Fuck the Rules

by Chizmar, Richard

  As if on cue, a dirty, fat black rat scurried across the floor and disappeared under the couch. Steve shook his head in disgust. Sure, he still lived in the basement at his parents’ house, but at least he didn’t have to put up with vermin possibly nibbling off his toes while he slept. Ugh, he really hated coming over to Marc’s place. But the truth of the matter was, he didn’t have much choice. He had no other friends and Marc had always been at least somewhat decent to him. Well, better than any other male in his life, including his father, who could be a real bastard sometimes. His mother was a little overbearing at times, but still showed she loved and cared, for the most part. He was at least thankful for that.

  With a shrug of his shoulders and a quiet, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, man,” Steve took another gulp from his beer and returned to the cushion on the couch he had been sitting on. Then he thought two things at once: I wonder if this prostitute, er, escort will swallow my load, and I hope that rat doesn’t dart out from underneath this couch and start gnawing on my Achilles’ heel.

  He looked over at Marc, who was sawing away at the cheese on either side of the pizza slice he wanted to devour next.

  As Marc lifted the piece out of the box and took a bite, Steve hoped his friend hadn’t been able to read the thoughts that had raced through his mind.

  *

  Amy was only twenty-three but felt twice that age. Fortunately, even though she had been working the streets since she was fifteen, like most of the other escorts she knew, she still looked her age – even if she didn’t feel it at times. She still had the face of ‘the girl next door’ and the body of a Greek goddess. She had long jet-black hair that was straight and ran down to the middle of her back. She had killer eyes and a body any woman, young or old, would die for or be happy to spend tens of thousands of dollars to acquire. Amy was lucky. She had been born that way and hadn’t had to kill or pay anyone for her goods.

  As she stood in the small bathroom at Miss Jena’s Escort Service, she admired her nakedness in the body-length mirror. Her fire engine red corset and black garter belt, thong and stockings were on the floor next to her three-inch-high cherry heels. She knew she was going to look dynamite in them.

  She raised the corners of her lips into her trademark sexy smile and then slowly started to trace the perfection that was her form with her small soft hands. She loved the way her body felt, even to herself. Hell, as good as she could make herself feel just by her own touch, she wondered why she ever got into the sex-for-money trade at all. But then she quickly remembered: it was the money, of course, and lots of it.

  She ran her hands over her large breasts, down her small, tight stomach and over her smooth tanned hips. Damn, she looked and felt great. She was going to make one single (or married – it really made no difference) fella a lucky son-of-a-bitch tonight. She just knew she’d pop his cork in no time flat. Then it would be off to the next John to get some more well-earned cash.

  *

  “I still don’t know about this, man,” Steve said, snuffing out another cigarette in the ashtray and then draining his fourth beer. With him being only one hundred and forty pounds (and that was soaking wet) and a shade over six feet tall, it didn’t take much for his skeleton-like body to begin to feel the effects of a few beers, but he didn’t care, especially on a night like this one. Man, I can’t believe some escort is gonna pop my cherry, he thought.

  “What don’t you know about?”

  “All this,” Steve replied, standing up from the couch and starting back towards the kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge.

  “Geez, man. What did I tell you? It’s gonna be great. She’ll come over, I’ll pay her the money and she’ll get it on with us. Hell, we’ll tag-team her… even if she doesn’t want us to.” Marc laughed, his large belly shaking this way and that.

  “Whoa, man!” Steve shouted from the kitchen as he grabbed the beer from the fridge and twisted off its top. He threw the cap onto the filthy, crud-caked dishes that filled the countertop and walked back into the living room.

  “What?” Marc asked with a smile.

  “Don’t ‘what’ me, man. What did you mean when you said, ‘even if she doesn’t want us to’?”

  “What do you think I meant? Hell, I could only afford one whore for the night, and as much as I wanna see you get your cherry popped, I still wanna bust a nut myself. Know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Yeah, I guess… but that still really doesn’t answer the question, Marc,” Steve said, sitting on the couch. He wondered where that disgusting rat had gone, but only for a second. He was more interested right now in what his friend had going on in that high school dropout head of his. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know, but figured he better find out just in case Marc had some sort of weird sexual fetish he wanted to do with him, and not only with the woman that was on her way over.

  “Oh. Oh, right. Well… say she doesn’t wanna get down with both us, right? Well, then we just persuade her a little. Now do ya get what I’m saying?”

  “Jesus H. Christ on a rubber crutch, Marc. No… No, I don’t get what you’re saying. Why don’t you say it to me in English instead of Hustler language?”

  His friend laughed and said, “We make her do what we want, man. Money or not. Now do you get it?”

  Steve shook his head. Marc smiled and turned back to the scrambled porn they had been watching on the television. Steve wasn’t exactly sure he knew what his friend was referring to, but unfortunately he had a good idea. The question was: how far was Marc going to take it? To just verbal abuse (which Steve wouldn’t get all that upset with since the chick was still a whore by any other name, regardless of whether she called herself an ‘escort’ or not), or was more than just hurtful words and semen going to be flying this way and that around the room? Yes, Marc was a real bastard sometimes, but that didn’t mean he was a woman beater or anything of the sort. At least Steve hoped that wasn’t the case. But at this point, he wasn’t going to rule out any crazy future events that might take place in his friend’s dirty, small apartment on the upper west side of the shit-smelling city they had lived in since they were young boys, before they had turned into the ‘upstanding citizens’ they had since become.

  *

  It was 1986 and they were in high school. Living large (which was sort of an oxymoron, since Marc had always been husky), with not a care in the world and all that bullshit. Marc, being two years older but still in the same grade as Steve because he had gotten held back twice – once in middle school and then again their freshman year of high school – had just gotten his driver’s license and was allowed to take his parents’ old, brown Mercury (which incidentally didn’t have Reverse and so you had to be careful where you parked the godforsaken thing or you might get stuck between two parked cars and have to climb out and push the car to get it back to where you could actually go forward in the damn thing) out on Friday night. Marc had pulled up to the curb in front of Steve’s parents’ house and honked the horn.

  “Alright, mom,” Steve shouted, opening the first of the two front doors as quickly as he could so he could beat the second blast that was sure to come from Marc’s car. “I’ll be home… at midnight.” He cringed after saying the last word. Not hearing a reply from his mother, who was busy baking cookies in the kitchen for his sister’s school bake sale the next day, he smiled, then reached out, grabbed the round handle of the outside door, and gave it a turn.

  “Just hold it right there a minute, buster,” his mother said, coming from the kitchen and into the long hallway that separated the front and back of the house. She walked within five or six feet of Steve, then stopped. She wiped her batter-covered hands on an already dirty towel. “And where in tarnation do you think you’re going, young man? It’s already eight o’clock and you haven’t even finished your homework.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Don’t ‘but Mom’ me, mister. Where are you and the Erb kid going at this hour anyway?”

  “A f
riend’s house.”

  “‘A friend’s house’, huh? And do this friend’s parents happen to be home?”

  “Mom! It’s Friday night, for Pete’s sake! I don’t know if they’re home or not. Who knows, ya know? They could be out to dinner and a movie like a normal married couple or… I don’t know. Heck, Dad’s not even here, so why does it matter if Carol’s parents are in or not?”

  “Ahhh… so now the truth comes out. Carol, huh? You and your friend Marc are going over to a young girl’s house when her parents aren’t there to keep an eye on you pubescent kids? I don’t think so, dear. I don’t think it’s wise. Besides, if your father ever found out, he would—”

  Steve dropped his gaze to the floor, nodded and said, “Yeah. I know, I know, Mom. I know.”

  “OK. See? So, now do you understand what I’m saying?”

  At first, Steve wanted to reply, “Yeah, I get what you’re saying, Mom. I know Dad would be pissed that I went to a make-out party, er, to hang out at a girl’s house when her parents aren’t even around, but I think I might just have a good chance of losing my virginity tonight… and… and if it doesn’t happen tonight, it’s just never going to happen!” But instead he replied, “Yeah, I get what you’re saying, Mom. I really do. OK? What if I promise that if we get there and see Carol’s parents aren’t home, Marc and I will go over to Bob’s Big Boy and grab a burger, fries and a shake? You know you can trust me, Mom. I study hard, even on a Friday like tonight, get good grades, do my chores around the house, and have never lied to either you or Dad.” He paused for a few seconds, waiting on his mother’s reply. When it didn’t come immediately, he said, “So? How does that sound?”

  It felt like he was flying as he ran out the second door while shouting, “Thanks a ton, Mom!” He yanked open the passenger door and hopped inside, slamming the car door shut.

  Marc gave a half-hearted wave to Steven’s mother, who was standing on the front porch of the house with her hands on her hips, giving the car an un-mechanic inspection. When she didn’t wave back, Marc thought about flipping the bitch the bird, but then thought better of it. Shit, I better not. It took his ass long enough to get out of the house and if I get pissy with Mrs. Patterson, she might just yank his ass back inside, Marc thought and then laughed out loud.

  He put the car into drive and slowly pulled away from the curb. He was still smiling half a block away when Steve faced him.

  “Geez. What’s so funny, asshole?”

  Marc shook his head and glanced at Steve. He was a hot dog behind the wheel, even if he had only gotten his license a few days before, but still didn’t want to wreck his parents’ car on the first night.

  “Well?” Steve asked.

  “Nothin’, man. Nothin’.”

  “Come on. Why are you laughing your ass off?”

  “‘Cause, man,” Marc said in between chuckles, “it’s just funny how your mom was standing on the front porch and shit. She was giving me the evil eye or something. I don’t think she likes me very much.”

  “Big surprise. Do you blame her after what you did to Snuggles?”

  Marc stopped laughing, took his eyes off the road as they came to a stop at a red light, and looked over at his best friend. “Hey. I never fucked your cat in the ass, alright? I was sleeping on the floor and the thing must have slinked in through the cracked open door or something.”

  “True… I’ll give you that. But what in the world were you doing humping it like that?”

  “Dude! I was asleep, alright? How could I stop the little bastard from climbing onto my legs and curling up on top of my junk? Besides, it’s not my fault that your folks named the cat Snuggles, of all things. What did you expect?”

  “Maybe. But that still doesn’t make much sense. You were moaning and shit. You woke me up, my sister, my parents. I wouldn’t have said shit to anyone, even with waking me up in the middle of the damn night, but how was I going to control my folks hearing you ass-raping our cat and them coming into the room and turning the lights on, huh? Shit, man… you had your briefs down around your knees and shit. The cat was howling like… like…”

  The light turned green and Marc pressed down on the gas pedal. Out the corner of his mouth, he said, “Like what?

  “Like a cat being fucked in the ass, man! How the hell should I know? I’ve never heard anything so terrible in my life. Snuggles was making noises like the fucking caged monkeys in the zoo, for chrissake.”

  Marc started laughing even more at his friend’s comment and muttered, “Hey. Like I said, man, I was asleep. Penis – er, period!” And then he giggled some more.

  “Riiiiiiight! I’ll believe that if I never see the rest of the load you shot up my cat’s ass finally ooze out. Until then, you’re on your own with my mom. You’re a sick bastard. You know that, right?”

  “You betcha!”

  The boys laughed as they drove the rest of the way to Carol’s and all the fun that lay ahead.

  They hoped.

  *

  Later that night, Steve lay in his bed and thought about the night’s events: the liquor they had stolen and drank from Carol’s dad’s booze cabinet in the basement, the lights going out and the black light coming on, the sounds of Marc and Carol kissing and groping, and the pounding of his heart inside his chest as he sat next to Cynthia on the couch. He remembered the way his palms had sweated and how the hair on the back of his neck stood on end the moment Cynthia reached over and placed a palm in the inside of his leg. He could still almost feel the ache in his penis as it filled with blood and grew to massive proportions, wanting, needing a release from the strict confines of his Levi’s. And then the sound of his zipper slowly being inched down and the feeling of his penis springing from his underwear like a King Cobra, ready to strike out at its prey. Then came the fondling and sucking.

  He could still feel the tightness and wetness of Cynthia’s small mouth around his shaft, sliding up and down… up and down. He had so wanted to touch her, rip off her clothes and thrust his manhood into her tight place, but didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks of pissing her off and her stopping what she was doing, especially because it felt so damn good. He had never kissed a girl before, let alone had a chick give him head, so he sat back and enjoyed the sounds and feelings of what had been happening at that very moment. Of course, when he blew his load inside the girl’s mouth without warning, she had gotten a little pissed, to say the least. But by that time he didn’t care much. Like most men, he got what he needed, and damn the rest.

  Steve smiled and rolled onto his right side to get more comfortable. But his satisfied smile almost instantly gave way to tears when he recalled what Cynthia had said after he blew his load and she was coughing and spitting it up all over his stomach while smacking him at the same time.

  “You dirty, rotten, no good son-of-a-bitch, Steve! You shoulda warned me you were about to cum. You almost choked me to death!”

  Steve had heard Marc laughing somewhere down in the dark basement.

  Since Steve had gotten his nut off, he replied, “Why? That’s your job, right?”

  “Excuse me?” Cynthia had asked in a pissed-off voice.

  “You know, ‘bitches ain’t shit but hos and tricks’ and ‘lick on deez nuts and suck the dick’, right?”

  He hadn’t been able to see Cynthia’s face, but he imagined it had probably been a mixture of hurt, embarrassment and downright pissed off. Of course, the hard slap across his face had pretty much confirmed his suspicions. That, and what she had said while running upstairs to the first floor of the house: “I hope you burn in hell, Steve Patterson! You and your little dick!”

  The lights had then come on, blinding him. He shook the formation of tears from his eyes and looked over to his left.

  Carol had been standing naked with her hands and feet tied behind her to one of the support poles going from the basement floor to the floorboards of the first level of the house.

  Marc pinching her nipples with a pair of rusty
pliers.

  Carol had still been breathing heavy and moaning. Steve wondered why, when the lights were out, he hadn’t heard her screaming out in pain, even if he had been occupied by Cynthia’s mouth.

  But then he’d seen the reason: Carol had been not only tied with rope, but Marc had stuffed a gag into her mouth as well.

  As Steve curled into a ball in his warm bed, he remembered Marc saying, “Your turn, my man. Feel free to do with this little whore whatever you wish – anything except fuck her, ‘cause they can trace that shit somehow, ya know. Anyway, here ya go.” Then Marc had held out the pliers as Steve got off the couch, stuffed his shrunken penis back inside his jeans and zipped up.

  Reluctantly (or more just to find out what all he could get away with doing to Marc’s girlfriend), he had taken the pliers from Marc’s hand and started working on another sensitive area on the girl’s body. He made sure to twist the small piece of pink flesh hard as thoughts of what Cynthia had said about his manhood raced through his head.

  *

  Steve couldn’t believe he had suppressed that memory for so long. Now, as he sat next to the same guy he had been friends with since the mid-eighties, he wondered if Marc remembered any of that night’s events. He didn’t want to ask, though. No way. Because now he knew what his subconscious had been screaming inside his head…

  “Hey, Marc.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you mind explaining for my feeble mind what you meant when you said we’ll still do things to this escort—”

  “Prostitute, slut, ho-bag, whore… use one of those words, man.”

  “Oh, right. Anyway. When you said, ‘even if she doesn’t want us to’?”

  Marc turned his rotund body towards Steve and replied, “Oh, Stevie boy… Always playing by the rules. I think you know exactly what I mean. But—”

  “But what?”

  “But this time, you’re finally getting your nut off with a real woman. Well… as long as I bust one first, that is.” And then he laughed some more.