He felt like a little role-play.

Bunny was imaginative; she could handle it. He would be a Chippendale, and Bunny his paying customer. She'd want a lap dance. He'd give her the dance of her life.

They were in the bas.e.m.e.nt. He led Bunny to the couch, whispered he'd be right back. He went to the other women and gently swiveled them so they'd face the wall. He had respect. And it wasn't respectful to make them watch when they weren't chosen. Tonight wasn't orgy night. Nor was it threesome or swinger night. He'd pick Bunny. It was Bunny night.

He started slowly, swaying his hips as he thought Chippendales swayed them. Puffed his chest and sucked his stomach in. Best as best he could, anyway. Bunny would be impressed. She seemed to be already. He dragged his hand through his hair and across his head. Down the nape of his neck and then back to his mouth. Suckled his pinky. Real s.e.xy stuff. He realized he'd forgotten to fire up a CD. Nothing to set the mood. Silly. It hardly mattered. Bunny ate it up. He was the mood.

He unb.u.t.toned his shirt. He was a bit clumsy. He tried not to look as he did so, but fumbled at the b.u.t.tons. Nervous sweat dampened his pits. He only wanted to be as s.e.xy as those Chippendales, but the d.a.m.n b.u.t.tons. He glanced at Bunny. Oh yeah, her back arched impatiently. She was ready. Uh-huh. Girlfriend wanted him. She wouldn't care if he skipped the rest of his dance. d.a.m.n you, Chippendales.

He ripped the remainder of the b.u.t.tons from his shirt. Flipped his shoes off, yanked the belt from around his waist as if his life depended on it, tore at the b.u.t.ton of his pants. The belt dangled from his hand; for a moment, he contemplated. It'd been awhile since he last drew it tightly around his neck. But tonight wouldn't be a night to satisfy fetishes. Tonight would be a night to appease carnal desire. He flung the belt aside and removed his pants and boxers.

His hard-on throbbed like a bee sting. He had to give it to Bunny and give it to her quick. Nights like this were rare-he usually took his time. All the girls loved his foreplay, considered him a master. He liked that. Made him feel special. He knew he wasn't a selfish lover. He gave as much as he received.

He grabbed Bunny the mannequin and ardently spun her, driving his d.i.c.k into her, gasping each time he slapped against the cool plastic of her a.s.s. He did nothing to pace himself or find a mutual rhythm, just pumped with vigor. Bunny was one of those girls who appreciated that. She l.u.s.ted for the occasional sprint.

He ground his teeth, but couldn't suppress his pa.s.sion any longer. He threw his head back and snorted like a boar, squeezing his eyes so hard he saw tiny white sparkles. Fingers slick with sweat, he slapped Bunny's a.s.s with such authority it surprised even him. Then he stumbled forward where they both hit the wall.

If he could trust his friends at work, he'd tell them he f.u.c.ked Bunny's a.s.s like never before. Really brutalized the b.i.t.c.h. He liked the sound of that. He drove as deep as he could into Bunny, every thrust rubbing his groin raw, pushing her headless body so hard against the wall he feared she might crack. But he was on the verge of o.r.g.a.s.m and couldn't stop.

He flooded Bunny's cavity and nearly collapsed, exhausted. Sweat dripped from his nose across her back. He steadied himself against the wall then shoved his hips forward one more time to drain himself of all he was worth. He strained his neck, kissing her between her shoulder blades as he offered sweet whispers of affection.

After he got dressed, he gently cradled Bunny in his arms. Tonight, she'd be sleeping in bed with him. She'd earned that right, after allowing him to take her like that.

As he ascended the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs, he looked sadly over his shoulder. The other girls might get jealous, but they'd get over it eventually.

The house was pitch-black. The light over the kitchen sink wasn't even on. He didn't like that. It wasn't that he was afraid of the dark, no, not at all. He was a grown man. He knew better than to be afraid of the dark. The dark was harmless-it was what hid in it that worried him. But he wasn't about to reveal his insecurity to Bunny.

He felt his way around the rocking chair, the coffee table and then the corner of the couch.

Finally...up the stairs.

The nightlight he kept in the hall was out, too. He became angry, because now he knew it'd been done on purpose.

He stifled the curse on his lips. He didn't want Bunny to know his level of aggravation. He didn't wish to ruin their perfect night. It really had been perfect, hadn't it? He hoped she felt the same way. They'd grown closer the past few months, something he never thought possible, despite the obvious affection he possessed for all his women.

He entered his bedroom. Stray shafts of moonlight pranced along the carpet. He watched their dance for a moment, hugging Bunny close as he did. She seemed to nestle against him a bit more than usual. He smiled. He couldn't help himself.

The bedsprings protested as he flipped the corner of the sheets back and bounced into bed, Bunny safe under his arm. He stared at the ceiling, sighed. The moonlight danced there as well, but this time he was too distracted to enjoy it. "The light over the kitchen sink isn't on," he said. "I can live with that. Sometimes even I forget to leave it on. But the nightlight in the hall isn't on. You did that on purpose, and I'm not happy."

Sheets rustled from across the bed, then pulled taut as the form beneath them drew further away. "I don't give two s.h.i.ts how you feel." Was his wife's icy response.

"You did it on purpose," he pushed. He didn't want to argue, especially not with Bunny in bed. But his annoyance couldn't be contained.

"Go back downstairs," a sneer from the dark. "Go back down into your bas.e.m.e.nt and f.u.c.k your filthy dummies-"

"They are not dummies!"

"-go back down and f.u.c.k your filthy wh.o.r.e dummies-"

"They are not filthy wh.o.r.e dummies!"

"-go back down and f.u.c.k your filthy wh.o.r.e dummies and then leave this house for good, you sick perverted b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Sick perverted b.a.s.t.a.r.d piece of s.h.i.t!"

Then the sobs commenced and the sniffles too, as was always the case every night. The sobs, they just plain annoyed him. But the sniffles-the sound of snot sucked back down into his wife's throat-made him shiver. Really gross stuff. Not to mention it kept him up half the night. He had work in the morning. You'd think she'd be a bit more considerate. "You only wish you were half the woman they are."

"What...did...you...say?"

He didn't want to get into this, not now, but it couldn't be helped. His wife was looking for a fight, well, she'd found one. "I'm tired of you being a cold fish at my side. Plastic. You can't handle the fact that I've found affection somewhere else. Well... deal with it. Just like I have all these years." He flipped onto his side, careful not to crush Bunny. "Oh yeah, and I never f.u.c.k my women. I make love to them. Sweet love. Not that you know anything about that. But tonight...tonight I brutalized my baby something good. Something you can only dream about."

He lay grinning in the dark, satisfied, even as the bed shook to the chorus of his wife's emotional breakdown. Another night of improper rest, but it'd be worth it. He listened to the sobs, listened to the suck of snot back into his wife's chest for about fifteen minutes, maybe more, until it eventually faded away. He hugged Bunny close.